The fish market smelled of salt air, the purifier and the hum of boat engines. Aiko's hands gripped crates of tuna and cuttlefish; the vendor joked about the cold and the quality of the catch, but she answered only with a polite smile. At the flower stall on the corner, she bought a small bouquet of white chrysanthemums—not for the restaurant, but for herself: she needed something that carried both silence and beauty.
By mid-morning she was already at the restaurant, a hot pan hissing in front of her and steam rising into her face; she felt alive and exhausted at the very same moment. When her mother came to take over, she allowed herself two minutes out back, her spine resting against the service door. She closed her eyes, let the breeze slip beneath her collar and wondered if Yuji was okay—what he might be doing just then…
To distract herself, she set about tidying the storeroom: labels straightened, flours aligned, sacks of rice arranged by date. Everything in its place—everything except herself.
Toward evening, a young boy forgot his change on the counter and rushed back to retrieve it; Aiko handed it to him with a broad smile—the first genuine one of the day. She discovered she could still do that. When she closed the register, she counted the bills twice to be sure (as she always did); her wrist trembled slightly, not from fatigue but from the awareness that things were working even without Yuji by her side. It wasn't a victory; it was simply a fact.
Outside the restaurant, Yuji leaned against the wall, hood pulled up. His eyes were fixed on the entrance and the dining room beyond. He hadn't written since that morning. Nor called. He had given her space, just as Nobara had told him to. But inside that space, his mind had filled the screen with a cinema of fears and silent films.
Through the fogged glass he spotted Kazuma, folding napkins with theatrical flair as he chatted with Aiko. She said something and without a second thought he bowed like a servant in a period comedy.
Aiko laughed. A little longer this time.
Yuji watched her lift a hand to her forehead, brushing the smile away as if it embarrassed her. But she had smiled. Not at him.
For a moment his chest tightened, as though he'd taken a blow below the belt while he was off guard. He walked away… eyes lowered, mind elsewhere.
Back home, Aiko switched off her phone again without checking a thing. Only then, in the dark, did she let two tears slip down to dampen her temples. They went no further: they dried before they could touch the pillow. She told herself she wasn't giving up. She was waiting to see whether Yuji's silence could turn into an honest word, or if it was destined to remain an empty room.
She fell asleep with the faint scent of chrysanthemums on her nightstand. Her breathing was quiet, as if she didn't want to make a sound inside the distance.
***
Yuji was sitting on the floor, back against the bed. Megumi was leafing through a book in silence—the kind of company that never asked questions but understood everything.
Yuji let out a sigh.
"I'm not jealous, okay?"
Megumi slowly lifted his gaze, like an owl.
Yuji drummed his fingers on the floor. "It's just that he's there polishing glasses like… like an idiot."
"Did you count how many times she smiled?"
"No."
Pause.
Megumi went back to his book without another word. Yuji slumped onto his side.
"Maybe I should smash his face in."
"Yeah. That way Aiko will never speak to you again."
"That idiot's going to have to figure it out, one way or another."
"Then you're the one in the wrong."
Yuji closed his eyes. He stayed there on the floor, elbows on his knees, staring into nothing. Megumi kept reading, but every so often cast a quick glance—one of those that looked indifferent yet measured the heartbeat of the room.
Yuji scratched the back of his neck hard.
"Kazuma pisses me off."
"I figured."
"No, I mean it." A pause. "He's got that face, like… like 'I'm the one who makes her laugh, and you're just the guy with the magic punch.'"
"Your jealousy is poetic."
"My jealousy is pissed off."
Megumi closed the book. Calmly, without a sound.
"You really want to smash his face in?"
Yuji looked at him, eyes red and tight.
"I won't do it—Aiko would be furious. But yeah, I want to. God...I want to!"
There was a moment of silence. Then:
"It's just… Aiko isn't just like anyone else. She's…"
He stopped, searched for the word. Didn't find it. Shrugged in frustration.
"She's too much. Too important. When she's around, I feel like everything makes sense. When she's not, I feel like some idiot with a crooked heart."
Megumi watched him a moment longer. Then he stood, went to the desk, poured himself some water.
"Then stop waiting for her to forgive you on instinct. Go talk to her."
Yuji shook his head, burying his face in his hands.
"I'm afraid of making it worse. She asked me for time, and I respect that."
Silence.
Then Megumi added smoothly:
"Anyway, if you want to punch that guy in the face, at least do it outside of work hours."
Yuji laughed, choked. Then stopped.
"If he makes her laugh like that in front of me again, I'll do it."
"Let it go."
"I swear I will…"
"No. Don't do it."
Yuji lifted his face, a weary grimace:
"I'm sick of feeling invisible."
***
Yuji had waited for the quietest hour: after service, when the dishes were still warm and fatigue began to melt even the hardest edges of tension. He had thought of writing first, then deleted it all. Again. In the end, he just pulled up his hood and walked.
In his chest, the anxiety had turned into something solid. A stone. Not fear of being hated—no, not that. But a fear that he had left a crack open too long. A distance where anything could slip in, even the habit of being apart. And that was what frightened him most.
He stepped into the restaurant. Outside, the heat lingered. Inside, the sweet scent of broth and grilled fish. Kazuma was at the counter. The moment he saw Yuji, he said nothing. Just that half-smirk, as if he'd been expecting him. Yuji answered with the faintest nod. He wasn't there for him.
Aiko was bent over a list, sitting near the register. Her ponytail brushed her shoulder, her white shirt sleeves rolled up, her eyes tired but beautiful, her expression tinged with regret. When she noticed him, she lifted her gaze. She wasn't cold and she didn't smile. Just… present. As if inside she had already decided she wouldn't run away, no matter what he had to say.
Yuji stepped closer.
"Can we… talk? Just you and me."
Aiko glanced at Kazuma. For once, he understood the moment and got up.
"I'll go check if the dumplings still exist. Might've exploded."
They were alone.
Yuji sat down across from her, hands between his knees. His eyes looked tired, but not defeated.
"I know it's not enough. And I'm not here to beg for anything. I'm not asking you to forget. I'm only asking you to listen. That's all."
She nodded slightly. Yuji shifted, swallowed.
"I miss you. Not just in the way where I'd hold you and kiss you until you fell asleep. I miss you in the way I wake up and wonder if you've had breakfast. In the way I train and already think of what I'll tell you afterward. I miss you in my skin, but also in my thoughts. And…"
He flushed. Shook his head, ran a hand behind his neck, eyes dropping. Aiko understood how hard this was for him in that moment. But she didn't move.
"I miss you even when I know I've messed up. Especially when I know it."
Aiko lowered her eyes slightly, but stayed silent. Yuji went on.
"I turned down training with Hana. I said I wasn't up for it, and that it didn't feel right. Not for her. For us. For you."
The words came out slow but precise. No embellishment, just truth.
"But I'm not perfect, Aiko. I know I sometimes react too late. That I don't say everything right away. It's not out of malice. Sometimes… it feels like I always have to be the one who protects, the one who doesn't make mistakes. And in trying to be perfect for you, I make the biggest mistake."
He lifted his eyes to her.
"I end up hiding things from you, out of fear. But I don't want to love you with fear."
A pause. The air seemed still. Then, more softly:
"And yeah, I want nothing more than to hold you. To cuddle you. To make love to you until we lose track of time. But only if you want it too. Not because I miss your body. Because I miss having you close. Completely."
Aiko looked at him. She didn't answer right away. The pulse in her temples was unsteady. Her gaze dropped to his hands: the bandages were still there, frayed at the edges.
Then she simply said:
"You were right to come."
Yuji didn't move. She went on:
"I don't know if I'm ready to give you everything back right away. But I'm tired of fighting. I need to know you'll tell me things. Even when they're ugly."
He nodded. Then, with a half-smile:
"Do you want to come over tonight? Just to watch a bad movie and eat some onigiri. I'll spoil you with no hidden agenda, I swear. Well… almost."
Aiko laughed. Just a little. But she laughed.
And that smile, small as it was, was enough to let him breathe again.
She bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze still fixed on his hands. Her heart wasn't beating faster anymore—it was beating strangely, as if deciding whether to speed up or calm down. Yuji sat there, across from her, as if his very presence were an apology, all twisted between the urge to touch her and the fear of doing so.
She sighed softly. Then:
"Okay. But I'll come only if you bring real onigiri. Not that supermarket stuff you unwrap like it's some kind of exorcism."
Yuji looked at her, at first as though he hadn't understood. Then his brain caught up. A smile spread across his face, incredulous and tender.
"Did you just say… yes?"
"I said real onigiri. Don't get ahead of yourself."
He leaned forward a little, hands still between his knees. "I'll bring the onigiri. And mochi. And the worst movie ever made."
"Only if it's not about tentacle monsters."
"Tentacles and romance: the perfect mix."
"Yuji..."
"Okay. Just romance. Or just tentacles…" He lowered his gaze. "You choose."
She laughed. For real, this time. And right away she bit her lip, as if she wanted to shove the laughter back inside. But it was out already. Then her face grew serious again.
"Don't fool yourself. This isn't forgetting. It's… staying. To see if you keep your promises."
Yuji nodded, this time without smiling. "I want you to stay. Even if I have to earn it every single day."
Aiko rose slowly, slipped off her apron and set it on the chair.
"Tell Kazuma he can come back. Before he starts thinking he's part of a romance anime."
Yuji stood too. "If I catch him polishing glasses and clowning around with you again, I swear I'll—"
Aiko stepped just a little closer. She didn't touch him, but stopped less than half a step away.
"Tonight, come at nine. If you forget the onigiri, I'm going home."
"If I forget the onigiri, I'll expel myself from the Institute."
She tilted her head, looked straight at him.
"And if you forget to tell me things?"
Yuji dropped his gaze for a moment, then looked back at her with eyes full.
"That will never happen again. But if it does… you can hold it against me forever. You have my permission."
A brief silence. Then, under his breath:
"I missed you so damn much, Aiko."
"I know… me too…"
A half-smile. A step back. Then she returned behind the counter as if nothing had happened. But her movements were different now, looser. Yuji watched her for a few more seconds, then left the restaurant with a chest that no longer trembled—only because inside he still carried everything he hadn't said, and everything he would show her that night.