The weight of the sky seemed to crush Akisuki’s slender shoulders as she stood outside Vincent’s office, the faint hum of the office buzz falling into white noise.

He didn’t even give me a chance to say anything, she thought, clutching her iPad tighter against her chest.

Her Louboutin heels clicked against the floor as she slowly walked back to her desk, each step echoing her frustration. Her mind replayed the scene from earlier, dissecting every word, every glance.

He’s avoiding the topic. He has to be mad at me.

Vincent’s composed face loomed large in her thoughts, his earlier politeness almost mechanical. Was it because she pushed him away last night? Or because she tried to talk about it this morning?

The overthinking churned her stomach, her fiery gaze momentarily dimmed as her fingers tapped nervously on the desk.

With a frustrated sigh, she grabbed her phone and dialed Siwoo. The screen illuminated, showing her best friend’s sleepy, disheveled face. "Aki," he groaned, running a hand through his messy jet-black hair. "Do you know what time it is here? I was dreaming about caramel pancakes."

"I don’t care!" she hissed, her voice low but sharp. "I screwed up. Again."

"Of course you did," Siwoo muttered, his voice dripping with sarcastic resignation. "But, please, enlighten me. Which specific screw-up are we discussing?"

"The almost-kiss!" she snapped, her cheeks flushing. "He’s avoiding me, Siwoo-ya. I think he’s mad at me."

Siwoo groaned dramatically and rolled onto his side, the screen shaking. "You think everything is about you. Maybe he’s busy running a multi-million-dollar company? Ever thought about that?"

She narrowed her eyes at the screen. "I know he’s mad. I can feel it, Siwoo-ya."

"You’re overthinking again," he said, his words slightly slurred with sleep. "It’s a miracle you’re not bald from all the stress you invent. Seriously, Aki, take a nap, eat a cupcake, I don’t know — stop catastrophizing."

Akisuki scowled. "Siwoo—"

"Nope," he cut her off, rubbing his face. "I love you, girlie pop, but I also love sleep. Deal with your soap opera life on your own. Night." And with that, he hung up.

"Girlie pop, my ass," she muttered under her breath, glaring at her phone before tossing it onto the desk. But his sarcastic words left her even more agitated, her mind spinning.

With a resigned sigh, she turned her attention to the task Vincent had given her. She booked the tickets for business class, scrolling through the options with a meticulousness born of anxiety. Her nails tapped rhythmically against the desk as she confirmed their seats and emailed the itinerary to Vincent.

Next, she called Vincent’s housekeeper in Paris. "Bonjour, Marie. Could you please have the apartment ready by the day after tomorrow? Fresh linens, stocked pantry — the works." Her voice was calm, professional, masking the storm within.

"Oui, mademoiselle," Marie replied warmly. "Anything specific?"

"No," Akisuki murmured. "Just make it perfect, as always."

Ending the call, she leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts raced, a complex web of frustration, guilt, and confusion. Was she overthinking? Or was Vincent truly avoiding her? Either way, she knew the trip to Paris would either mend or further fray the delicate thread between them.

Meanwhile, just a few feet away, behind the closed door of his office, Vincent sat frozen in his chair, his hand hovering midair as if suspended by invisible strings.

"Sir, we need to talk."

Her words echoed in his head like the toll of a church bell, each reverberation pulling his nerves tauter. He misunderstood her tone, her intent, her everything, and yet…

He groaned, leaning back in his leather chair, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers to his convoluted life. "God," he muttered, running his hand down his face. He regretted cutting her off, sure, but a much bigger part of him was relieved. What if she wanted to call this whole arrangement off because of last night? What if she thought he wasn’t fit for this?

Vincent’s mind spiraled. Enough. He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over Alaric’s name.

After the third ring, his best friend’s deep, sharp voice answered, "Vincent, I’m in a meeting."

"Then hang up," Vincent replied dryly.

"No, I mean thank you for calling. You’re a godsend." Alaric’s tone lightened, dripping with sarcasm. "Now I have a reason to leave. One sec."

Vincent heard muffled voices in the background before Alaric’s voice returned, low and cool, with that signature Russian-American accent. "Alright, lover boy. What crisis are we dealing with now?"

Vincent rolled his eyes, slumping in his chair. "I think Akisuki is going to call off the arrangement."

Alaric snorted. "Oh, I love this already. Continue."

Vincent’s jaw tightened, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "She came into my office earlier, said she needed to talk, and I just… cut her off. Told her to book our tickets to Paris and she walked away."

Silence.

Then Alaric spoke up again. "You panicked."

"I didn’t panic," Vincent snapped, dragging his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.

"You panicked," Alaric repeated, his voice cold but edged with amusement. "You thought she was going to confront you about your little almost-kiss and maybe — gasp — break off the contract?"

Vincent scowled at the phone. "It’s not funny."

"It’s hilarious," Alaric countered smoothly. "Vincent Carter, the ice-cold CEO, reduced to a flustered mess by a girl half your size. A girl, might I add, who probably just wanted to discuss work and not your poorly contained sexual tension."

Vincent groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She doesn’t want me, Alaric. She pushed me away. I crossed a line."

"You did," Alaric said bluntly. "But let’s not pretend you’re some saint. You always cross lines. It’s in your DNA."

Vincent growled, slamming a fist against the desk. "You’re useless."

"Incorrect," Alaric replied, unbothered. "I’m simply stating the obvious. You, my dear friend, are terrified. You’re scared that she’s either going to leave you or worse — stay and make you confront how you actually feel about her."

Vincent froze, the words hitting him square in the chest. He hated how Alaric always managed to dig up truths he wasn’t ready to face.

"Now," Alaric continued, his tone clipped. "Are you done whining, or should I cancel my next meeting for this therapy session?"

Vincent sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair again. "No, go back to your stupid meeting."

"Gladly," Alaric said with a chuckle. "And Vince?"

"What?"

"Grow a spine." The line went dead.

Vincent stared at the phone, his chest tightening. He hated Alaric’s bluntness, but he couldn’t deny it — he was right. His hands clenched into fists as he leaned forward, his grey eyes darkening with resolve. He couldn’t keep running from this. Not anymore.

— 🍁 —

Later that night, Vincent sat alone in the dimly lit living room of his penthouse, the city’s skyline sprawling before him through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.

His whiskey glass was untouched, condensation pooling around its base on the marble side table. Normally, this view calmed him, but tonight his mind was in turmoil.

He leaned back against the plush leather couch, rubbing his temples. Should I text her? His phone rested mockingly beside him, its screen dark yet brimming with unspoken questions. "This is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, running a frustrated hand through his messy wolf-cut hair.

For the millionth time, his thoughts replayed the moment Akisuki had tried to speak to him. The soft, nervous tremor in her voice had been impossible to miss. He groaned audibly. "She probably hates me," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the city hum outside.

Vincent picked up his phone, his thumb hovering indecisively over her contact. Should he address what happened? Apologize? Explain? His jaw tightened as he scrolled up their last exchange — strictly professional texts. No emojis, no warmth, just business.

Perfect. Let’s keep it that way, he thought.

But deep down, the notion of ignoring the tension gnawed at him. He opened their chat and began typing: About yesterday…

His fingers froze. Seconds turned to minutes before he erased it entirely, opting for something neutral instead:

"Investor’s gala in Paris. Details in your inbox. We’ll need to coordinate."

He stared at the message for a moment before hitting Send. Tossing his phone onto the couch, he muttered, "Coward," under his breath.

After plugging his phone into the charger, Vincent trudged into his bedroom, mentally congratulating himself for avoiding the topic yet again. He flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. His hands rested behind his head, but his mind refused to quiet down.

Thoughts of Akisuki intruded like an uninvited guest — her calm demeanor, her fiery spirit, the way her voice softened when she was flustered. A heavy exhale escaped him as he shut his eyes, willing himself to sleep. Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Finally, Vincent groaned and sat upright, grabbing the nearest pillow with a growl of frustration.

"This is your fault!" he hissed, though it wasn’t clear whether he meant Akisuki or the poor pillow. In an exaggerated fit of rage, he punched it repeatedly, feathers erupting into the air like a tragic snowstorm.

Breathing heavily, he held up the shredded remains of the pillow, glaring at it as though it had insulted him. "You deserved it," he muttered, tossing the ruined fabric aside.

He nearly reached for his phone to call Alaric, thinking the Russian would at least distract him from his spiraling thoughts. But the memory of Alaric’s biting sarcasm stopped him cold.

"Grow a spine," Alaric’s voice echoed mockingly in his head.

Vincent slumped back against the headboard, defeated. "This woman is going to be the death of me," he murmured. He groaned and buried his face in his hands, feathers still drifting around him as if mocking his misery.

On the other hand, Akisuki’s phone vibrated on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification. She groaned, rolling over in bed and snatching it up. The message was from her boss:

Vincent Carter: "Investor’s gala in Paris. Details in your inbox. We’ll need to coordinate."

The words stared back at her, unyielding and painfully neutral.

Perfect punctuation, no warmth, she thought bitterly. She threw the phone down onto the bed and flopped back dramatically. "He’s mad at me," she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow she pressed over her face.

Siwoo’s voice crackled through her earbuds, breaking the silence. "You’re overthinking it," he said lazily, the faint sound of a nail file scraping in the background of the video call they were in. "That’s just how he texts."

"No, he’s mad. I can feel it." Akisuki let out an exaggerated groan, rolling onto her stomach to scream into the pillow.

"Or," Siwoo countered, "he’s just trying not to get arrested for texting you inappropriately since you work for him. Which, let’s be honest, you’re the one who kissed and ran."

“I didn’t kiss him!” Akisuki shot up, glaring at the phone as though Siwoo could feel her indignation. He was just pestering her.

"Sure," Siwoo replied flatly, completely unfazed. "I’ll make sure to carve that on your tombstone when you die of embarrassment."

"I hate you," she grumbled, jumping out of bed and throwing her pillow onto the floor. She started stomping on it with all her might, imagining it was her own face.

Siwoo hummed, pausing mid-file. "You’re going to need a new pillow if you keep this up."

"Shut up," Akisuki snapped, still hopping up and down like a child throwing a tantrum. Her chest heaved with frustration before she finally stopped and flopped back onto the bed. "I can’t do this, Siwoo. I’m going to combust at this rate."

"I’d miss you, but I’d survive," he said casually, blowing on his freshly filed nails.

"항문," Akisuki groaned and rolled her eyes (Trans. Asshole). Needing a distraction, she dragged herself over to the closet and swung it open.

Her fingers brushed past rows of perfectly tailored suits and elegant dresses, all carefully curated for her public image. She scanned the collection, searching for something — anything — that could make her forget her humiliation.

Her gaze landed on a stunning blood-red A-line dress. It was knee-length, with delicate lace detailing along the hem and a neckline that was both sophisticated and subtly alluring. She pulled it out, holding it up against herself as she turned toward her full-length mirror.

Siwoo raised a brow, watching her through the video call. "What’s this now? Trying to seduce your way out of your problems?"

Akisuki smirked, her mood shifting slightly as she ran a hand down the fabric. "Maybe," she teased, twirling the dress slightly.

Siwoo leaned back, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "So, what’s the plan, seductress? Break his heart before he can break yours?"

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she turned to face him. "You’ll see."

And with that, she hung the dress back up, her mind already racing. Siwoo shook his head on the screen. "You’re dangerous," he muttered, just before the call disconnected.

──────────────────────

Life be hectic af, man.

But it's at least not like the F.MC here. *insert skull emoji*