Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
The bar was crowded—not uncomfortably, but just enough that the air pulsed with low music and the warm scent of whiskey and fryer oil. The lights were low, warm and golden, casting soft shadows over tables cluttered with drinks and peeling coaster edges. Glass clinked softly in the background, a lazy rhythm to the Friday night energy building in waves.
You were leaning against the bar, waiting for your drinks, while Kyōtani had ducked away to use the bathroom. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it, eyes on the bartender shaking cocktails two seats down.
Which was, in hindsight, the exact moment the universe decided to test your patience.
“Hey there,” came a voice to your left—slurred, low, and too close. You caught the sour tang of beer on his breath before you saw his face.
You didn’t turn immediately. You’d felt it coming—like a storm you could smell in the air.
“I been watchin’ you from across the bar,” the man said, a lazy, drunken confidence in his voice. “You look like you could use some company.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose. “I’m good, thanks.”
He chuckled. “C’mon. Don’t be like that. I’ll buy you a drink, sweetheart.”
You turned your head, offering a cool, unimpressed stare. His eyes were glassy, cheeks blotched red from too much alcohol, and his grin was the kind of smarmy that made your skin crawl.
“You don’t wanna do that,” you said flatly.
The guy blinked. “What? Buy a pretty girl a drink?”
“No.” You shifted your weight, voice firm. “Hit on someone who’s taken.”
He raised a brow, like he thought you were bluffing. “Taken? Don’t see anyone here. You ditched him already?”
You narrowed your eyes. “You need to back off.”
But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Men like that never did.
Instead, he laughed—loudly, like he’d just heard the best joke of the night. “Relax, baby. You’re hot. I’m just tryin’ to show some appreciation.”
You turned back toward the bar, trying to signal the bartender, but the guy didn’t take the hint. You felt him step closer, invading your space. Then his hand brushed your arm—too familiar, too bold.
That was when you felt it.
The air shifted. Like the pressure dropped.
A presence behind you—heavy, hot, and unmistakable.
Kyōtani.
A shadow passed over the drunk guy’s face, but he didn’t turn fast enough.
Kyōtani didn’t speak. He didn’t posture. He didn’t warn.
He just swung.
A blur of movement exploded at your side—a crack, loud and sharp, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. The guy lay sprawled across the scuffed floorboards, groaning, his hand cupping his jaw as shocked silence rippled through the nearby tables.
Kyōtani stood over him, jaw clenched, one hand still curled into a tight fist, his broad chest rising and falling as he stared down at the guy like he was debating whether to throw another punch for good measure.
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.
You just looked down at the groaning man and said, with a shrug and a sip of your half-warm drink, “Told you so.”
Kyōtani turned to you, golden eyes burning with residual fury, scanning your face and arms like he needed confirmation you were untouched. “He touch you?”
“Barely,” you muttered. “He tried.”
Kyōtani grunted low in his throat, gaze snapping back to the guy on the ground. “You’re lucky I stopped at one.”
The bartender said nothing. No one did.
You grabbed your second drink off the bar, rolling your eyes. “Guess I need a new gin and tonic now.”
Kyōtani huffed, throwing a protective arm around your shoulder, steering you away from the scene. “Let’s go. I hate this place anyway.”
“You hate every place.”
“Not true,” he muttered, hand tightening at your waist. “I like the ones where people don’t talk to you.”
You laughed under your breath as the two of you disappeared into the cooler night air, Kyōtani’s hand never leaving you for a second.
And as you walked, he leaned in, voice low and unrepentant.
“Next guy that touches you,” he growled, “I’m breakin’ his ribs.”
You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I know.”