The bookstore smelled like old paper, fresh coffee, and a hint of rain to happen, from the street outside. Late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, painting golden stripes across the wooden floors. It was quiet—too quiet for a Saturday—most customers had already grabbed their weekend reads and left.
Shō Matsuda crouched on a low stool in the literature aisle, restocking the bottom shelf. His dark bangs fell into his eyes as usual, and he blew them away with a soft puff. He liked this spot. Hidden between two tall shelves, nobody bothered him here. No small talk, no fake smiles for chatty aunts asking for romance recommendations. Just him, the books, and the faint hum of the air conditioner.
He reached for another stack when the bell above the door chimed. Shō didn't look up—probably just another regular. Footsteps echoed, measured and confident, heading straight toward the back office. He knew that walk. Everyone in the store did.
Kenji Aikawa.
The CEO himself.
Shō's fingers froze mid-air. Why was the boss here again? This was the third time this week. Usually, Kenji only showed up once a month for reports, looking sharp in his tailored suit, nodding politely, then disappearing back to the corporate tower downtown.
But lately… he kept coming.
Shō quickly shoved the last book into place and stood, brushing dust off his gray sweater. He smoothed his hair, heart already doing that stupid fluttery thing it did whenever Kenji was around. Calm down. He's just checking inventory. Or something. Not here for you.
He peeked around the corner.
Kenji stood near the counter, flipping through the sales log. Black suit jacket open, white shirt crisp, sleeves rolled once to show strong forearms. His dark hair fell perfectly, not a strand out of place. He looked annoyed—brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed thin. Probably because weekend sales were lower than expected.
Shō swallowed. Time to disappear.
He turned to slip into the storage room when—
"Matsuda."
The deep voice stopped him cold.
Shō's shoulders tensed. He slowly turned around. Kenji was looking straight at him, those sharp dark eyes pinning him in place like a butterfly on a board.
"Y-Yes, sir?" Shō's voice came out smaller than he wanted.
Kenji closed the logbook with a soft snap. "Come here."
Shō's legs moved before his brain caught up. He walked over, stopping a safe two meters away. Close enough to be polite, far enough to breathe.
Kenji didn't speak right away. He just looked—scanning Shō from head to toe like he was checking for flaws. Shō felt heat crawl up his neck.
"You're in charge of the new arrivals display, right?" Kenji asked.
Shō nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. I finished it this morning."
"Show me."
Oh no.
The new arrivals table was right in the front window—prime spot, high traffic. Shō hated standing there. Too many eyes. But he couldn't say no to the CEO.
He led the way, hyper-aware of Kenji walking behind him. Those footsteps again—steady, unhurried. Like a predator who knew the prey wasn't going anywhere.
They stopped at the display table. Shō had arranged the books neatly: bestsellers on top, indie gems below, a few cute bookmarks as freebies. He thought it looked good.
Kenji leaned down to inspect. His shoulder brushed Shō's arm—just barely.
Shō flinched like he'd been shocked.
Kenji paused. Straightened slowly. "Something's wrong?"
"N-No, sir." Shō stepped back, cheeks burning. Stupid body. It was nothing.
But Kenji didn't move away. He stayed close, eyes narrowing slightly. "You always jump when someone gets near you?"
Shō blinked. "I… I just wasn't expecting—"
"Relax," Kenji said, voice low. He reached past Shō to pick up a book from the top row.
His chest nearly touched Shō's shoulder.
Shō's heart slammed against his ribs. He could smell Kenji's cologne—clean, expensive, something woody and warm. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
Kenji flipped the book open, scanning a page. "This one's misplaced. It's mystery, not literary fiction."
Shō nodded numbly. "I'll fix it."
But Kenji didn't hand the book over. Instead, he held it out—waiting.
Shō reached for it.
Their fingers brushed.
Just a second. Skin against skin.
Shō's breath hitched. A jolt shot straight down his spine, pooling hot in his stomach. His ears went scarlet. He snatched the book and turned away fast, pretending to rearrange the stack.
Behind him, silence.
Then Kenji's voice, quieter now. "You're very… sensitive."
Shō nearly dropped the book. He spun around. "W-What?"
Kenji was watching him again. That intense stare. But something different flickered in it—curiosity? Confusion?
"Your reactions," Kenji said slowly. "They're strong."
Shō wanted the floor to swallow him. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll try to—"
"Don't apologize." Kenji stepped closer.
Shō backed up instinctively—until his hips hit the table.
Trapped.
Kenji stopped just inches away. Tall. Way too tall. Shō had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes.
"I'm not complaining," Kenji murmured.
Shō's brain short-circuited. What did that mean?
Kenji's gaze dropped to Shō's lips for a split second—then back up. His hand lifted, slow, like he was giving Shō time to move away.
He didn't.
Kenji's fingers brushed Shō's jaw—gentle, but firm. Thumb tracing the line just under his chin.
Shō froze. Every nerve ending lit up like fireworks. His lips parted on a shaky exhale.
Kenji's eyes darkened. His grip tightened—just enough to tilt Shō's face up more.
"Good," Kenji whispered, voice rougher now. "You stay still when touched."
Shō's knees nearly buckled. He gripped the table behind him to stay upright.
Kenji leaned in.
Closer.
Closer.
Their breaths mingled. Shō could feel the heat radiating from him.
Then—a loud crash from the back room. Someone dropped a box.
Kenji pulled back instantly. His hand dropped. Expression smoothed back to neutral like nothing happened.
Shō sagged against the table, dizzy.
Kenji cleared his throat. "Fix the display. I'll… check the reports."
He walked away without another word.
Shō stood there for a full minute, touching his jaw where Kenji's fingers had been.
His skin still tingled.
His heart wouldn't calm down.
And deep inside—something dangerous stirred.
He was in trouble.
Big, big trouble.
Huge trouble!
Arrrrghhhh...stupid!