[DOESN'T CONTINUE] I'm sticking to Akiko

After your shift with the dancers, you return to the hotel with an hour of free time. You linger in your room, hoping Scarlet might pop by to catch up, or even Kenji. Instead, you’re left dwelling in your room, thoughts heavy until dinner.

You grab a tray and find a table, alone for a few weighted minutes. Akiko eases beside you, tray in hand. She grins down, catching your eye. “Still good for tonight?” she whispers.

You pause, Mikka’s job and Scarlet’s probing flashing—her watch on Sachio’s trail might cover you. Akiko’s twinkle pulls harder. You offer a small smile. “Of course.”

Akiko fights a grin, losing brightly. She glances at a table of dancers behind you. “I’m eating with the others. See you tonight, Warren.” Her wink lingers, soft and warm.

Your mind drifts to your first night with Akiko—her first time, tender and raw. You can’t shake her face from your mind, those moments echoing, no longer just memories. Your pulse quickens, a quiet thrill, but duty bites—Sachio’s slender frame, RTE’s leash.

Mikka slides into your booth, Zuprik looming. You snap from reverie, mistaking Mikka for Scarlet at first. Your smile flattens, the hard contractor stare locking in. Mikka leans close, grin toothy. “Still good for that job?”

“I ought to be,” you say, forking chicken. “When is it?”

“Ten tonight,” Mikka says, too close to Akiko’s eleven rendezvous.

“It’ll have to wait,” you counter, chewing. “Got pulled into a contractor gig—RTE’s wet works, McKinley’s call.”

Mikka’s eyes dart to Zuprik, voice cracking. “What? I didn’t hear about this.”

“Subcontractor side,” you say, slow, like he’s thick. “Doesn’t involve regulars.”

“Fuck,” Mikka mutters, hands flung out, pissed at the inconvenience—your pull toward Akiko cloaked. “That’s a wrench. What’s the gig?”

“Meeting McKinley at eleven. Wet works, late-night shit. Hard to say what’s involved,” you lie smoothly, almost believing it yourself. “What was your job?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mikka says, waving an envelope—at a glance, it’s cash. “This is mine. No job, no pay. Clear?”

“Clear,” you say, stifling an eyeroll. “That’s how it works.”

Zuprik cuts in. “Watch the attitude, contractor.”

“You’re not in this, suit,” you snap.

Mikka waves them down. “Relax, both of you. Zuprik, we don’t need Visser. It was just convenient, yeah? No harm, no foul.”

You raise an eyebrow, wondering what’s behind the cash—Sachio’s peril, those “pills”? You stay nonchalant, not overplaying. Dinner drags awkwardly with them, the hairs on your neck prickling—Scarlet or Kenji watching? You can’t look without tipping Mikka, so you eat, waiting to slip away.

Time crawls. At ten minutes to eleven, you sneak from your room, checking for shadows. Caution makes you late to Akiko’s hotel room. She answers instantly, pajama bottoms and oversized hoodie framing her. Her brown eyes twinkle with admiration, bright and unguarded.

“Hey,” she says, keeping her distance, shy in this new world of intimacy. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you say, embracing her with a loose hug, which she quickly turns into a tight one.

Her scent rises to your nose, stirring a thrill. Her warmth soaks into you, and the world outside this room no longer matters. When she pulls back, you’re still in each other’s personal space, but it doesn’t feel tarnished or disrupted. Instead, it’s clean and perfect. Her brown eyes fix onto yours, and she smiles sheepishly.

“You look good,” Akiko says, eyes studying you closely. Her smile crooks, embarrassed, cheeks flushing. “I… want to talk...”

Akiko stays close, brushing against you. “But we don’t have much time together. So, should we just…?” She fidgets, biting her lower lip, hoping you’ll finish her unspoken hopes.

Your brows knit, feigning you don’t know where she’s going. Her blush deepens, eyes shy. “Have sex?” she whispers, voice soft with newness.