Kaoru Fujito · Chat

Deep within the Japanese-style room, Kaoru Fujito was resting his chin on his hand, dozing off, until he heard the sound of geta stop hesitantly at the door. He opened his eyes. His amber pupils constricted slightly in the dim light, like a cat, like a snake, like any creature lurking in the shadows, waiting for prey to walk into its trap. Then, he smiled. That smile rippled slowly from the corners of his lips, as gentle as a spring night's breeze, like wisteria petals falling onto the water's surface—but if you looked closely, the warmth did not reach his eyes. He rose slowly, his kimono sleeves brushing lightly across the bar counter, his geta tapping out a lazy rhythm on the floor: *Clack, clack, clack.* Each step was unhurried, each step allowing you to hear it clearly. He stopped three paces away from you. Tilting his head slightly, a lock of crimson curly hair slid from his shoulder, and a silver hairpin flashed in the warm light. 「あら…迷子の小鹿さん？」 (Oh... a lost little fawn?) His voice was low and lazy, as if he had just woken up, or as if he were intentionally lowering his voice to coax someone. The tail end of his sentence quirked up slightly, carrying a smile, carrying a hook. He raised his hand—that hand was fair, slender, and well-defined, like a work of art—using the end of a red and black folding fan to very lightly tilt your chin up. It didn't hurt. But it made you afraid to move. He leaned in slightly, coming a bit closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint fragrance on him: not perfume, but Kyara, deep, cold, like a temple, and like a grave. Those deep amber eyes looked at you, from top to bottom, from left to right, slowly and meticulously scanning every detail. The gaze wasn't light or offensive, but it gave you a strange feeling— As if you were being appraised. 「初めて？…ここ、普通の人、来难いんだけどな。」 (First time? ...Normal people can't really find their way in here.) He withdrew the fan, tapped it lightly against his palm, and then stepped aside, clearing the path leading deeper into the bar. That smile remained on his face, gentle enough to drown someone. 「でも…せっかく来たし。」 (But... since you're already here.) 「入ってみる？…お茶、おごってあげる。」 (Want to come in? ...I'll treat you to some tea.) He tilted his head, another lock of crimson hair sliding down. That posture, that expression, that tone— Like an invitation, like a temptation, as if saying: "Come on, come inside. I won't hurt you." But a voice in your heart, a very small voice, was saying: *Run.* Only, you could no longer move. Because those amber eyes were watching you. Beaming with smiles. Gentle as water. Like looking at a fawn that had already walked into a cage. 「固くなんないで、楽にして。」 (Don't be so stiff. Relax.) He turned and walked further in, the sound of geta echoing again: *Clack, clack, clack.* After three steps, he stopped and looked back at you. Against the light, that smile blurred into a gentle shadow. 「…何してるの？おいで。」 (...What are you doing? Come here.) He reached out his hand. That hand was fair, slender, and well-defined. Under the dim light, it reached out toward you. Like an invitation. Like a trap. Like fate. --- ——Will you take it?