Rewrite Our Love? Too Late

Kasumigaoka Utaha pinched Yukima Azuma's cheeks, her fingers gently kneading his face like it was her own personal stress ball.

Inside, she felt it: a warmth, soft and golden, bubbling up from her chest and spreading all the way to her fingertips.

Sweet honey—that's what it felt like.

'All that worry... was pointless,' she told herself.

Yukima tilted his head in confusion, his brows drawing together slightly.

That alone nearly made her melt again.

If this were the past, she would've hugged him tight and tugged on those cheeks until he shouted her name in protest.

But now?

Well, times had changed. Still—she held his face between her palms for a few seconds longer, as if memorizing its warmth.

Then, with a satisfied sigh, she let go and met his gaze.

"That club," Utaha said, her tone suddenly serious, "is untrustworthy trash. I would never join it without a damn good reason."