Isane quickly grabbed a towel and rubbed her hair until her appearance more or less returned to normal, and only then asked:
"Um… Arata‑kun, what brings you to me this late at night?"
"I wanted to stop by the Fourth Division to borrow some hangover tea. We just ran out at home, so I have to bother Miss Isane to take it from the storeroom." Arata scratched the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed.
If you have a woman at home who swears she'll "never drink again," yet downs a cup every time she feels like it, you're bound to end up in situations like this.
"Ah, so Rangiku‑neesan drank too much again?" Isane's hand, which had been wiping her hair, paused for a moment, and a trace of understanding and a faint disappointment, flickered in her eyes.
"She also got drunk at the last team‑building…"
When she turned around, droplets of water from her hair sprinkled onto the back of Arata's hand, carrying with them the warmth and the distinct aroma of a medicinal bath.
"The key to the storeroom should be…" Isane quickly approached the table, bent down, and opened the bottom drawer.
Her damp shihakushō pressed against her back, the outline of her shoulders and neck clearly visible through the fabric.
Arata wanted to avert his eyes, but the sight in front of him froze him in place.
Because the drawer was very low, Isane had to bend deeply and half‑crouch, causing the hem of her wide uniform to rise slightly, revealing the pale joints of her toes.
Her rounded backside, unintentionally lifted, outlined a stunning curve beneath the damp fabric.
"I remember the key should be right he—" Isane's voice suddenly stopped because she felt a warm, broad hand press against her lower back.
Arata himself didn't register what he was doing in time; his body reacted before his brain caught up.
By the time he came to his senses, his palm was already feeling the heat of Isane's skin through the thin shihakushō.
The scent of the girl, mixed with the herbal tones of the medicinal bath, made his breath suddenly grow heavy.
"A–Arata‑kun?" Isane froze, the keychain slipping from her fingers and clattering loudly against the bottom of the drawer.
She instinctively tried to stand, but the hand on her back gently pressed her down again.
Arata braced his other hand on the table's edge, trapping the tall Isane between himself and the open drawer.
From this distance he could clearly see the droplets of water on the nape of her neck, slowly sliding down the depression of her spine and disappearing deep into the neckline of her uniform.
From that angle he could even catch a glimpse of the snow‑white curve through the slightly parted collar.
No, that was an abyss that devoured both heart and reason.
"We… we can't…" Isane's voice trembled, her fingers unconsciously gripping the drawer's edge.
She felt her heart pounding wildly, slamming into her chest, her back pressed against him through two layers of fabric that somehow felt unbearably hot.
What frightened her even more was that she didn't push him away immediately.
Isane gasped sharply when Arata's lips touched the back of her neck.
The warmth of that touch sent a shiver straight down her spine, her legs buckled, and she nearly collapsed to the floor.
Thankfully, Arata tightened his grip around her waist at that exact moment, pressing them even closer together.
"Rangiku‑neesan, she… mm!" Isane tried to mention Rangiku, but her words broke off when Arata suddenly pulled her around to face him.
He grabbed her backside with one hand, lifted her onto the table, and the papers that had been neatly arranged scattered across the floor with a loud rustle.
From that height, Isane could finally look him directly in the eyes, but could also see much more clearly the flame of desire burning in them.
Panicking, she clamped her knees together, but in doing so she actually squeezed his narrow waist.
The movement caused the hem of her shihakushō to ride up all the way to her thighs, revealing even more milk‑white skin.
"Arata‑kun… we can't…" Her voice was already filled with tears, her palms resting against his chest, but with no strength to push him away.
She should have shoved him off, slapped him, and run out, but her body betrayed her reason, and she let out a soft, catlike whimper when his fingertips brushed her collarbone.
Arata loosened the collar of her uniform with one hand, then lowered his head and kissed her Adam's apple, which rose and fell wildly with her breath.
Isane threw her head back with a soft cry, her fingers unconsciously threading through his hair.
The bittersweet scent of herbs and the faint sweetness of her breath mingled between their lips, and in her haze she thought this was more intoxicating than any anesthetic.
When the grip on her chest suddenly slackened, Isane jolted, realizing that her shihakushō had slipped down to her shoulders.
She tried to cover herself in panic, but Arata seized her wrist and pressed it to the table.
The cold surface against her burning back made her toes curl.
"Wait, wait…" Isane turned her head, and her gaze fell on the Fourth Division emblem hanging on the wall. In that moment, it was as if she snapped out of a trance. "These are division barracks… anyone could walk in at any moment…"
Arata paused, breathing heavily, leaning on his arms.
That brief distance finally allowed her to regain a shred of composure. She hurriedly pulled her clothes up, only to realize that two buttons had been completely torn off.
"I'm sorry, Miss Isane." Arata took two steps back and rubbed his face with both hands. "I went too far."
The office fell silent. Only their uneven breathing slowly calmed.
Isane lowered her gaze and tightened her sash, her fingers still trembling.
She didn't dare lift her head, afraid she would see guilt in his eyes and even more afraid she would see her own disheveled reflection in them.
"The hangover tea is on the shelf in section B of the third storeroom…" Isane's voice was barely louder than a mosquito's. "The key… I just dropped it on the floor…"
Arata bent down to pick up the keychain; the metallic clank against the floor felt almost painfully loud in the silence.
After a brief hesitation, he said, "Miss Isane, about what just happened…"
"Please, don't!" Isane suddenly cut him off, her eyes already bloodshot.
"Just… pretend nothing happened. I won't tell Rangiku‑neesan, and I'm begging you… to forget everything too."
When she hopped down from the table, her legs gave out and she nearly fell.
Arata instinctively reached out to steady her, but she quickly pulled away.
That movement froze them both. Isane bit her lip, and tears finally ran down her cheeks.
"I understand… I should have resisted…" She clutched her collar and sobbed, "but when Arata‑kun touched me… my body…"
Those words stabbed into his chest like a blade.
He remembered the tremble of her skin under his palm, the redness at the corners of her eyes when she grew excited and even more, the deep self‑disgust that had flickered through them.
That guilt hurt worse than any reprimand.
"It was my mistake." Arata exhaled deeply, picked up a jacket from the room, and gently draped it over Isane's shoulders.
Then he turned toward the door, took one last look at the bowed‑headed Isane, feeling a mix of emotions he couldn't untangle, and quietly closed the door behind him.
The moment the door shut, Isane collapsed to her knees.
She hugged her legs to her chest and buried her face in them.
The lingering warmth on the table, the papers scattered on the floor, and the faint scent of desire still hanging in the air all painfully reminded her of what had just taken place.
What terrified her most was the inexplicable emptiness that washed over her the instant Arata's spiritual pressure completely vanished.
…
When Arata returned to the barracks, the sensor light in the courtyard flicked on.
He stood at the entrance, taking several deep breaths, waiting for the heat in his face to subside before pushing the door open.
In the living room, Rangiku was still tied up in the same stiff pose, sound asleep on the sofa, her drool nearly dripping onto the floor.
The honey water had spilled across her chest, soaking a large part of her shihakushō.
As her breasts rose and fell rhythmically, the pale tone of her skin was faintly visible beneath the fabric.
Without a word, Arata untied the ropes and gently lifted her into his arms.
Rangiku murmured in her sleep and snuggled even closer to him, the plum‑wine fragrance in her hair enveloping his senses.
There was something soothing in that scent, and part of the turmoil inside him slowly faded away.
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