"Hmph." I turned away dramatically and stomped back toward my room. He did the same in the opposite direction.
In my room, I headed straight for the restroom. "Finally, some peace." I turned on the tap-
Ice-cold water poured out.
I screamed. "Mom!!! Why is there no hot water in my restroom?! Huh??"
Mom came in, totally calm. "Oh, darling, it's not working here either. I called the plumber, but it's already late. They said they'll come tomorrow." She paused. "Why don't you go use Kaito's shower? His tap works."
"What?? No! I'd rather freeze to death!" I crossed my arms.
She smirked, walking away. "Alright then, take a nice cold shower. Your choice."
"Ugh! You're doing this on purpose!"
No answer. Of course.
Left with no choice, I stomped down the hallway, muttering curses under my breath, until I reached Kaito's room. I knocked-
hard.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Fresh out of the shower. Hair wet, dripping water down his neck. A towel around his waist. Bare chest. Defined abs. Broad shoulders. Skin still damp.
I froze. My brain completely shut down.
Oh.
My.
God.
He looked like the kind of sin you don't even want to repent for.
For a solid three seconds, all I could think was-
I might actually die.
Abs.
Chest.
Dripping hair.
Sexy towel.
I could feel a nosebleed coming.
I shoved the door open like it was nobody's business, flashed the brightest grin I could manage and said, "Oh, my bad. I want to use your bathroom, if you don't mind." Smirk: on. Confidence: max.
"No-" he began.
But before he could finish his oh-so-righteous protest, I darted inside and slammed the door like it was a bank vault. Victory. He thinks he can say no to me? Puh-lease. I never let anyone do that kind of shit to me.
I took the longest shower of my life. I sang off-key. I practiced my glare for later. I made sure I smelled like confectionery and rebellion. When I rinsed the last shampoo out, I reached for a towel, and then realized, with the dramatic flair of a soap opera villain, that I had left everything back in my room. No towel. No clothes. No dignity.
I sighed, a long, theatrical sigh that deserved its own soundtrack. What should I do? Ask him? That ego-riddled specimen? Hell no. But it was getting cold, and my options were: freeze like a popsicle, call the maids and admit defeat, or face Kaito.
I peeped through the slightly ajar bathroom door and saw him on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, the glow of the screen making his profile look like an Instagram ad. He was utterly ignoring me. Of course. Piece of work.
"Oi… Kaito!!" I called, trying to sound casual. He didn't flinch. I tried again, louder: "KAITO!!"
Still nothing. My eyes narrowed. Okay, fine. I went nuclear.
"Oi, candy boy." The nickname was a loaded missile, guaranteed to annoy. He snapped his head up like someone had yelled fire.
"Don't call me that," he growled, which, as curses go, sounded suspiciously effective. Ugh. Fine, whatever.
"Gimme a towel, fast. I'm cold." I said it like I was placing an order at a cafe.
He snorted. "Die there," he said, calm as a man offering you soup.
What the actual? Bro, I'm freezing to death. I opened my mouth to scream for Mom
and he pushed into the bathroom, hand clamping over my mouth instantly. "Don't yell," he hissed.
Ohhhhh no. This was not how this was going to go.
Reflex kicked in. I bit his hand. Hard. He didn't flinch. Instead, his eyebrows arched like he was mildly impressed. "Nice try, cry baby," he said, annoyingly amused. Then, with a ridiculous smirk, he added, "And yeah, nice body too." His fingers found my waist like a cat finding a lap.
Gross. I kicked him in the shin. He barely reacted. So I did the next best thing: I snatched the nearest thing within reach, his shirt, which was damp and clung to him a little, and ripped it off in one dramatic yank. (Okay fine, I may have used more elbow grease than dignity.)
He stood there, blinking. I thrust the shirt over my shoulders and snagged his blanket on the way out, because flouncing away while wrapped in his clothes and a blanket is peak theatrical exit energy. No one was in the hall, thankfully, so I slammed my door and leaned against it, breathing like I'd run a marathon.
I could hear him behind the door, muttering something that could have been a curse or a compliment; honestly, I couldn't tell. My heart hammered and my cheeks were flaming. I was mad, furious, and a little mortified that his hand had touched my waist, but also, ugh, why did my chest feel weird?
"That piece of!" I whispered to the closed door, hands balled into fists. "I will kill him! I will kill him!!"