Chapter 25: Not a Date. Definitely Not. Probably.

POV: Hana Fujimoto

I spent the entire night rehearsing.

Not out loud—that would’ve made me feel insane—but in my head, over and over, until the sentences blurred together.

“Thank you for asking, but—”

“I appreciate it, however—”

“I’m sorry, I can’t—”

All the polite refusals I thought I should say.

None of them sounded right.

None of them fit the way my chest tightened when I thought about the way he had looked at me—careful, almost hesitant.

So by morning, I gave up on rehearsing and decided to simply… survive whatever happened.

The elevator ride to the penthouse felt much shorter today. Too short.

When the doors opened, he was there—leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee, as if he’d been waiting.

My stomach immediately folded itself into origami.

“Good morning,” I said, bowing. My voice sounded higher than usual.

“Good morning,” he replied. Calm. Steady. Too steady.

He wasn’t reading anything. He wasn’t working. He was just… watching me.

Which made my heart skip in a way that was deeply inconvenient.

I set my cleaning tote down too quickly, and the bottle inside clattered loudly. His eyebrow lifted slightly. I pretended not to notice.

I could feel him waiting for my answer—patient, collected, but present. The silence felt like a blanket someone else had wrapped around my shoulders.

Warm. Too warm.

I swallowed.

“I—”

My voice cracked. Fantastic.

He straightened slightly, not intrusive but attentive. “Take your time.”

That didn’t help at all.

“I was thinking about… what you asked,” I said, forcing the words out carefully.

He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink too much. But the air shifted again, quietly.

“And… um…”

My hands twisted in front of me. Stop it.

“I do have time this weekend.”

A beat of silence.

His eyes sharpened, but not coldly—more like he was focusing on something delicate.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

Heat rushed to my face so fast I felt dizzy.

“I— I mean, yes. But not… not a date,” I blurted. “Obviously not a date. Just… going somewhere. Together. But not like that.”

Oh no. Why did I say it like that?

His lips twitched. Not a smile. Not quite.

Just the faintest, most annoyingly subtle tug at the corner.

“And what would it be… like, then?” he asked.

I wanted to sink into the floor.

“Just… two people going somewhere. Nothing special.”

“I see.”

He set his coffee cup down with deliberate gentleness.

“No pressure. Nothing implied.”

The problem was the way he said it—respectful, almost gentle—but with that same quiet intensity underneath.

Like he knew exactly what I meant, and exactly what I was trying to avoid admitting.

I cleared my throat, desperate to steer the conversation back into safe, neutral territory.

“Where… where did you want to go?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead he studied me for a moment—thoughtful, considering, like he was choosing the least dangerous option in a room full of dangerous ones.

“Somewhere simple,” he said finally.

“Somewhere quiet.”

Somehow, that made my pulse jump again.

“That’s… fine,” I said, nodding too fast. “As long as it’s not, um, extravagant. Or formal. Or anything with reservations.”

His eyes glinted subtly. “I’ll adjust accordingly.”

“Good,” I muttered, mostly to convince myself.

He picked up his tablet—finally pretending to work—and I knelt to start organizing supplies.

But even from across the room, I felt it.

A subtle shift in the air.

Not tension.

Not awkwardness.

Just… something new.

Something tentative and fragile, like the thin stem of a plant pushing out of soil.

Not a date.

Definitely not.

But maybe… the beginning of something I wasn’t ready to name yet.