Chapter 127: Can I Ask You A Question?
Chris slipped off his sleek black slippers with graceful ease at the genkan entrance, the soft leather soles placed neatly side by side against the wall of the narrow corridor.
His socked feet made almost no sound on the tiled flooring as he stepped forward, golden hair catching the afternoon light filtering from the living room.
The light coat draped over his shoulders swayed gently with each measured step, his slim black trousers accentuating his elegant stride.
He moved with that effortless poise, thin glasses perched on his nose, blue eyes calm and observant as he headed toward the living room where Satoru now stood awkwardly near the sofa.
Hinata, still flushed from the unexpected visitor, clutched the woven basket of fresh fruits tightly to her chest.
The sweet, earthy scent of oranges and grapes wafted up as she turned toward the kitchen at the back of the modest apartment.
Her practical white sneakers padded softly across the wooden floor, ponytail swaying with each step.
She set the basket down on the basic counter, the fruits rolling slightly against each other with quiet thumps. Opening cabinets and the small fridge, she began pulling out what little ingredients she could find—carrots with slightly wilted tops, a few potatoes, onions, and a packet of curry roux that looked like it had been sitting for weeks.
The kitchen, with its thin layer of dust on unused surfaces and the cold rice cooker, soon filled with the rhythmic sounds of chopping:
the steady thunk of the knife against the cutting board, the sizzle of oil heating in a pan, and the faint aroma of sautéing onions beginning to bloom.
Hinata worked quietly but efficiently, her light-blue blouse sleeves rolled up, trying to focus on the familiar task while her heart still raced from Chris’s presence just meters away.
In the living room, Chris approached the sofa where Satoru had been lounging moments earlier.
The worn cushions dipped as Chris lowered himself gracefully onto the seat, sitting sideways with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, his body angled close enough that the faint, clean scent of his cologne—something light and sophisticated—drifted toward Satoru.
He faced the mid-sized TV, where the news segment continued droning softly about city updates, golden hair framing his androgynous features under the warm rectangular patches of sunlight streaming through the half-drawn curtains.
Satoru, still standing, felt his pulse spike uncontrollably. His sharp observant eyes darted over Chris’s refined posture, the way the top button of the crisp white shirt revealed a hint of smooth skin, the effortless elegance that made the modest apartment feel suddenly inadequate.
Satoru’s hands trembled at his sides, a visible shake running through his fingers as he forced himself to sit back down on the couch.
The cushions creaked under his weight, his black pants pulling tight across his thighs.
His short dark hair felt damp with sudden nervous sweat at the nape of his neck.
Even as a seasoned SCO agent who spent hours peering through walls with his X-ray-like vision, Chris’s proximity up close rattled him.
The man’s beauty and calm composure were almost intimidating in this intimate space—handsome in a way that blurred lines, elegant without effort.
Satoru’s leg bounced slightly against the floor, his black shirt sleeve brushing against Chris’s arm accidentally as he settled, sending another jolt through him.
He gripped the edge of the sofa cushion hard, knuckles whitening, trying to steady the subtle tremors running through his frame.
Chris turned his head slightly, blue eyes behind the thin glasses narrowing with polite curiosity.
A small, charming smile played on his lips as he observed Satoru’s tense posture.
"What’s up with you, Satoru?"
he asked, his smooth, neutral voice warm yet probing, carrying that effortless charm that always seemed to put others at ease—or in this case, further on edge.
Satoru let out a short, awkward breath, rubbing the back of his neck with one shaky hand.
His sharp eyes flicked away toward the TV screen for a moment before returning to Chris.
"Well... it’s not my fault," he muttered, voice lower than usual, laced with genuine discomfort.
"It’s you—the calm, good-looking Chris sitting right here in my house."
The admission slipped out heavier than intended, his black shirt shifting as he leaned back slightly, still fighting the nervous energy that made his knee continue its subtle bounce.
The modest living room, with its low coffee table and scattered remotes, felt smaller under Chris’s presence, the faint sounds of Hinata’s chopping knife from the kitchen providing a distant rhythm.
Chris let out a soft, elegant laugh—light and melodic, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.
He tilted his head gracefully, golden hair shifting under the sunlight, one hand resting casually on his crossed knee.
The laugh carried no mockery, only quiet amusement, his blue eyes sparkling behind the glasses.
"You think too highly of me,"
he replied smoothly, his tone warm and self-deprecating. "When I’m not even as close as Rin."
The words hung with clear meaning—Rin possessed something deeper, a raw power and presence that outshone him in ways Chris respected deeply.
He spoke of his roommate with genuine admiration, as if acknowledging a superior force without envy, his elegant posture unchanging as he gestured lightly with one hand.
From the kitchen, the smells of cooking curry grew stronger and more inviting.
Onions caramelizing in the pan released sweet, savory notes that wafted through the open-plan space, mixing with the faint sizzle of vegetables and the rich, spiced aroma of the roux beginning to melt.
Hinata stirred the pot with steady motions, her white sneakers shifting on the tiled floor as steam rose gently, the homely sounds of a real meal being prepared filling the quiet gaps between conversation.
Satoru saw the moment as an opportunity.
As an SCO agent on long-term surveillance, information was currency.
He straightened slightly on the couch, forcing his trembling hands to still by pressing them into his thighs. The thin walls between apartments had already revealed much through his vision—Rin hunched over notebooks, typing away at stories while Chris handled the public side.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual despite the lingering nervousness.
"Can I ask a question?"
