SUB ROSA | Wind Breaker

Arc 4 || 11. The Beds We Lay In

~ Endo's POV ~

The door slammed against the wall as Endo stormed inside, his breath ragged, his skin still burning. His fingers curled and flexed at his sides, twitching as if still grasping for something—for her. The heat of her skin still lingered in his palms, her scent clung to his clothes, and God, he could still feel her. The way her fingers had twisted into his shirt, desperate, clinging. The way her thighs had tensed around his wrist, her back arching into him, her breath hot and uneven against his ear, as if she wanted to crawl inside him.

And then, just as quickly as she had fallen apart beneath him, she had shut down. No trace of vulnerability, no lingering hesitation—just a cold smirk, that unreadable gaze locking him out like none of it had ever happened. The moment she had given in, the second she had let herself break, she had erased him from the equation. Like she had never begged, like she had never trembled, like he had been nothing more than a passing amusement. His pulse thundered in his ears, a low growl curling at the back of his throat as he lashed out, kicking at the nearest object—a discarded can, useless and weightless, clattering against the floor with an unsatisfying thud.

"Fucking bitch." The words tore from his throat, venomous, raw, something between fury and something darker, something he couldn't name. His chest ached, not from exhaustion, but from the fury she had left behind, from the ache she had carved into him. She had taken hold of him in a way no one else ever had, gotten inside his head, under his skin, and left him here drowning in it.

Across the room, Takiishi barely acknowledged him.

Slouched on the couch, one leg lazily draped over the other, his fingers scrolled idly through his phone, the other hand lifting his cup of boba to his lips. He took a slow sip, the quiet pop of tapioca against plastic the only sound in the silence. His gaze flickered up—brief, unreadable—before returning to his screen.

Indifference.

Any other night, Endo would have done anything to earn more than just a glance. But tonight, he didn't care. His world had shrunk into something small, something ugly, something that ached beneath his skin like an open wound, something that had her at its center.

"She's driving me fucking insane." His voice came out rough, uneven, almost breathless. He raked both hands through his hair, pacing, the movement erratic, restless. "I can't—fuck, I can't get her out of my head."

His breath came harder, his chest rising and falling with frustration "The way she fucking—" His voice cracked, his jaw tightening. He could still see her, the way her body had shaken, the way she had cried, and still, still, she had smirked at him.

The way she had told him, through fucking tears, not to stop.

And then, the way she had flipped the switch—just turned it all off, like he hadn't mattered.

A sharp, bitter laugh scraped past his lips.

"She wanted it," he muttered, his head tilting back, eyes shut. "I know she fucking did. Even while she was crying—especially while she was crying." He hissed, his fingers twitching at his sides. "She liked it. She fucking loved it."

And yet—when it was over, when she had taken what she wanted, she had discarded him. That same flat, empty gaze, that same smirk, like she had let him think he had won. Like she had let him play his game, when really, she had been in control the entire time.

The thought made his stomach churn.

Takiishi tapped his phone screen again. Took another sip.

Endo's fingers curled into fists.