The ocean's rhythmic crash against the shore filtered through the open balcony of the luxury hotel room. A salty breeze stirred the sheer white curtains. The room was a study in modern opulence: sleek wooden floors, a sprawling king-sized bed draped in crisp linens, and a glass wall offering a panoramic view of the moonlit sea.

Takuma Fujiwara sat on the edge of the bed, his lean frame slouched forward, elbows on his knees. His dirty blonde hair, caught the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and his light brown eyes flickered with a rare unease. His leather jacket hung carelessly over a chair, leaving him in a black t-shirt that clung to his toned arms, scarred knuckles tapping an erratic rhythm against his thigh. The silver chain necklace he always wore glinted as he shifted, tugging at it absentmindedly—a nervous tic he'd never admit to.

This was their first weekend trip together. When they had planned this trip, he had thought about booking two rooms, a safe distance between them, a buffer against the possibility of awkwardness. But she had brushed it off, insisting one room was enough. One room. The implication had hit him like a punch to the gut, and now, as the reality sank in, his heart thudded harder than it ever did in a street fight.

Takuma's gaze drifted to the closed bathroom door, where the faint sound of running water hinted at her presence. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. His mind, usually sharp and quick, was a mess of what-ifs.

Tonight could be the night—their first time crossing that line. He'd always respected her boundaries, cherishing their hand-holding, hugs, and those soft kisses she'd initiated. God, that first kiss still made his chest ache. But this? This was uncharted territory.