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Coastal summers were the very few things a certain blue lip-stained Timurov looked forward to during the span of her semesters. The salt in the wind, sand clinging to her skin, the sunburns that came after staying under the sun for too long. No reputation to maintain, no weight on her shoulders, no constant feeling that she needed to be at the pinnacle of perfection, none of that— just her and the sea.
There was something holy in the stillness before the tide turned, something indulgent in the sting of salt air. The wind tangled through her hair like memory, the sand clung to her skin like a promise not yet kept. Here, she wasn’t a daughter. Or a Timurov. Or anything at all. Just a figure sunburned by her own permission, drifting somewhere between girl and ghost.
Here, the waves did not demand perfection.
This year, the sea still called—but silence answered her back. Riri had been held back at the main estate, Arkadi’s latest lesson cloaked in paternal concern. Summer tutoring, they said. A necessary delay in her development. Kira had scoffed when she heard it—privately, bitterly—then packed anyway, preferring exile to obligation. She’d rather face loneliness than be held captive in that mausoleum of a house, with its hush of power and insulated winters.
“We’re nearly there, Miss Timurov,” came the smooth, trained voice of her father’s driver. A suit, likely armed beneath the linen. A chauffeur, but also a shadow.
She nodded—barely—her gaze pulled to the window and the kaleidoscope of dying light. The house came into view slowly, framed in colonial whites and hedgerows sculpted with aristocratic precision. It stood as if awaiting her return, steeped in the kind of quiet nostalgia that scraped rather than soothed. She felt its familiarity slide beneath her ribs like an old violin note. Quiet, yet commanding awe—it felt almost rehearsed, steeped in nostalgia, its subtleties woven into the architecture like a Timurov daughter’s upbringing.
Maybe that’s why she kept coming back.
***
Morning cracked open before the world had a chance to stir.
Kira was already awake—always awake. Four a.m. belonged to her. Not by choice, but by the discipline insomnia had drilled into her bones. She didn’t move at once; thirty minutes were always spent in stillness, letting her mind map the contours of the day like a general charting out a war plan.
Only getting up the moment the sun begins spilling from her windows and past sheer curtains, her phone ringing with the alarm she had set, not out of fear that she wouldn’t be awake, but rather a reminder that she must start her day. Then came the cold shower, the ritualistic skincare. Every movement was curated. Every breath is a study in restraint. She told herself it was peace.
Kira inhales deeply, taking in the newly-lit candle’s scent of cedar, black tea, and chilled florals. Everything was in its place, controlled, perfect, expected. It was pleasant.
Until chaos intruded in the shape of group chat notifications.
St Dom’s StuCo
S. Hennessey: @K. Timurov hiii pressss, so sorry to bother u so early this morning ice queen but riri told us to accompany u in ur summer house so me and the rest r coming overrr see u in like 45?? Luv uuuu
M. Davis: For transparency i had no idea about this and they just basically kidnapped me, if anything this is chad’s fault so u can kill him instead 🙏
D. Ahlstrom: I BROUGHT PRETTY BOI WITH ME HOPE U GUYS DNT MIND. WELL KEEP IT DOWN. PROMISE.
R. Von Ludwig: ew dori we dont need to know that u guys r gna fuck its already sickening that i have to sit next 2 u guys in the back BOOOOOOOOO
D. Ahlstrom: NO FUCK U RUNA.
R. Von Ludwig: well fuck u too slut u still owe me 5 grand
D. Ahlstrom: THIS IS WHY YOUR SINGLE AND THE ONLY HOPE U HAVE IS THAT STUPID GRIZZLY BEAR THAT FOLLOWS U AROUND.
Kira pondered with a growing scowl on her face as she scrolled through the messages that were filled with randomly stringed obscenities in hopes of offending the other. Finally, she decided to reply.
K. Timurov: No. Turn the car around. Do not spoil my summer vacation.
S. Hennessey: welllllll
S. Hennessey: i dont think chad wants to drive back again 😅
K. Timurov: I don’t care what Chad thinks. Tell him to turn it around if he doesn’t want to lose his seat and the women he surrounds himself with.
S. Hennessey: ofc u dont my ice queen u r so badass i literally love u im gna go tell him rn
Before she could reply any further, a caller ID with R. Timurov appeared on her screen, and she let out a profanity under her breath before sliding the answer button.
“Don’t chase them away, Kira,” Riri’s voice drifted softly through the line. Warm. Soft, almost consoling like how you would with a child who didn’t want to listen.
“I didn’t invite them here, nor do I want them here.”
“I know. But I didn’t want you to be alone, I know you’re upset that Father made me stay behind, so think of this as me trying to compensate for it.” A beat passed. “Please, сестра?”
Kira’s jaw clenched. Her eyes betrayed her—softening for a breath. She hated it when her name was spoken like that. Like she needed saving. Like it was a weapon wrapped in silk waiting to penetrate underneath her defenses.
“I don’t need you to treat me like a charity case or pity me, Riri.”
A sigh could be heard from the other end before being overtaken by shuffling, like the person was moving around.
“You need something.”
The call ended. The silence left sharper than her tongue.
The toothbrush that was in her mouth was long abandoned during the exchange. She stands still with her hands cupping the edges of the counter. She stared down at the marble counter, her reflection warped by the cold surface. Her fingers brushed over it absently. Still. Strangely fragile. Like she might cause a fracture if pressed too hard. Underneath the veneer of her self-serving choices and honed words, she knew her sister was right to some degree— one Kira has never bothered to venture too deeply into, never too closely since it was often synonymous with weaknesses. Something she ironically couldn’t afford despite the assets at her disposal.
A moment passed. Then another. Then, finally: she quickly typed out another message in the group chat, before setting her phone down like it had burned her. She silently hoped that her decision wasn’t something she would regret.
***
Against her will, Kira waits by the grand foyer in a white linen midi dress, Oran flats, and a pale gray cashmere wrapped around her shoulder loosely. Her brunette hair was twisted slightly with a pearl pin holding it in place and brushed to one side, a gold barely-there necklace hanging just above her chest, her lips void of the signature blue hue, just a soft, flushed pink tone in its place.
Absentmindedly, she checks her phone just once.
5:46 AM.
She was about to shut it off before noticing the message from an unsaved number caught her attention. Her thumb hovered over the notification, pondered for a beat before clicking on it.
Coastal photo. No caption. Second-floor angle.
A familiar window. A reflection in the glass. Unmistakable bangs cut with delicate precision falling across their forehead.
A frown appeared on her face the moment she realized where it was taken from and who it was sent by. She didn't need a name or reminder to know who sent it— it was like clockwork. A routine. Yumeko was a mouse that kept pestering her, and like a cat addicted to catching her prey— she falls for it each time. Every single damn time.
Yumeko has never asked for permission to haunt her, either way.
The chat bubble appears on her screen just in time when she hears a car pull up on her driveway, so she discards the thought into the back of her mind and shuts off her phone.
A black SUV disgorged its chaos: braids, complaints, oversized luggage, and teenage irreverence. They flooded the foyer with chatter and too many limbs. Kira barely blinked.
She was already seated on the far end of the wraparound couch, long legs folded neatly beneath her, half-swaddled in the silk throw that didn’t belong to her. Hair still slightly damp from the shower, skin cool from the air conditioning. A book she wasn’t really reading lay open on her lap, held with the kind of grip one reserves for either weapons or lifelines. The others—Suki, Chad, Dori, and some of the newer recruits from the student council—had returned in a wave of complaints and oversized luggage and pre-college recklessness.
A girl with bronze skin and braids immediately comes to her side and greets her, “Your house is so nice, Kira—” Mary was cut off by Chad, who wore a grim expression, “So where are the beach babes? My back is killinggggggg me from the drive, we got lost like, twice, or something ‘cause apparently Suki doesn’t know how to read directions,” The boy with wavy brown locks that curled just above his eyebrows spat out in a hushed tone like he was snitching to the teacher who happened to be Kira.
“I can hear you, by the way,” Suki, who was glammed for apparently a modeling shoot at the beach, spoke from behind him while checking out his appearance from his phone’s reflection. “Everybody be grateful that our gorgeous ice queen, or should I say hot queen, is letting us stay at her gorgeous coastal home!” Suki enthusiastically said, behind him were Dori and Michael, who said nothing apart from a tight-lipped smile, receiving a dismissive nod from her as he trailed behind Dori.
“They’ll show you to your rooms. Don’t break anything. Or I’ll break you.” Kira smiled without teeth, and without it ever reaching her eyes, yet her tone was deadly sweet; they scattered like well-trained dogs.
By the time they gathered for breakfast, Kira had already finished eating.
The sound of utensils clinking against the porcelain plates and endless chatter that faded into the background fills Kira’s ears before going out the other, her eyes trained on the plate before her, back straight— rigid, chewing thoroughly like she even counted them before swallowing.
It wasn’t long before she finished her breakfast. She was about to stand up when Chad cleared his throat and nervously stammered an invitation, “ Uh— Kira, we were wondering if you wanted to join us later, uhm, we we’re gonna go on a boat and jet skiing with a couple other friends who were staying near us but totally get it if you don’t want to—”
“Sure.” Kira agreed with a soft shrug, and the table stilled.
“Did you say no?” Mary blinked, her expression slightly bewildered.
“Yes.” Kira rose from the table, spine a question mark of poise. “One o’clock is fine.”
“Uh. Around one? Is that alright with you? I- I mean, I can switch the time slots, it shouldn’t be that hard.” Chad answers, clearly taken aback by her agreement, unsure how he should respond or react due to the fact that he hasn’t seen Kira do anything for fun that didn’t revolve around merits. She only nods in response before excusing herself, leaving the now-silent dining table, like how the eye of the storm was misleadingly quiet, void of the chaos that trails behind its wake. Like smoke after a match is snuffed out.
Kira wasn’t sure why she agreed with it herself; perhaps it was because things fell into place, and it created a scenario where the outcome would be what she expected. A habit of falling into things where she could easily predict what could happen, spinning the threads of reality like it was a puppet show, and she was the master behind it all. The omniscient clairvoyant. Untouchable. Unbeatable. Like how everything should be.
She tells herself this explanation was acceptable and covered all the areas her brain would later try to sabotage her with, there was no other reason why she agreed. No other motive. It was simply because she wanted to, and she could.
***
The drive to the chartered yacht was quicker than she expected; Kira reclined in a linen lounger against one of the loungers on the deck, dark vintage sunglasses veiling her face, a book in her left hand, and the other occasionally picking up a sweating crystal glass filled with vermouth on ice. A drink that suits her curated image, cool, herbal, almost crisp— like a green apple, and slightly botanical.
The yacht rocked gently, and she let everything fade into the background while reading a book, Woolf, charmingly poetic, often in a stream of consciousness rather than structured. Enjoying both the ghostly company of the author and the sun kissing her exposed skin.
Kira then notices a shift in her peripheral vision, like someone had taken the seat next to her.
She doesn’t look.
She didn’t need to when she could feel who it was.
In her head, Kira had already mapped out how she could ignore the presence altogether, she was going to get up, walk straight inside without batting a single glance towards the girl next to her. Easy enough, she told herself. Yumeko’s gravity was different. Sticky-sweet. Dangerous. Her closeness made the world feel smaller, like a corridor closing in. Like a guilty pleasure she couldn't cure, an addiction she couldn't quit.
Kira swallowed. Told herself to rise. Walk away.
Except nothing was ever easy when it came to Yumeko Jabami. Everything was a gamble, a game waiting to be won or lost. A test of patience and restraint, even when everything in you screams otherwise. Good thing that Kira had a whole lifetime of practicing restraint.
Then— a tapping on her shoulder.
“You didn’t reply to me,” Yumeko speaks in a matter-of-fact tone. Still cheery. Sickeningly sweet. Infuriating.
“I didn’t know it was you.” Kira lies. But wasn’t that better than admitting that she could recognize the other girl by foggy reflection alone?
“Liar. I’m the only person you know with bangs.”
Kira smirked. “You assume too much. And no, you aren’t.”
A playful snicker erupts from Yumeko’s throat, soft, too close to her ear that she could feel the other’s breath. “I’m your favorite one, though, aren’t I?”
That was the moment everything cracked. Like the concept of time and physics was suddenly fractured.
Kira puts down her book and takes a long, sharp sip of her silky vermouth, swallowing it down forcefully. A droplet escapes the corner of her lip.
Yumeko reached out, wiped it away—thumb brushing her mouth like a secret. Or a prayer. Kira doesn't know which one's worse.
Then she licked it. Slowly. Without breaking eye contact.
Kira’s breath caught. Her pulse skipped.
Her eyes dipped to Yumeko’s mouth.
And then—she fled.
Inside the cool, polished interior, she found herself pouring whiskey into a heavy glass like it might cleanse her of something unsaid. The ice clinked against the rim. Her pulse echoed in her ears.
C. White: @K.Timurov wru prez ? need u here plz, going jetskiing and were short on ppl
Kira exhales sharply before rising, leaving her phone facedown on the countertop as she moves to join the others gathered on the yacht’s lower deck.
Most had already paired off—twos and threes, cutting quick patterns into the glimmering water—so it catches her attention when she notices an unclaimed jet ski tethered at the edge. Chad, already seated and behind him was some forgettable girl whose name none of them would bother to remember by morning, calls out with a boyish wince:
“Pres, you don’t mind riding with Yumeko, right? She said she was waiting for you.”
Kira’s gaze cuts toward the girl in question.
Yumeko, already settled with one hand on the handlebar, glances back and extends a loose offer—one hand held out in a mock invitation, palm open, eyes unreadable beneath her lashes, fluttering across Kira's figure, who was wearing a red and white plaid-patterned bikini.
Kira doesn’t take it, she mounts the back without assistance, her movements efficient, practiced. Yumeko retracts her hand with a faint shrug, as though it had never been extended in the first place.
Somewhere behind them, Chad shouts something indecipherable, but Kira isn’t listening—not when her chest brushes up against Yumeko’s back, not when she’s forced to register the quiet fact of their proximity. She’s close enough to feel it—the subtle movement of Yumeko’s breathing, the shift of her spine with every idle adjustment. The rubbing of their skin against each other made her feel dizzy, like she was high on the feeling of Yumeko's flesh against hers alone.
“You can hold onto me, y’know,” The girl maneuvering the jetski spoke in a low voice only both of them could hear. “Wouldn’t want you falling off.” Yumeko smoothly added.
There’s a long beat before Kira grunts in reply—noncommittal but compliant. Her arms come up slowly, encircling Yumeko’s waist without quite making contact. Close, but not close enough. Yumeko chuckles. The sound is soft, unbothered. And then, with no warning, she reaches back and pulls Kira’s arms forward until they’re firmly in place.
Kira doesn’t resist.
The engine roars to life, and they surge forward, weaving effortlessly behind the trailing formation of other skis. The salty wind slicks Kira’s hair back, water biting against her skin like sea glass, but she holds on.
For once, neither of them says anything.
Until—
“Did you follow me here?” Kira asks suddenly, voice taut. “I’ve always thought you had a stalkerish tendency.”
Yumeko’s reply is almost indulgent: “I bet you wish that were the case. Sadly, no—I came with family.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Hm?”
“On the yacht. Driving this.”
“Michael invited me,” Yumeko says, with a faux-casual shrug that Kira can feel. “Then ditched me for Dori.”
Kira stiffens, the faintest twitch of her brow betraying her.
“So I was the backup,” she mutters. The words come softer than intended, too honest around the edges.
“You were the first person I messaged at five in the morning,” Yumeko replies, not missing a beat. “Please don’t insult me by comparing yourself to a man. That’s terrifying.”
“I never said that,” Kira retorts. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Maybe not in words. But it felt like you did.”
“What you feel isn’t always accurate, Jabami.”
“Oh? So you’re not jealous that I might’ve come here for Michael?”
Silence. Longer this time. Even the waves seem to hush.
She doesn’t answer. She lets the question dissolve into salt and wind, her thoughts scattered across the sea spray. Her arms don’t loosen, not yet. And in the midst of it all, she learns how to just barely rest her chin— hovering just near Yumeko’s shoulder, not letting herself lean in further— just close enough to rest, not close enough to fall, afraid of the repercussions that came with getting too used to something.
Some things aren’t meant to be touched.
Some questions aren’t meant to be answered.
***
It’s half past eleven when Kira turns over again. The sheets feel too warm, the air too still. She hadn’t taken any melatonin tonight—she thought the sun and seawater might wear her out.
They hadn’t.
She stares at the ceiling until her eyes burn, only blinking when her phone buzzes against the side table. One arm stretches lazily to check, and she squints against the glare of the screen.
Seeing that it was from the same unsaved number that messaged her earlier that morning, she nearly smiles. Bites it back. Her teeth catch her bottom lip instead as she reads the message before changing the contact name to ‘DO NOT REPLY’.
‘You forgot your book btw’
Realization washes over her as she tries to recall if she ever retrieved her book in hopes that Yumeko was bluffing.
‘Leave it. I’ll just buy a new one.’ she replies, already turning over in bed.
A new message appears before she can put the phone down:
‘No need. I’m outside your window, can you open up?’
The following message made her brows knit. That can’t be—
She throws the covers off and pads across the room, parting the curtains.
Yumeko is really there— standing barefoot on the narrow terrace ledge, hood drawn up over her face like this is nothing unusual. Only the moon, the buzzing of cicadas, and the ocean waves served as accompaniment and background noise at the late hour.
Kira opens the window without a word and steps aside to let her in.
“You seriously came all the way up here for a book?” Kira says, not bothering to hide her skepticism.
“Well,” Yumeko says with that same purring tone, “I could’ve waited. But then I wouldn’t get to sneak in and pretend like we’re doing something we shouldn’t.” Her eyes then trailed down Kira’s body shamelessly, taking in how she was only in her silk black nightgown, disheveled hair, and the sleep-laced expression softening her usual steel. She steps forward. One... two... until she’s standing inches from Kira, eyes drifting—slow and unapologetic.
She slides her hood off. Tilts her head, deliberate and amused.
“Isn’t it much more fun when we’re trying not to get caught, Kira-san? ”
Kira doesn’t answer.
Not with words.
She just looks at her—really looks at her—for the first time tonight. Yumeko’s hair is slightly damp at the ends, curling in salt-touched strands that cling to her collarbone. Her hoodie is oversized, one sleeve slipped halfway down her arm. There’s a scrape on her knee, barely visible. She must’ve climbed up the trellis or jumped from the neighboring terrace.
It should be ridiculous. Immature. Inconvenient. It was. It is. Kira tells herself, repeating it inside her head.
But the burn in Kira’s chest says otherwise.
“You’re impossible,” Kira mutters under her breath, barely audible, finally, turning away as if the wall across the room is suddenly more interesting than the girl standing two feet from her.
“Mm, I’ve heard that before.” Yumeko’s voice is warm, amused. “Usually right before someone kisses me.”
Kira exhales slowly, eyes still never meeting the other's, fingers tightening around the hem of her silk dress. “You’re not funny.”
"Charming, then?"
She turns back. Yumeko hasn’t moved—still standing near the bed, watching her the way she always does. Like Kira’s some cryptic poem in a language she pretends not to understand but secretly memorizes anyway. Like a forgotten god that people no longer worship, apart from herself, a secret that she kept to herself— greedily.
“You should go,” Kira says. She hates how her voice falters just slightly at the end. She hopes Yumeko doesn't notice, but knows she does. “It’s late.”
“You invited me in.”
“I opened a window.”
Yumeko smiles. It’s not sharp this time—it’s quiet, soft at the corners, as if she knows how close Kira is to something she can’t quite name. She lifts the book in her hand—the one Kira forgot on the deck.
“I really did just come to return this, you know.”
Kira reaches for it.
"I never said anything about hidden motives," Kira replies.
Yumeko doesn’t let go.
Their fingers brush.
Barely.
But it’s enough. Enough to make Kira’s breath catch in her throat. Enough to make her heart stutter in that annoying, betraying way she’s spent years training herself to ignore. Enough to make her weak in the knees, enough to make every resolve she had crumble easily. Too easily. And only for Yumeko.
They stand there for a moment—book between them like a white flag neither of them is willing to wave. Like it held something neither of them could let go of.
“You don’t have to keep pretending you don’t feel it.”
Kira freezes.
Then, carefully, she withdraws her hand, taking the book with her. “Feel what, Yumeko?”
The name lands heavy on her tongue, too intimate to sound as indifferent as she meant it to.
Yumeko doesn’t answer.
She steps back instead, her expression unreadable now. The curtain falls again.
“Never mind,” she murmurs. “Forget I said anything.”
She moves toward the window.
Kira doesn’t stop her.
But when Yumeko swings one leg out onto the terrace, Kira suddenly speaks—barely above a whisper.
“Stay.”
The word hangs between them. Small. Fractured. Dangerous. Reverent. Holy.
Yumeko pauses, half turned.
Kira’s eyes lift, meeting hers at last. Unshielded. Pupils blown wide underneath the moonlight.
“I said you can stay.” She swallows. “Just… for a bit.”
Yumeko watches her carefully, as if waiting for her to take it back. But Kira doesn’t.
So Yumeko steps back inside. Closes the window behind her.
No more words are exchanged.
Kira doesn’t offer her the bed, and Yumeko doesn’t ask. Instead, she sits down at the edge of it, gaze fixed on the floor, the hem of Kira’s nightgown just barely grazing her shin.
Kira remains standing. Unsure. Restless.
The silence feels like something breathing between them.
“I’ll go in the morning,” Yumeko says.
Kira nods. “Okay.”
But she doesn’t move.
And neither does Yumeko.
Until—
“You always do that,” Kira says suddenly. Her voice is quieter now, but not softer.
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like I’m two steps behind. Like you know something I don’t.”
Yumeko looks up at her, lashes dark against her cheeks. “I don’t know anything you haven’t already tried to forget.”
Kira’s throat tightens.
The book in her hand slips to the floor with a dull thud.
She crosses the room before she thinks twice, and stops right in front of Yumeko—close enough that the air between them feels static-charged, electric.
“I don’t want to ruin this,” Kira says, finally.
Yumeko’s eyes flicker. Alive. Consuming. “Ruin what?”
“This,” Kira repeats, like it’s obvious. “Whatever it is we’re doing. Or not doing. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You won’t,” Yumeko says, and this time, her voice is soft. “You couldn’t.”
Kira’s breath hitches.
She leans in. Not enough. Just a tilt. A maybe.
Yumeko doesn’t close the gap. She never does. She always waits.
So Kira pulls away first. Like she always does.
But this time, it’s not out of fear.
It’s out of something she didn't dare to name.
She sits down beside her— quiet, tentative. Their shoulders brush.
Barely.
But it’s enough.