Aftermath & Love Hotels

The silence at breakfast was a thick and suffocating. The only sounds were the clink of Rei’s chopsticks against her bowl and the soft, infuriatingly steady rhythm of Karasu’s breathing. She kept her eyes fixed on her miso soup, the steam doing little to warm the cold knot in her stomach.

She could feel his gaze on her, a tangible pressure even without looking. He had to have seen it. The slight puffiness around her eyes that even her expertly applied makeup couldn’t fully conceal, the faint, bruised shadow beneath them that spoke of a sleepless night spent swallowing tears into her pillow. But true to his nature, he said nothing. He simply ate, his expression a mask of detached composure, as if the seismic shift between them last night had been nothing more than a minor tremor.

The injustice of it burned in her throat, hotter than the soup. He had reduced her to a crying begging girl and now pretended he had nothing to do with any of it. As he finished and rose from the table, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from his pinstriped vest, Rei finally spoke. Her voice was flat, devoid of its usual edge, aimed at the tabletop rather than at him, “I won’t be home Saturday night.”

Karasu froze mid-step, his back to her. The air in the small kitchen seemed to crackle. She could almost hear the calculations whirring behind his silence. He knew what it meant. Who it was with. What she intended to do. She braced for the opposition, for the cold, commanding order to stand down. She longed for it, wanted him to forbid her, to prove he cared enough to own up to his jealousy, even in his rejection. But Karasu Komorebi did not operate on sentiment. After an instant that stretched into an eternity, she heard the familiar click-flick-hiss of his lighter. The acrid-sweet scent of his cigarette filled the room. He took a long, slow drag, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

When he finally spoke, his voice was as calm and impersonal as a news bulletin, “Be careful. Don’t get caught by his guards.” A pause. Then, the sound of his footsteps retreating, the click of the apartment door and he was gone. Rei sat alone at the table, the rest of her soup going cold. The permission, delivered as a cold tactical instruction, was a far crueler punishment than any prohibition could have been. He wasn’t protecting her; he was managing an asset.

Room 712

Saturday night found Rei standing before a nondescript door wedged between two flickering drycleaners deep in Sakura Avenues. The sign for the Starlight Inn was a pathetic flicker of pink neon. She pushed the door open and stepped into a lobby that smelled aggressively of artificial roses and bleach. An automated kiosk dispensed a keycard without a word.

Room 712 was a garish parody of intimacy. The walls were padded with red velvet, and a large, heart-shaped bed dominated the space, covered in black satin sheets. Overhead, holographic hearts flickered on and off, casting a pulsating red glow. The air was thick with the cloying scent of stale perfume layered over the sharp tang of industrial disinfectant.

Takumi was already there, pacing nervously. He’d forgone his usual crisp suit for dark trousers, a white shirt and a grey sweater that made his eyes seem softer, more vulnerable. He turned as she entered, a jumble of relief and anxiety on his handsome face. “Rei! You came. You look… wow”, he fumbled with the collar of his shirt, his words tumbling out, “I mean, really. Just… fabulous.” Rei forced a sweet, practiced smile, the kind Yuri had drilled into her. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” she purred, closing the door behind her. The lock clicked loudly. She could feel his nervous energy filling the tacky room. “Relax,” she said, her voice a low murmur as she crossed the space and took his hand. She led him to the edge of the heart-shaped bed. As he kissed her, his movements were eager, earnest. His hands fluttered at her sides. Rei closed her eyes. Her heart wasn’t racing with anticipation; it was a frantic, pounding drumbeat, a desperate, furious need to seize control, to erase the memory of Karasu’s rejection by giving herself away on her own terms.

She began guiding Takumi’s hands to her hips, she leaned closer at what she guessed was the right moment. She made a gentle encouraging sound when he fumbled with the clasp of her dress. It was a meticulously choreographed dance, a script written by the hostesses of the Den. But in the middle of it, a cold, sharp thought pierced the mist. Karasu, with his instincts, would see right through her. He would know she felt nothing. And if he knew she felt nothing, why would he care? Why would he feel the jealous burn she so desperately wanted to ignite in him? The best revenge wouldn’t be a hollow performance; it would be her genuine pleasure, would be demonstrating she could want someone else.

She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss. Takumi’s face was flushed, his grey eyes hazy with desire. “Wait, Takumi…” she breathed, her voice a little unsteady now, the act cracking to reveal something real, “Can I tell you something first?” He blinked, his breathing heavy, “Of course. Anything.” He reached up, his touch surprisingly tender as he pushed a strand of her ruby hair behind her ear. The gesture was so sweet it undid her. A hot blush spread across Rei’s cheeks, a wave of genuine embarrassment and vulnerability. She looked down at her hands, then back up at him, her black eyes wide, “This is… this is my first time.”

Takumi’s eyes expanded in shock. For a moment, he looked utterly panicked, then a slow, happy, almost reverent smile spread across his face. “Oh. Rei”, he cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin, “Don’t worry. Don’t be nervous. I’ll be so gentle.” He let out a soft, self-conscious laugh, “I’ve only done it a handful of times myself… and honestly, I just did it more to, you know, try it”, he leaned in, his confession as honest as hers, “But with you…”, he kissed her again, this kiss slower, deeper, filled with a new-found confidence and sensitivity, “I really want you.”

Something in Rei’s chest loosened. The calculation didn’t vanish, but it blurred at the edges, softened by his sincerity. When he laid her back on the ridiculous satin sheets, his touch was patient, questioning. She started following him. The flickering holographic hearts danced across their skin. And when she finally let go, when a moan that was entirely real escaped her lips, it wasn’t just for Karasu. It was for her. For the feeling of being wanted, not as a tool or a pawn, but as a woman. It was a messy, complicated truth, tangled up in lies, but in the garish glow of the love hotel, for a few hours, it felt real enough. And the performance and her own desires became inextricably intertwined.

Even though she was using Takumi. Using his infatuation, his body, as a tool to sand away the last rough, exposed edges of herself, she melted genuinely against him. She focused on his breathing, his gentle yet gradually more controlling touches and kisses and she let herself drift away with him, giving in to her own vulnerability and desires. Each touch was a defiance aimed at the man who had dismissed her. Every gasp she refused to fake was a nail in the coffin of the girl who had cried herself to sleep.

When it was over, and Takumi lay sleeping beside her, a blissful, oblivious smile on his face, Rei slipped out of bed. She stood by the window, looking down at the streets of Mirage City, wrapping herself in a bathrobe that felt as cheap and temporary as the room.

She didn’t feel overcome. She felt hungry still. Takumi had been a perfect mix of respectfull and dominant. Asking permission, pausing when it hurt, yet pushing forward when she gave him the okay. She had felt wanted, enjoyed his embrace. The innocence was gone, just as she’d wanted. But in its place was not the cool, experienced control she craved. It was just a cold, quiet void, and the lingering, phantom scent of blue cigarette smoke. She walked back and laid down beside Takumi. He mumbled something in his sleep, then pulled her closer. She didn’t cry, but something stirred in her, like a puzzle-piece missing. While staring at the flickering hearts above them, she held on to Takumi’s arm and fell into an exhausted sleep.

The morning light that filtered through the cheap, tinted windows of the love hotel was a sickly shade of orange, stained by the perpetual glow of the city. Rei woke to the sound of a shower running. The brief hope that he was still there a fleeting warmth in her chest. But the water cut off and the bathroom door never opened. There was no Takumi emerging, wrapped in a towel and smelling of steam. It was just the empty, humid silence. Above her she heard a couple fighting, then the bed creaking. They would probably need another shower soon. Takumi was gone. The other part of the mattress beside her was cold. On his pillow, weighed down by the hotel’s complimentary bottle of water, was a folded slip of paper, scrawled in a hurried, masculine hand.

Rei,

Last night was… I don’t even have the words. I really mean it. You’re incredible. I had to bolt before my security detail starts scanning every love hotel in the prefecture. My father is onto me. I have to lay low for a bit. It might be a while before I can see you again, but we can text. Use this number. Don’t lose it.

— T.J.

A string of digits was written below.

Rei read the note once. Then again. The paper felt flimsy and insignificant in her hands. She believed him, trusted the earnest, infatuated guy who had held her like she was something precious. The logic was sound, the danger real. But the coldness seeped in anyway. It started in her fingertips and spread through her veins, a familiar, hollow chill. Once again, she was alone in a room that wasn’t hers, the temporary warmth of another person’s body already a memory. She was a secret to be hidden, a pleasure to be enjoyed and then left behind with a note. You’re the only one you can count on, a lesson learned in back alleys and hungry nights, echoed in her mind. It was a truth as solid and cold as the pavement outside. But knowing it didn’t stop the ache. It just made everything lonelier.

Her eyes scanned the garish room, the heart-shaped bed, the tacky holograms, the water bottle. She needed to get out. After showering hurriedly, she pulled on her clothes from the night before, the fabric feeling strange against her skin. She folded the note, tucked it into her coat pocket, and left the keycard on the table.