The elevator doors closed with a faint ding behind them, leaving Makoto and Ayaka alone in the quiet space.
She stood beside him with her arms loosely crossed, eyes fixed on the illuminated floor numbers above, but he could see her thoughts weren't in that metal box—they were elsewhere.
With someone else.
Again.
Makoto's jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his pulse a slow, thunderous beat.
He had waited.
Patiently.
Softly.
Carefully.
He'd given her space. Offered her warmth without demand.
Played the charming, understanding companion like it was second nature.
But how long was he supposed to keep waiting while her heart kept orbiting a man who vanished without a damn word?
The ding of the elevator signaled the ground floor.
The doors slid open.
Ayaka took a step forward—but Makoto didn't move.
"Ayaka." He said, voice low and calm.
She turned to him, eyes wide in question.
"I don't want to wait in the shadows anymore."
Her brows drew together slightly, confused. "Makoto..."
"I see the way you freeze when someone mentions him. I see how your smile tightens, how your fingers clench." His voice stayed even, but every word burned. "I know you're still waiting for him."
She looked away, guilt flickering across her face like a shadow cast by something too large to name.
Makoto stepped closer, closing the space between them with one slow, deliberate movement.
The air between them shifted—charged, electric.
"But I'm done pretending I'm just your safe place." he murmured. "Because I'm not."
Her breath hitched.
"I want more than your comfort. I want more than your friendship. I want to be the one who fills your thoughts—who makes you smile, laugh, cry, scream. Not him."
"Makoto—"
"No." he cut in, eyes flashing as he tilted his head, gaze locking onto hers. "Let me finish."
He stepped even closer.
Now, there was barely a breath of space between them.
"I've been patient. I've held back. But Ayaka..." His voice softened now, more intimate.
"I want to steal your heart away from him. Completely. I want you to look at me the way you used to look at him."
She stared up at him, lips parted, eyes wide. Vulnerable. Uncertain.
He reached out and slowly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers brush along the curve of her jaw.
Her skin was warm.
Soft.
Too soft for someone still haunted by someone who didn't choose to stay.
"I won't be a stand-in." he whispered. "I want you, Ayaka. All of you."
A silence fell between them—dense, simmering.
The hum of fluorescent lights and the distant echo of hospital chatter faded away.
There was only them, teetering on the edge of something they couldn't quite name yet.
But Makoto knew what he wanted.
The doors slid closed behind them again with a soft, ominous *ding*.
Ayaka's back hit the wall of the elevator with a soft thud, eyes wide.
Makoto leaned in—so close their foreheads almost brushed.
"I'm going to make you forget him." he murmured, voice rough and possessive. "I'm going to make you look at me—and only me."
Ayaka trembled under the weight of his words.
"I'm going to make you fall for me." Makoto whispered against her mouth, "Starting right here and right now."
Then he pressed his lips to hers—hungry, fierce, demanding.
It wasn't a kiss seeking permission.
It was a promise.
His hand slid into her hair, gripping it gently but firmly, anchoring her there, refusing to let her slip away into memories of someone else.
But Ayaka didn't kiss him back.
She stiffened in his hold, frozen by shock.
Makoto pressed deeper for one searing heartbeat, trying to break past her walls—but she stayed motionless, trembling under his touch.
Slowly, he pulled back, his breathing harshly against her skin.
Their foreheads nearly touched as he stared down at her—her wide, uncertain eyes, the way her chest heaved in short, shallow breaths.
He could see it all.
The hesitation.
The fear.
Someone else's name is still written all over her heart.
Makoto let out a rough breath, resting his forehead against hers for a fleeting second.
"You don't have to love me yet." he said quietly, fiercely. "But you will."
He pulled back, his eyes blazing.
"You're mine. Ayaka." he whispered. "You just don't know it yet."
The elevator doors slid open behind him.
Without waiting for her reply, Makoto stepped out—his shoulders squared, his steps deliberate.
But even as he walked away, he knew—
He wasn't giving up.
Not now.
Not ever.
She would be his.
No matter how long it took.
------
Makoto's shoes struck the pavement with heavy, angry steps as he stormed away from the building, the cold air biting at his skin.
But he barely felt it.
All he could feel was the sick churn of regret roiling inside him.
"What the hell did I just do?"
The memory of Ayaka's wide, shocked eyes seared into his brain like a brand he couldn't scrub away.
He had promised himself he would be different from him.
Gentle.
Steady.
Patient.
He had sworn he'd earn her heart properly, no tricks, no pressure.
And yet...
He had cornered her.
Kissed her when she wasn't ready.
Said things that tasted more like a demand than a confession.
Makoto dragged a hand roughly through his hair, letting out a ragged breath that frosted in the frigid air.
"I swore I wouldn't push her..." he muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter. "I swore I'd be patient. What the hell am I doing? I just ended up pressuring her..."
He turned and slammed his fist lightly against a wall, letting the dull pain in his knuckles ground him.
"That's not my style..." he said under his breath, the words almost broken.
Pushing.
Forcing.
Trapping.
That wasn't the man he wanted to be.
Not for her.
Not for anyone.
He clenched his fists tighter, feeling the sting.
He wasn't supposed to be some desperate idiot who lost control because he couldn't stand seeing her haunted by another man's ghost.
He wasn't supposed to scare her.
Makoto squeezed his eyes shut, heart thudding painfully against his ribs.
He could still feel the softness of her hair under his fingers.
The way her body had gone stiff against him.
The way she hadn't kissed him back.
God, he hated himself for that.
"I'm such a fucking idiot. Why did I lose my patience?" he breathed harshly.
He had wanted to be the one who healed her, not the one who gave her new reasons to guard her heart.
Still, even under the mountain of regret pressing down on him, one thing remained like steel inside his chest:
He wasn't giving up on her.
He couldn't.
Not even if she hated him for now.
"I'll make you fall for me, Ayaka..." he whispered with his voice raw. "The right way. I swear. I hope you could still forgive me..."
Even if it killed him to hold back again.
Even if it shattered him to see her flinch.
He would wait.
He would fix this.
Because he loved her too damn much to ruin her just to satisfy his own hunger.
Makoto jammed his hands deep into his pockets and kept walking into the freezing dark, the hollow ache of regret trailing after him with every step.
------
The city was gripped by a sharp, biting cold, the pale sun barely cutting through the thick, gray clouds overhead.
Makoto walked down the empty sidewalk, the chill slithering past the collar of his coat, but he barely felt it.
Each step felt heavier than the last, the muted sounds of the city—cars in the distance, the low murmur of people passing by—only making the silence inside him louder.
Without thinking, he pulled his phone from his pocket.
Ayaka's name lit up the screen.
He stared at it for a long moment, thumb hesitating above the screen, heart pounding against his ribs.
'Apologize...'
'Explain...'
'Tell her you're sorry...'
But no words would undo what happened.
No words would erase the stunned look in her eyes when he lost control.
Makoto exhaled sharply through his nose and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
The cold bit into his skin. He welcomed it.
"I was too impatient..." he muttered under his breath, voice low, rough with regret. "Man...That's not me…"
He closed his eyes briefly, jaw clenching hard enough to ache.
He wanted Ayaka to choose him, freely and completely but not that way.
Not because he demanded it.
Not because he lost patience.
Makoto shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and kept walking, the sky above heavy and unforgiving.
"I'll definitely fix this." he whispered, his voice almost lost in the sharp wind. "No matter how long it takes."
He glanced up at the gray clouds overhead, feeling small under their endless weight.
Because he wasn't giving up.
Not now.
Not ever.
Even if it meant rebuilding every inch of trust he had just shattered.