Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 163: 163 | A Factory Reset and a Pout

Kumiko’s entire body language transformed in real time. Her shoulders, which had been bunched up around her ears with giddy nervous energy, descended. Her jaw unclenched. Her breathing, which had been shallow and rapid for the past thirty minutes straight, deepened into something slow and even.

The rapid-fire blinking stopped. Her eyelids drooped to half-mast, lashes fanning against her cheekbones, and a look of pure, undiluted calm washed over her features like someone had poured warm honey directly into her central nervous system.

"Hnnnn..." The sound that came out of Kumiko was not a word. It was barely even a syllable. It was the vocal equivalent of a cat being scratched in exactly the right spot behind its ears, a low, involuntary vocalization of contentment that seemed to originate somewhere below her brain stem.

Her head tilted into his palm. Her eyes fell completely shut. The corners of her mouth turned up in a loose, dreamy smile that held zero resemblance to her usual maximum-wattage grin.

Jordan watched her with an odd sense of wonder. The trait description had mentioned endorphin release and neutralization of hostile cognitive states, but Kumiko hadn’t been hostile. She’d been a live wire of anxiety and joy sparking in every direction at once, a human firework that had been launching rockets nonstop since the parking lot conversation. And now, under his hand, she was... still. Content. At peace in a way that Kumiko Yamanaka probably hadn’t experienced since the last time she fell asleep in a warm sunbeam.

The effect was uncomfortably powerful.

Jordan removed his hand before the moment stretched past its natural boundaries. Kumiko’s eyes opened slowly, and for about three seconds she stared at him with an expression so open and unguarded that Jordan felt like he’d accidentally seen something private.

Then the light behind her eyes reignited. The spark returned. The twin tails bounced as she shook herself back into full consciousness.

"I... what was... that was really..." She touched the top of her own head where his hand had been, her fingers pressing into the spot as though checking for evidence. "Jordan-kun, what did you just do to me?"

"Patted your head."

"That was not a normal headpat. My grandmother pats my head. That was... that was like a factory reset. All my thoughts just went quiet. That has never happened. I have never experienced silence inside my own brain. Not once. Not in therapy. Not during meditation. Not during the guided visualization where my therapist told me to imagine a peaceful lake and I imagined the lake catching fire."

"Kumi."

"Going! I’m going!" She backed toward the door, both hands raised in surrender, her face still carrying the fading afterglow of the endorphin hit. "But I’m texting both of you the second I get in my car. And I’m sending Jordan-kun my streaming schedule. And a picture of the castella recipe. And possibly thirty to forty photos of outfits I’m considering for our first date, which we haven’t scheduled yet, which we should do immediately, which—"

"Kumiko."

"Gone!" She yanked the door open, stepped into the hallway, shot one final look at Jordan that contained enough raw emotion to power a small city, and pulled the door shut behind her.

Her footsteps retreated down the corridor. The elevator dinged. Mechanical humming as the car descended.

Silence. freewebnσvel.cѳm

Jordan stood in the middle of Chloe’s apartment and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding since approximately six-thirty that morning. Every muscle in his body unknotted at once. His shoulders dropped four inches. His spine actually popped from the release of tension. The exhale lasted so long that his lungs emptied completely and he had to gulp air on the inhale.

He turned around.

Chloe sat on the far end of the sectional with her arms crossed over her chest and her bottom lip pushed forward about a quarter inch. She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the wall approximately six feet to his left with the focused intensity of someone who had discovered an extremely interesting patch of white paint.

Ah.

There it was.

Jordan had spent the past week learning Chloe Kim. He’d catalogued her mannerisms with the obsessive attention of a man who knew his survival depended on reading the weather correctly. He knew the difference between her public laugh and her real one. He knew which side of the bed she preferred. He knew she stirred her coffee counterclockwise and cracked her knuckles when she was nervous and that her left eyebrow twitched microscopically when she was jealous. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Her left eyebrow was twitching.

The thing about Chloe was that she operated in two distinct modes around other people. Campus Chloe was bright, social, easy. She shared Jordan without visible effort, letting Kumiko and Alexis orbit close, maintaining that Instagram-perfect smile that never cracked. She’d literally told Kumiko she wouldn’t mind. She’d engineered this entire arrangement with the cool logic of someone managing a portfolio.

But when the audience left and the door closed and it was just the two of them in the quiet apartment with the purple LEDs and the smell of new electronics and chamomile tea, Campus Chloe packed up and went home. The girl who remained was softer, hungrier, more territorial. This Chloe needed physical contact the way other people needed oxygen. This Chloe curled into his side like a cat and hooked her leg over his thigh and pressed her face into his neck and stayed there until the world stopped spinning.

This Chloe was pouting because another girl had kissed her boyfriend’s cheek and he’d patted her head and she’d melted into a puddle of happy goo, and Chloe had watched the entire performance from five feet away without receiving any of the above.

Jordan opened his arms.

"Hmph." Chloe turned her head further toward the wall. Her blue streak caught the purple LED and turned electric violet. The pout intensified.

He kept his arms open. Waiting.

Three seconds. Five. Seven.

Chloe lasted nine seconds before her composure crumbled. She uncrossed her arms, pushed off the couch, crossed the three feet of space between them, and walked directly into his chest. Her forehead hit his sternum. Her arms wound around his waist. She squeezed with a force that compressed his ribs and communicated very clearly that she had been storing this particular need since Kumiko arrived at seven forty-five that morning.

"It’s... gonna take some getting used to," Chloe mumbled against his shirt. "Sharing you."