> "Some people aren't homes. They're the silence before the storm you never wanted to name."
---
Riku's Apartment
Evening, Late Autumn
He hadn't seen her in weeks.
Not since the library incident.
Not since the silence between them stopped feeling like waiting and started feeling like an answer.
He was making tea when the knock came.
Not urgent. Just… soft.
When he opened the door, she stood there—hoodie slightly damp from the drizzle, shoes mud-dusted, eyes carrying the quiet weight of someone who hadn't been asked how they were in far too long.
No umbrella. No explanation.
Just Yuki.
He stepped aside without asking.
She entered like she didn't need permission. And maybe she didn't. Not tonight.
---
Inside
She didn't sit right away.
Just hovered near the dining table, fingers brushing a chipped ceramic cup, eyes flickering toward the soft ticking clock on the wall. The smell of roasted barley tea lingered in the air.
She spoke first, voice low, as if afraid it would break something.
"Do you ever wish you hadn't waited?"
He turned from the counter, cup half-filled, and looked at her.
"All the time," he said quietly.
She nodded, like that hurt and made sense at the same time.
Then, without warning:
"I don't love you."
The words didn't land hard. They landed like they'd always been sitting between them, just waiting for someone to acknowledge them.
"But I…" she looked down at her hands. "I don't want you to go."
Riku exhaled, slowly. The cup in his hand had gone cold.
"That's not a promise," he said after a long pause. "That's a pause."
She didn't argue.
"I know," she whispered. "I just want tonight."
---
The Couch
She curled into the far end of the couch, wrapped in a woven blanket he'd given her back when they still talked with ease. Her knees drawn up to her chest. Hair damp against her cheek.
He sat across from her, in the single chair. Not close enough to touch. Not far enough to disappear.
Between them: a cup of tea. Two notebooks. A silence that wasn't uncomfortable—but wasn't peace either.
"Your exams are soon," he said finally.
She nodded. "Three days."
He studied her. "You haven't been to class."
"I know."
"Yuki…"
She blinked. Her voice stayed calm. "I'm not scared of failing. I'm scared of having nothing after I don't."
That was the kind of sentence that doesn't want a reply. So he gave her none.
---
> She didn't fall asleep.
But she didn't cry either.
She just breathed—like someone who hadn't been able to exhale for days.
And for tonight, that was enough.
---
Riku's Thoughts
He watched her in silence. The blanket slipped a little off her shoulder, revealing the pale curve of her collarbone.
She looked fragile. Not in the way of someone breakable—but in the way of someone who'd already broken and glued themselves back together too many times.
He loved her.
He knew that.
But he couldn't keep carrying the weight of being loved less.
Not anymore.
So he let her stay.
Just this night.
Just this time.
Without asking for tomorrow.
---
> "The cruelest thing about loving someone who doesn't love you back…
is how long you can survive on just their presence."
---
Yuki's Journal, Later That Night (Unsent)
> I didn't love you.
But I needed you to stay.
Because you never asked for anything,
and that made the world feel less cruel.
I didn't love you.
But I didn't want to lose you.
I wanted you to be near.
That's not love.
But it was enough to make me lie to myself for weeks.
She saved the entry under the filename:
When He Finally Let Go
---
Outside the Window
Autumn leaves clung to the window glass. Some were pressed flat by the wind, others drifted lazily to the damp earth below.
From far off, the sound of a clocktower chimed midnight.
Somewhere between now and morning, someone would wake before the other.
And know what it meant to leave without being asked to stay.
---
> "Not every silence is absence—some are the last shape of care."
---
The morning light crept in quietly, sifting through the sheer curtains of Riku's apartment like it was afraid to interrupt.
Yuki was already awake, curled into the far end of the futon, eyes open but unfocused. She hadn't slept much, though she wouldn't say she hadn't tried. The clock blinked a faint red in the corner. 7:06 a.m.
Riku hadn't moved. Or if he had, he'd returned to the same position: one arm under the pillow, breath steady and undisturbed. There was a softness to his sleeping face that she rarely saw—not peaceful, not quite, but quiet. Like something folded away.
She sat up slowly, knees drawn to her chest, sweater sleeves pulled down over her hands. Her journal was still where she'd left it on the table the night before. Unread. She hadn't meant for him to see it. But part of her also hadn't meant to hide it.
The room smelled faintly of last night's tea. The kettle was still half full. Everything felt paused. Not resolved—just paused.
---
Riku woke without startlement. Just a slow exhale, a blink against the light.
Yuki turned her head toward him. "Morning."
He offered a small nod. "You didn't sleep."
"You noticed."
He sat up, rubbing at his face, his voice still wrapped in sleep. "Kind of hard not to. You kept turning over every two minutes."
She gave a soft, self-deprecating smile. "Sorry."
"Don't be."
She looked down at her hands. The sleeves were fraying a little. "I wasn't going to leave. Not last night."
"I know."
That was all he said. I know. And that was enough.
---
They moved through the morning like people sharing a house after a storm. Cautious, polite, ordinary.
Riku made toast and miso soup. He didn't ask if she wanted any—he just made enough for two. She washed the cups without needing to be told.
Between the radio static and the gentle clink of dishes, they spoke only once.
"Exams start soon, right?" he asked.
Yuki nodded. "Two days. Tuesday morning."
"Ready?"
She thought about lying, but it felt heavy on the tongue. "I haven't missed the content. I just... haven't really been there."
"You will be."
She gave him a look. "You sound sure."
"I am."
---
Later, she sat at the low table with her books spread out, not studying, just... sitting. Her hands hovered over the pages like they were warm.
Riku stood by the window, checking something on his phone. He wasn't looking at her. Or maybe he was avoiding looking at her. She couldn't tell.
"Riku," she said quietly.
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
He turned, eyebrows raised slightly.
"For not making me explain anything last night."
He hesitated, then nodded once. "You don't owe me explanations. Just honesty."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"Not always."
She wanted to ask him what he meant, but she didn't. Maybe because she already knew.
---
By afternoon, the air was cool and dry. They walked to the bookstore. Not together, exactly—but not apart either. The sidewalk leaves crunched underfoot like quiet punctuation.
Yuki picked up a practice exam booklet and a mint tea. Riku bought nothing. They didn't speak until they reached the corner where they'd usually split.
"You heading back now?" he asked.
She looked up at him. Her fingers were wrapped tight around the tea cup.
"Can I stay again?" she asked. "Just until the exams are done."
His jaw tensed a little. Not in anger. In restraint.
"You can."
She could feel the but in his throat. But it never came.
---
That night, he set out a futon again. Folded the blanket. Left a towel on the edge of the table.
She stood in the doorway, watching him.
"You're not going to say it, are you?" she asked.
He didn't turn around. "Say what?"
"That this can't keep happening. That I'm using you. That you need space."
He paused. "I don't need to say it."
She stepped in. "Then what are we doing, Riku?"
He finally turned. His voice was quiet, not unkind. "We're waiting for the part where we both stop lying."
---
Yuki lay awake again that night, staring at the ceiling.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't thinking. She just... felt hollow. Not the painful kind. Just the kind where everything echoed a little too loudly.
From the other room, she could hear the soft buzz of Riku's desk lamp. He was still awake. Probably working. Or maybe just pretending to.
In two days, she would sit for her exam. And pass. And smile at the result. But she already knew it wouldn't feel like success.
Because Riku was right.
They were waiting.
But neither of them knew what they were really waiting for.
---
Later that night Yuki decides to not come again, perhaps she wanted to prepare for her exam, or perhaps she just wanted to grant Riku the space he wants.
But neither of them knew what they really wanted.
---