Chapter 105: A Very Clumsy Kiss

"Iris."

James called out softly.

Iris didn't lift her head. She just buried her face deeper into his chest, both hands gripping the clothes on his back, gripping so tightly, as if he would disappear the moment she let go.

"Let me ask you a question."

James's voice was low and steady.

"After you answer, I'll tell you mine."

"You said you like me. Since you were fifteen. Can you tell the difference between liking someone and being grateful?"

Iris's body stiffened.

She slowly lifted her head, looking at James with those tear-reddened eyes.

"James, listen to me."

Iris's voice stopped shaking.

Not because she wasn't nervous, but because she was using all her strength to hold down the trembling.

"When I was fifteen, you got out of your car at the orphanage gate.

You were wearing a black leather jacket and sunglasses. I thought you were a movie star.

When you got out, you stepped in a small puddle. Water splashed onto your pants.

You looked down, didn't curse, didn't frown, just walked on.

That puddle was tiny, barely any water splashed up. You probably don't even remember.

But I remember. I remember every detail.

Because that was the first time I saw someone walk through dirty water with such a calm face."

James looked at her, saying nothing.

"Later you sponsored my education. I thought you'd be like those rich people—send money and forget about it.

You weren't.

You'd call to ask about my grades, not the scores, but what I was learning. You'd ask what classes I liked, what I didn't like.

You'd say... 'It's okay if physics is hard, just do more practice problems,' 'Be careful with chemistry experiments, don't burn your eyebrows off.'"

Tears welled up in Iris's eyes again, but she didn't lower her head, didn't hide. She just looked at James like that, letting the tears stream down her cheeks.

"You asked if I can tell the difference between liking and gratitude. I can.

When you're grateful to someone, you want to pay them back. When you like someone, you want to give yourself to them."

She reached out, grabbed James's hand, and placed it over her heart.

Through the sweater, James could feel her heartbeat... fast, heavy, like someone knocking on a door.

"Is my heart beating this fast because of gratitude?

When I blocked that bullet for you, my body moved before my brain—was that because of gratitude?

I stood here for almost twenty minutes, afraid to go in, afraid to leave, squatting in the hallway crying like an idiot—was that because of gratitude?"

Iris's voice finally started to shake, but she didn't stop.

"James, you don't have to like me.

But you can't say my feelings aren't real.

Because... I've already liked you for six years.

Six years is enough time for someone to figure out what liking someone means, and what it doesn't."

After finishing that sentence, as if she'd used up all her strength, she leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

Her hand still gripped James's hand, not letting go.

The hallway was quiet for a long time.

James looked down at their joined hands.

Her hand was small, cold, fingers thin like matchsticks, but gripping hard, so hard his fingers had white marks where she was holding them.

He took a deep breath.

"Iris."

"Are you done?"

"...Done."

"Then it's my turn."

James reached out his other hand and tucked the stray hair from her forehead behind her ear.

His movements were gentle, slow, like touching something that could easily break.

"I'm not good with words.

You've been with me all these years, you should know that.

I don't know how to sweet-talk people, don't know how to say nice things.

If you like me, I won't run.

If you don't like me, I won't chase."

He paused.

"But I owe you for that bullet. That's true.

No matter why you blocked that bullet, you took it for me.

That's something I'll never forget, for the rest of my life."

Iris's lips moved, wanting to say something.

"I'm not done yet."

James stopped her.

"You said you like me, since you were fifteen. I asked you a question, now you ask me one. Fair."

Iris nodded.

"You just asked me if I was afraid.

Afraid you couldn't tell the difference between liking and gratitude, afraid what's between us is debt, not feelings."

Iris held her breath.

"Yes. I'm afraid."

James's voice was low, so low it seemed meant only for her to hear.

"Not because I don't trust you. Because I'm afraid I can't tell the difference myself.

I'm afraid if I accept you, it's because you blocked that bullet for me, because I owe you, not because... not because..."

He didn't continue.

Iris waited three seconds, five seconds, ten seconds.

He didn't go on.

Iris reached out and gently touched James's face.

Her fingers were still cold, but this time they didn't shake.

"James, if you won't say it, I'll say it for you.

You're afraid that accepting me would be because you're grateful to me, not because you also like me. Right?"

James didn't nod or shake his head.

But his eyes said "yes" for him.

Iris looked at him and suddenly smiled.

The smile wasn't big, but it was genuine, like a flower blooming unexpectedly in winter.

"James, you're even dumber than I thought."

James's brow furrowed slightly.

"Let me ask you a question."

Iris straightened up, facing James. Their faces were very close, so close she could see her own reflection in his eyes.

"When you sponsored me back then, sent me things, remembered what place I ranked, remembered what I was studying... when you did all that, had I blocked a bullet for you yet?"

James froze.

"No. Back then I hadn't blocked any bullet for you yet. Back then I was just a nobody little girl who'd never even touched a gun. You didn't owe me anything. You just... cared about me."

Iris's voice was soft, like wind across a lake.

"So it's not because of that bullet.

That bullet came later. Before you cared about me, I already liked you.

Before you sponsored me, before you even knew who I was...

I had already seen you at the orphanage gate.

That was my thing. You don't need to pay it back."

James looked at her, looked for a long, long time.

Then he reached out and pulled Iris into his arms.

His arms held her so tight, so tight Iris felt like her bones were creaking, but she didn't struggle, didn't cry out. She just buried her face in his chest and closed her eyes.

James lowered his head, his lips landing on the top of her head.

Her hair was soft, fine, carrying the scent of shampoo, faint, like spring wind.

"Iris."

"I don't dislike you."

Iris's body trembled.

"I didn't before, I don't now, and in the future... I won't either. I just..."

His words were cut off by Iris's mouth.

Iris stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his.

Not a gentle test, not a careful touch,

but a reckless kiss that poured out all the emotions she'd suppressed for six years.

Iris's kiss was clumsy.

She had no experience. Her teeth bumped his lips, knocked the corner of his mouth until it bled, the metallic taste spreading between their mouths.

But she didn't stop, wouldn't stop.