That evening, she worked anyway.
She couldn't have done otherwise. The Tramonto Rosso had been fully booked for days, and there were even some regular customers. The scent of ragù and fish stew was already drifting through the dining room when Aiko tied the apron around her waist, tighter than usual. She had put on just a touch of makeup — a hint of concealer to hide the dark circles, and a bit of mascara she wished she had the courage to go without.
No one at home noticed anything. Neither her mother nor her father saw the veil of sadness in her eyes, the missing sparkle. But inside, every gesture felt twice as heavy. Every word to the customers was measured, every smile performed with pinpoint precision. She was physically present, yet it was as if she weren't there at all.
At 8:14 p.m., the bell rang.
She was arranging glasses at the counter when she heard it before she saw him: that voice, that laugh she had learned to recognize even through the sound of rain or the clinking of glasses.
Yuji.
With him were Nobara — proud as always — and Megumi, who greeted her with a slight nod, just as he always did.
"Aiko-san!" Yuji called out cheerfully, unaware that he was no longer exactly welcome. But when she turned and their eyes met, something broke.
It wasn't a loud break. Just a muffled sound, like a breath held for too long.
She merely nodded. No smile, no banter. Just a "Welcome" spoken in the flat voice of someone who feels cold even with their sleeves rolled up. Yuji's smile faded the moment he saw her eyes.
She seated them at their usual table. No comment about the "tart mission," no wordplay, not even a joke about the olive oil being "more magical than your techniques."
Nobara watched her from the corner of her eye, saying nothing. Megumi noticed something was wrong.
Yuji, however, was simply puzzled. He looked at her hands — so quick and light the week before — now slow, distracted, almost restless. He tried to follow her with his eyes as she walked back toward the kitchen, but she didn't turn around. Not even a half-glance. The others asked him what was going on, but he didn't know what to say.
During the meal, Aiko served the dishes like an automaton: speaking little, never lingering at the table as she usually did, and not even laughing when Yuji pointed out that Megumi had ordered the same ravioli for the third time in a row. She only nodded.
Later, when he tried to catch her eye as they paid, she had already turned toward the counter, busy arranging napkins that were already perfectly in place.
"Aiko…" he ventured.
"Everything's fine. See you later," she replied without looking at him. She kept smoothing those napkins as if they were made of porcelain.
It was the first time her words seemed to mean nothing at all.
Yuji opened the door and stepped out into the silence. Nobara shot him a glare and jabbed him with her elbow. "What did you do?"
Yuji shook his head, eyes fixed on the ground. "I don't know. Really, I don't."
He didn't speak for the entire walk back to the dorm. His gaze stayed on the pavement, his back hunched, eyes down, mind clouded.
Nobara and Megumi walked a few steps ahead, exchanging quiet comments about the nigiri — words he didn't even hear. All he caught was the sound of his shoes on the wet pavement and the relentless beat of one question in his head: What did I do?
He knew he'd been less present. He'd done it on purpose. He had started replying later, keeping his messages short, never writing first. He was fully aware he'd taken a step back.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he wanted too much.
Because every time he got a message from Aiko — even just a meme, even just "look at the sky tonight" — something exploded in his chest. A warm, beautiful… and frightening wave. And he never knew what or how to answer.
To him, Aiko was light. Aiko was speed, energy, a smile, strength. And he always felt half a step behind, always stained with curses, always out of place. He had thought: "If I pull away a little, maybe it'll fade."
But it wasn't fading. If anything, it was getting worse.
And now…
Her voice felt dim. Her gaze absent. Those beautiful blue eyes, different from the way they'd been that Sunday. Her hands never moving close to him, never brushing against him even by accident.
Aiko wasn't angry. She had become distant.
And that distance hurt more than any punch he had ever taken in a fight.
Not long after, once he got back to the dorm, Yuji ran a hand through his hair, fingers resting on his phone.
He took a shower, sat on the bed still slightly damp, without turning on the light, phone switched off in his hand.
He unlocked the screen and opened their chat.
The stickers she used to send were still there, the dumb jokes, the blurry photo of a burnt focaccia with the caption "self-destruction in progress."
And her last message was from two days ago.
Yuji typed:
"Everything okay?"
He shook his head, taking a deep breath. Then he erased it.
He typed again:
"Are you angry?"
He brought a hand to his face. Deleted that too.
He stayed there, motionless, the cursor blinking on the screen like a held breath. Like a metronome marking the beat.
And he felt that if he didn't do something soon — something real, something honest — he risked losing everything.
Not a girl. Not a date.
But that strange, precious thing that had grown between them.
That small point of peace in the middle of all the chaos.
—Tokyo, past midnight.
Yuji was still sitting on the edge of the bed, the room lit only by the dim glow of his phone. The cursor in his chat with Aiko blinked as if it were breathing softly. It took him ten whole minutes just to write four words.
— Yuji: Can I hear you for a moment?
No emojis. No "sorry", no "hi". Just that. Because everything else, by now, he didn't know how to shape or where to start.
He was about to close the app when he saw her come "online," and a moment later, the three dots appeared.
Typing.
Then stopped.
Then started again.
Then came:
— Aiko: I don't know what you want to tell me, Yuji.
His heart tightened.
It wasn't anger. It was fatigue. Disappointment. Distance. Coldness.
Yuji ran his thumb along the edge of his phone, hesitating, then pressed "Call."
The dial tone felt like it lasted for hours, but Aiko picked up almost immediately.
"Hello?"
"…Aiko."
Silence. All he could hear was her breathing, unsteady.
"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but I couldn't—"
She cut him off. Her voice was calm, but stretched tight like a thin wire.
"You haven't reached out, Yuji. Not since that night. Not a single message, not an explanation. Then the other day… I saw you."
He held his breath.
"With that girl. You were laughing. You looked like…" She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was a little lower. She sighed. "And I have no right to be shaken, I know. But then why did you go out with me on Sunday, if you knew you'd vanish the next day?"
Yuji ran a hand over the back of his neck. His breathing shortened. His throat burned.
"She was just a senpai, Aiko. I swear. She helped me with a technique I couldn't figure out. That's all."
Silence.
"Then why didn't you reach out again? Why did you start acting like nothing had happened?"
Yuji felt the words like scratches on his skin. He hadn't even realized how much he had hurt. Not her. Them.
He swallowed the silence, then said:
"Aiko… can we meet? Tonight. After you close the restaurant. Please. Not over the phone. Not like this. At least let me explain looking you in the eye. If after that you don't want to hear from me again… I'll accept it. But please, just let me tell you everything. Really."
Aiko hesitated.
He could hear her fighting between "no" and "maybe."
Then, almost in a whisper:
"I close at eleven. If it's still raining, don't make me wait in the rain."
Yuji held his breath. And when he answered, his voice trembled just slightly:
"I won't make you wait. I promise."
Tokyo, 11:06 p.m.
The Tramonto Rosso had been closed for almost six minutes. Inside, Aiko had tidied the tables, counted the cash, done the dishes, and turned off the lights and signs with the same automatic gestures as always. But this time, her hands trembled visibly. From nerves. She had looked at herself in the back-room mirror twice. Adjusted her hair, even though it was only mussed from steam and sweat. Put on lip balm — not for beauty, but so she wouldn't look too tired. So she wouldn't look fragile.
Outside, it was still raining, but only in bursts. The asphalt gleamed under the streetlamps like crumpled tinfoil.
Once she stepped through the doorway, Yuji was there.
Sitting on the low wall beside the entrance, umbrella resting next to him, closed. His black hoodie hung on his damp shoulders, hair still wet from running. He stood up the moment he saw her come out, unsure whether to smile or stay silent.
She closed the door behind her with the firm clack of the lock.
She didn't speak right away. Once she had settled herself and pulled down the shutter, she finally said, in a low voice:
"Did you get caught in the rain, or did you get here too early?"
Yuji rubbed his hands together, eyes fixed on his sneakers. "Both."
Silence. She lowered her gaze and turned away, starting toward the street.
Yuji lifted a hand toward her. "Aiko… I—"
She turned back toward him. Her gaze steady, her eyes resolute. She stopped him with a small gesture. She wasn't angry — just tired, worn out from the long shift:
"Talk. But no half-sentences. I don't have the energy tonight for emotional subtitles."
Yuji looked at her with an expression that was both tender and sad. Then he nodded slowly.
He ran a hand through his hair, then began:
"We saw each other on Sunday… And after that afternoon at the cinema… I realized I felt too good with you. So good that… I got scared. I kept asking myself if I can even keep up with you. You're… strong. Brilliant. You always know how to stay on your feet. Me… sometimes I feel like one bigger wave is enough to sweep me away."
She watched him, arms crossed, her eyes bright but not sad.
"I didn't write for days, Aiko, because I thought… maybe for you it was just a nice afternoon. That you'd already moved on. You've had experiences… I haven't. I'm… an idiot. I felt insecure."
He took a step closer, as if the words themselves were pushing him forward.
"That girl meant nothing to me. Just a senpai. But you… you're the one who stays in my head when I'm quiet. The one I miss on ordinary days, and the one I'm not sure I can touch without breaking something. That's why I went quiet."
Aiko took a step back. Not to move away — to breathe.
"You know, I didn't expect anything from you. I didn't want labels or promises. But I did expect… presence. Respect. And the truth. Above all, the truth."
He nodded. Then, in a lower voice:
"You're right, and I'm sorry. And if I have to, I'll start from scratch. Or I'll let you go, if that's what you want. But I needed to tell you this. I had to tell you, looking you in the eye."
She lowered her gaze to his rain-soaked sneakers.
Then she looked up again, blue eyes holding an expression hard to read.
"I'm not letting you go. I don't want to, really. But I'm not going to chase you either. Tomorrow, if you want, send me something that isn't an excuse. Send me something real. But you have to be yourself."
Yuji didn't say anything. But he nodded. Slowly. She walked past him toward the subway, without turning around, her stride steady, her shoulders cold. And he stayed there, watching her figure grow smaller and smaller in the rain, his heart pounding as if that had been the hardest battle he'd ever had to face.
12:23 a.m.From: Yuji Itadori
"I know I shouldn't bother you… but I'm writing anyway. Thank you for listening to me. I know it's not enough. I know I messed things up, that I left you alone with a thousand questions and no answers. But that afternoon meant everything to me. I'm not writing to ask for forgiveness. I'm writing because… I don't want to lose you anymore out of fear that I'm not enough. Sleep, if you can. But tomorrow, if you read this message… know that whatever you want to tell me, I'll be here."
– Y.
Tokyo, 12:36 a.m.
Aiko was still sitting on her bed, hair loose over her shoulders, wearing an oversized pajama top, with the weary air of someone who had lived too much in a single day. The glow of her phone lit only part of her face — her eyes fixed on Yuji's message, her fingers motionless.
She had read it three times.
Every word was simple, yet carried the weight of miles walked to reach her. It didn't ask for forgiveness. It didn't make excuses. It was simply true.
And maybe that was exactly why it made her pull her knees to her chest and rest her head against the wall. Because it was the first time he seemed like he wasn't about to run away.
She opened their chat. Stayed there for a few seconds, staring at the empty field. Then she began typing.
Aiko, 12:41 a.m.
"Yuji… What you wrote… it hurt, but it also felt good. Because it's true. And I don't want you to pretend with me. If there's something that scares you, if you think I'm 'too much' or that you're not enough… tell me. Even if it makes your voice shake. But don't shut me out. I don't want you to close yourself off when you feel lost. I want you to learn to trust me too. Not just for laughing or eating together. But for when everything inside you goes dark and you don't even know why. I'm here. But only if you are too."
Then she set her phone aside, switched on the small bedside lamp, and stayed there for a few minutes, listening to the quiet city and the faint hum of her still-running desktop computer.
She didn't know if he would reply. But that night, for the first time in days, she felt just a little lighter.