After school, the kindergarten yard overflows with giggles and chatter. Children skip out of the gates, clutching crayon-scribbled drawings or tiny cartoon-themed bags.
Hikari runs straight into her father's arms, and Hiroki gently lifts her up.
He takes her to their usual ice cream stand near the school. She grins from ear to ear, hugging her ice cream cone like it's the entire universe. Every now and then, Hiroki hands her a tissue to wipe her mouth—though the more he wipes, the messier it somehow gets.
"Finish it quickly, sweetie. We still have to stop by the supermarket to get ingredients for Mommy."
"Nooo! I want Daddy to cook! Mommy's cooking isn't as good as yours!"
"But she promised to treat us tonight. You better compliment her, okay?"
Hikari pouts and takes a big bite of her ice cream while shooting her father a skeptical glare.
Suddenly, she nudges his arm.
"Daddy, look across the street!"
Hiroki turns his head. The door to a toy shop across the road has just closed. Through the frosted glass, he catches a glimpse of a man standing inside—his eyes fixed on the father and daughter.
"That shopkeeper's staring at us again, huh, Daddy?"
"Yeah."
"Why does he keep watching us like that?"
He pauses for a moment, then scoops her up into his arms.
"Maybe he wants Daddy to buy you a toy."
"Then go buy it Daddy, I want a doll, a car and a superman!"
Hiroki chuckles softly, turning away.
"First, the supermarket. We'll think about toys later, my little princess."
Fifteen minutes later, their car pulls up in front of their house. Hiroki opens the door, and Hikari, seated in the passenger seat, jumps out and skips toward their familiar home. He follows, arms full with two heavy bags of meat and vegetables.
The door swings open, and Yuna beams as soon as she sees her daughter. She scoops her up and nuzzles their noses together.
"My little Hikari."
"Mommy, Daddy bought groceries so you can cook tonight!"
She raises her brows in mock surprise.
"Really? Where is he?"
Hikari immediately points behind her. Yuna follows her finger, catching sight of Hiroki, and her lips curl up naturally.
"Well then, I'll make us a delicious dinner tonight."
The evening passes in the warmth of their kitchen.
There are no fancy dishes, just a few simple homemade meals: salted grilled mackerel, hot miso soup, tofu sprinkled with fried scallions, and a neatly rolled tamagoyaki. Hikari eats happily, a bit of broth still clinging to the corner of her mouth.
"Mommy, this is so yummy!" she exclaims, her face the picture of adorable delight.
"Is that so? Mommy did her best."
Yuna picks up a piece of fish and gently places it in Hiroki's bowl.
"Here, have some more."
"Was I a good girl today, Daddy?"
"She was so wonderful. Even insisted on picking the vegetables herself!"
"Dad! I picked better than you!"
After dinner, Hiroki slips on a pair of gloves and starts washing the dishes. The warm kitchen light glints off his tousled blond hair, which has grown long and slightly messy after the day's events.
"Hold still."
Yuna walks over and reaches up to smooth his hair gently, tying it into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. Her touch is soft and slow, as if reliving a memory.
Hiroki doesn't turn around—he simply stands still, letting her do as she pleases.
"It's been a while since I cooked... I've gotten a bit rusty," she says as she releases the tied-up hair, which now falls just past his shoulders.
"You still cook just as well as before."
"Takano-san says she might be able to help me get a new job."
"What kind of job?"
"Production assistant at a small media company. The pay's not great, but it's stable."
"Do you like it?"
"Hmm... not sure yet. I might get really busy later."
Yuna leans against the edge of the sink, eyes still on Hiroki as he rinses the dishes.
"It involves foreign languages and broadcasting. I'll have to train my voice and write scripts, too. Oh, by the way… did you know?"
"Know what?"
"I'm learning Russian and French."
Hiroki turns, raising an eyebrow.
"Ambitious, huh?"
Yuna winks, then suddenly switches tones, teasing him in both languages.
Without a word, Hiroki leans down and kisses her—a short, soft kiss that silences her instantly.
When he pulls back, her eyes go wide, cheeks flushed red.
"You cheated…"
His voice is low, almost a whisper.
"Do whatever work you want, just… don't stay out late. Sleep early. Eat dinner."
Yuna bites her lip, grinning.
"You're overthinking it again."
Hiroki pauses, then lets out a helpless sigh.
"Well well, it's on you, you little brat."
Just then, the doorbell rings. They instinctively step apart, a trace of intimacy still lingering between them. The bell rings again, and Hiroki walks out to open the door.
Standing there is none other than Kurosawa Shimaki. He greets Hiroki cheerfully, holding a gift bag in one hand.
"Hey, Hiroki. It's Shimaki."
"Hey," Hiroki nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You even brought gifts?"
"Well, it's been a while. Plus, I wanted to share some news."
"Good news?"
"Exactly." They both chuckle.
"Where's Yuna?"
"She's inside."
….
Under the warm yellow lights of the living room, Yuna brings in a tray of tea and places a cup in front of each man. Steam curls up, blending with a cozy air tinged with something unspoken.
Shimaki looks at her and smiles warmly.
"You look a lot more lively these days."
Yuna tilts her head slightly, returning a soft smile.
"Really? I owe that to Hiroki's care."
"Then both of you are lucky," Shimaki teases with a wink.
Hiroki scratches his head, avoiding eye contact, his mouth quirking into an awkward smile.
"Oh right—where's the little one?" Shimaki glances around.
"Hikari's playing next door with the neighbor."
"Ah, is that so."
He pulls out a small pink box—a toy kitchen set—with a silver-laced card attached.
"I brought her a little gift."
"Oh my gosh, you didn't have to! Thank you so much, she's going to love it." Yuna accepts the box gratefully.
Hiroki notices the edge of a card peeking out from underneath and picks it up to read. Yuna leans in curiously.
"A wedding invitation?" he reads aloud.
Their eyes meet in mild surprise—then both break into laughter before looking back at Shimaki.
"Congratulations," Hiroki says, his voice steady and sincere.
"Wishing you all the happiness," Yuna adds gently.
"I'm inviting everyone close to me. You two have to come."
"Of course," Yuna nods—but there's a faint pause in her expression. She hesitates before asking,
"Everyone… as in everyone?"
"That's right."
"What about… Ryusei?"
Shimaki understands immediately. His expression sobers.
"Yeah. I asked the post office to deliver one to him. After all... he helped me quite a bit in the past."
Yuna nods slowly, lips pressed together. Hiroki remains still, his gaze quietly fixed on her, unreadable.
"It's all in the past now..." Yuna says after a while. "I just want to enjoy the day with everyone."
"Don't worry," Shimaki replies, his voice honest and reassuring. "Last I heard, he's living a quiet life. No more trouble. Just focus on being happy, alright?"
"Alright," she answers, her face relaxing a little.
….
Tokyo is not yet fully awake. The streets lie veiled in a thin layer of snow—soft and quiet, like a blanket of unmelted mist.
Shimaki leans back in the driver's seat of his worn-out taxi, eyes half-closed under the faint amber glow of a streetlamp. His hand lazily flips through the morning paper, but he can't bring himself to read a single line. His mind wanders to the thought of a hot cup of coffee—until a light knock on the window startles him.
A man stands outside—tall and slender, clad in a long gray overcoat. His unkempt hair falls over most of his face, a shadow of stubble lines his jaw. He trails behind a battered suitcase, the kind that looks like it has seen every backroad in the country. His eyes carry the weariness of many miles.
Shimaki rolls down the window and stifles a yawn.
"Morning. Hop in. You're just in time for my first ride of the day."
The man gives a slight nod and silently slides into the back seat. The suitcase goes into the trunk with a soft thud.
Shimaki glances at him through the rearview mirror, adjusts his seat, then speaks—trying to lighten the air.
"So, where to, sir?"
"Tokyo Station."
The voice is low, gravelly, marked by a distinct Osaka accent. Shimaki raises an eyebrow.
"Oh? Osaka, huh? A fellow Kansai native!" He chuckles as he starts the engine. "I'm from Kansai too—moved up here for work. Tokyo's been getting heavy snow lately. Heading back to Osaka sounds like a solid plan. Probably just drizzling there now, but definitely warmer."
The man doesn't reply. He leans his head against the window, gaze unfocused, watching the streetlights blur past.
Shimaki continues talking, mostly to himself at this point.
"Just the other day, I had this passenger. Petite girl, but stubborn as hell. Insisted I drive her around to find an old friend—called him a friend, but the look in her eyes said otherwise. We stopped in front of a house, and she just sat there. Didn't get out. Stayed silent for a long while, then told me to take her back to the station. Not a word after that."
He lets out a quiet laugh, then drifts into thoughtful silence.
"Funny, isn't it? People travel hundreds of miles... just to not see someone."
The man in the back says nothing, but his gaze lowers slightly.
The ride carries on in silence. The soft growl of the engine and the rhythmic sweep of the wipers across the snowy windshield are the only sounds.
Eventually, they reach Tokyo Station—a place of more farewells than reunions.
The car comes to a halt. The man opens the door and steps out, calm and unhurried. He gives a slight bow of thanks and quietly wheels his suitcase away.
Shimaki rests his hands on the steering wheel, watching the man's silhouette fade into the mist. He doesn't know why—but a strange stillness blooms in his chest.
Just another passenger among countless others... and yet, watching that figure walk away, it doesn't feel like someone escaping.
It feels like someone quietly retreating from the world itself.
╰⊰✧∘❉∘✧⊱╯