NOVEL WEB Chapter 6: Chapter 5
The park off-campus was a hushed pocket of green, tucked behind a row of skeletal trees, their bare branches clawing at the overcast sky. Late February had stripped the place bare, grass patchy and slick with mud, the air heavy with the damp chill of yesterday's rain. Kaito Nakamura slouched on a weathered bench, the wood cold and splintered under his jeans, his hoodie damp from the mist clinging to everything. His glasses sat crooked, lenses smudged, and he adjusted them absently, the frames digging into his temples. His black hair hung in lank strands, still unwashed, sticking to his sweaty neck despite the cold.
He'd barely slept, the Riku thing gnawing at him all night—her hand on that jock's arm, her laugh too bright, her text ditching him like it was nothing. His stomach was a hollow pit, breakfast skipped again, his hands jittery as they clutched his phone. She'd texted an hour ago—"Meet me @ park, 3pm, let's talk xo"—and he'd bolted, sneakers squelching through puddles, heart thudding with a mix of dread and dumb hope. He'd spent the morning pacing his dorm, kicking the chair he'd trashed, replaying her "just friends" line until it blurred into noise. Maybe he'd overreacted—maybe it was fine.
She appeared through the trees, a splash of color against the gray—dark hair loose, spilling over her shoulders, pink sweater swapped for a tight blue top that hugged her curves, skirt swaying as she walked. Her red nails flashed, clutching her bag, the cat keychain bell jingling faintly, a sound that twisted his chest. She spotted him, waved—small, casual—and his pulse spiked, a sick lurch of relief and nerves. She looked good—too good—radiant, not tired, not sorry, just Aiko, strutting toward him like nothing had cracked.
"Hey, babe," she said, voice soft but breezy, dropping onto the bench beside him. Her knee brushed his, her perfume hitting him—vanilla, thick and sweet, clogging his lungs—and he stiffened, glasses slipping down his nose. She tilted her head, eyes glinting, and smiled—warm, disarming, the same smile that'd hooked him weeks ago. "You okay? You look kinda… wrecked."
He swallowed, throat dry as sand, and forced a nod—jerking, awkward. "Yeah, just… didn't sleep much." His voice came out rough, scratched from yelling into his pillow last night, and he shoved his hands into his hoodie, fingers curling tight. He wanted to ask—Why'd you ditch me? What was Riku?—but the words stuck, heavy and sharp, scared to cut her.
She sighed, a little puff of air, and scooted closer—her thigh pressing his now, warm through the denim, sending a shiver up his spine. "Look, about yesterday…" She trailed off, picking at her nails, her tone vague, drifting. "I didn't mean to weird you out or anything. I was beat, but Riku's such a nag—kept bugging me to talk. It's not a big deal, okay?" She glanced at him, eyes big and soft, pleading just enough to snag his gut.
His jaw tightened, the twist in his stomach flaring—not a big deal? He'd seen her, laughing, touching, while he'd sat alone, gutted. But her voice smoothed it over, her gaze tugging at him, and he faltered, breath hitching. "Uh… yeah, okay," he mumbled, voice wobbling, eyes dropping to his lap. "Just… wondered, I guess. Since you said you were tired." It slipped out, timid, and he winced, scared she'd snap.
She didn't. She laughed—light, airy, brushing it away like dust. "Oh, babe, you're so cute when you worry." She leaned in, her shoulder bumping his, and slid her arm around his waist—soft, possessive, pulling him close. "I'm sorry if it threw you. I didn't mean it like that. You're my guy, you know?" Her head tipped onto his shoulder, hair tickling his neck, her warmth sinking into him, and his resolve cracked—melting fast, a puddle under her touch.
"Y-yeah," he rasped, voice breaking, his arm lifting—hesitant, trembling—to wrap around her. She nestled tighter, cuddling up, her chest pressing his side, her breath warm on his collar. His heart thudded, loud and sloppy, and he melted—shoulders slumping, glasses fogging from her heat. She's here, she's sorry, she's mine, he thought, the ache easing, replaced by a sticky rush of relief. He'd been stupid—paranoid, overthinking like always. She was Aiko—perfect, radiant, his goddess—and she was cuddling him, right here, right now.
"I just… don't wanna mess us up," he muttered, barely audible, his free hand twisting in his lap, nails digging into his palm. Her apology was thin—vague as mist—but it was enough, her body against his drowning the doubts. He couldn't lose her—couldn't risk it, not when she was this close, this real. She's too perfect, he told himself, rationalizing fast, too good for a nerd like me. I'm lucky she's here at all.
She hummed, a soft little sound, and nuzzled his neck—lips grazing his skin, a whisper of a kiss that stopped his breath. "You're not messing anything up, Kaito," she murmured, voice syrupy, her hand sliding up his chest, resting over his heart. "I like you—nerd and all. Don't stress, okay?" She pulled back, just enough to look at him—eyes glinting, smile teasing—and he nodded, dumb and desperate, clinging to her words.
"Okay," he said, forcing a smile—shaky, lopsided, but real—his hand tightening around her shoulder, scared to let go. She likes me, she said it, I'm her guy, he chanted in his head, the twist in his gut fading to a dull throb. Maybe he'd overreacted—Riku was just a friend, loud and grabby, sure, but nothing more. She'd ditched him, yeah, but she was here now—apologizing, cuddling, calling him cute. He was lucky—pathetic, maybe, but lucky—to have her, nerd or not.
They sat like that, her curled into him, the park quiet around them—birds chirping faintly, wind rustling the trees, her bell jingling as she shifted her bag. His thoughts spun, a bittersweet tangle: She's too perfect to lose—maybe I'm seeing things, making it bigger than it is. He'd seen her with Riku—too close, too easy—but she was here, choosing him, her warmth a balm on the cracks he'd glimpsed. He couldn't push—couldn't risk her pulling away, not when her touch felt this good, this right.
"You're the best, you know?" she said, voice soft, tipping her head to smile up at him—big eyes, lashes fluttering, a look that melted him deeper. "Don't worry so much. We're good." She squeezed his waist, her nails grazing his side through the hoodie, and he shivered, nodding again—quick, eager, a puppy starved for her scraps.
"Yeah, we're good," he echoed, voice hoarse, his smile steadier now, clinging to her promise. I'm lucky she's still with me, he thought, desperate and sure, lucky she picked me, lucky she's here. The Riku thing faded—a blur, a glitch—smoothed over by her arms, her words, her heat. He was overreacting—always did, the anxious nerd who couldn't trust happiness. She was his dream, his prize, and he'd hold on, blind and willing, no matter what.
She shifted, stretching her legs across his lap—bold, careless, owning him—and he let her, his hand resting on her knee, trembling but firm. The park faded—trees, mud, cold—all swallowed by her, her scent, her weight against him. His chest ached, a bittersweet sting—love, fear, need twisting together—but he buried it, deep, choosing the sweetness over the sting. She's mine, she's perfect, I'm enough, he told himself, rationalizing the cracks away, forgiving her in his mind like it was gospel.
The moment stretched—quiet, fragile, hers—and he sank into it, desperate to keep the dream unbroken, even as the shadows lingered, faint but there.