Her lips were on mine, firm and insistent. My mind, usually a chaotic mess of half-formed thoughts and superhero anxieties, flatlined. It wasn't a soft, romantic movie kiss. It was a sudden, forceful claim, leaving no room for negotiation. Every single instinct in my body screamed in protest. No! Get away! This isn't right!
I tried to pull back, to wrench my hand free from her surprisingly strong grip, but she held on, drawing me closer. Her body, warm and pressing against mine, felt like a cage. The scent of her shampoo, which moments ago had seemed "nice," now felt cloying, suffocating. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear, wishing I could just phase out of existence right there and then. This wasn't romantic. This was a nightmare. This was Pako, forcing a kiss on me, and I hated it. Every fiber of my being recoiled. The feeling of her lips moving against mine was utterly foreign, deeply unwelcome, and utterly disgusting.
Her hand, still locked with mine, moved, pulling my arm around her waist, as if to complete some twisted embrace. I fought it, a silent, internal struggle, my muscles tensing against her surprising strength. My head screamed for clarity, for a way out, but my body felt trapped, overwhelmed by the sheer, unexpected physicality of the moment. The kiss deepened, her lips molding against mine, a persistent pressure that made my breath catch in my throat. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could feel was her, alarmingly close, and the overwhelming, visceral need for it to end.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, she pulled away, her lips parting from mine with a soft, wet sound. Her eyes, still shining with that intense, unsettling warmth, looked into mine. A triumphant smile slowly spread across her face.
I stared at her, my chest heaving, trying to catch my breath. My own lips felt strangely numb, tingling with the ghost of her touch, a sensation I desperately wanted to scrub away. My stomach churned. This wasn't what I wanted. This wasn't what I felt. And the casual way she just… did it, as if she had every right to, made my blood run cold.
After the Kiss
I scrambled back, my body hitting the headboard with a jolt. My mind felt like a tangled mess of wires, short-circuiting with panic and disgust. Pako just stared at me, her triumphant smile still plastered on her face, completely oblivious to the turmoil she'd unleashed within me. My lips felt alien, a phantom pressure lingering, and I wanted nothing more than to scrub them clean.
"What was that for?!" I finally managed to blurt out, my voice sounding strangled even to my own ears.
Pako's smile only widened. "What was what for, Mitsuo? Don't tell me you didn't like it!" She giggled, a light, airy sound that grated on my raw nerves. She leaned in again, her eyes sparkling, and for a terrifying moment, I thought she was going to go for another kiss. I flinched back, pressing myself further into the wall, a desperate, silent plea for space.
She seemed to notice my extreme discomfort, her smile faltering slightly. "Mitsuo? What's wrong?" Her voice was laced with genuine confusion, as if she couldn't fathom why I wasn't falling at her feet, professing my undying love after such a... intimate gesture.
"Nothing!" I snapped, perhaps a little too quickly, a little too loudly. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Just... you can't just do that, Pako! You can't just kiss someone without asking!"
Her brow furrowed. "But... I thought you liked me, Mitsuo! You were just telling me how you don't like Miss Sumire anymore, and you let me put my head on your lap..." Her voice trailed off, a hint of genuine hurt now creeping into her tone.
"That's not... that's not the same thing!" I retorted, feeling trapped and cornered. How was I supposed to explain the nuanced, terrifying landscape of my current existence to Pako, who clearly lived in a world of immediate gratification and aggressive affection? "And I didn't 'let' you do anything! You just... did it!"
A flicker of anger, cold and sharp, replaced the hurt in her eyes. "Oh, so now you're saying I forced myself on you, Mitsuo?" Her voice, though still soft, held a dangerous edge, a hint of the Pako I knew too well. "Is that what you're saying?"
"No! I just mean..." I stammered, my mind racing for a diplomatic exit strategy. The Copy Robot's wisdom was conspicuously absent from my earpiece. "I just mean... it was unexpected, that's all. And... I'm not really in the mood for that right now. Still shaken up from the bank, you know?" I tried to revert to my earlier excuse, hoping it would diffuse the situation.
Pako stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken accusations and my own burgeoning anxiety. I braced myself for the inevitable explosion, the shouts, the tears, the slamming door.
Then, to my utter surprise, she simply sighed. It wasn't an angry sigh, but a weary one. She slowly sat up, pulling her hand from mine. The warmth instantly vanished, leaving a sudden chill where her fingers had been.
"Fine, Mitsuo," she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "If that's how you feel. I understand." She slid off the bed, her movements slow and deliberate, completely unlike her usual energetic self. She walked to the window, paused, then without another word, she slipped out, disappearing from sight.
I lay there, still pressed against the headboard, listening to the silence of my room. The lingering scent of her shampoo, once cloying, now felt like a faint, melancholic ghost. I was alone. Just as I had wanted. But the victory felt hollow. More than hollow, it felt… wrong. The relief I expected to feel was replaced by a strange, unsettling emptiness. The joy of having saved hostages, of having faced down bullies, all seemed to fade in the wake of that unexpected, unwanted kiss and Pako's quiet, hurt departure. It was a messy, human problem, one that no amount of super-speed or strategic genius seemed capable of fixing.