The mild air filtered in through the service door in waves, carrying with it the steady sound of his father's knife and the murmur of water in the sink. On the wall, a faded poster—perhaps from a matsuri years ago—was peeling at the corners; below it, a neat row of empty vegetable crates made the space seem narrower than it was.
Yuji arrived ten minutes early.
A slightly loose red sweatshirt on his shoulders, sweatpants, a backpack slung over one side. His face was clean, but his cheekbones looked a touch sharper. Maybe a kilo less. Or maybe just less sleep. He looked fine all the same—in fact, that new sharpness in his profile gave him a more adult air.
His ears, though, were the same as ever: just a little red, a sign that his heart was racing more than it should. In his hands he held an ivory-colored envelope, pinched between two fingers the way you hold something too important to risk creasing. He stopped a step from the threshold and drew in a breath.
Aiko's mother appeared with a tray of steaming bowls. He bowed his head slightly, slipped the backpack off one shoulder, and offered her the envelope with both hands.
"For you," he murmured, lowering his gaze. "Just... thank you. For how you've always treated me. And... I'm sorry, if I caused you any worry."
She looked at him for a moment, surprised, then softened. Wiping her hands on her apron, she took the letter the way one accepts a real gift. "Thank you, Yuji-kun," she said quietly. "Take all the time you need. We grown-ups will keep things going here." A short, maternal smile. Then she disappeared again beyond the noren.
Yuji took half a step back, leaving the doorway clear. He leaned his shoulders against the low wall, looked up at the sky through the tangle of power lines, and breathed in. His phone buzzed once: 11:20. Fifteen minutes. On his feet. Speak plainly. He straightened up.
Aiko stepped out a moment later, more beautiful than when he had last seen her a month before. Her long, loose hair carried copper highlights that lit up in the sunlight like warm threads; her lightly tanned skin made her blue eyes stand out—brighter, sharper. A white shirt with sleeves rolled to the wrists, a dark knee-length skirt, clean sneakers: simple and exact, like her measure. She still carried the scent of the restaurant—pasta, steam, a hint of citrus from her shampoo.
She stopped two steps away from him. No closer, no farther.
Yuji swallowed, a shy smile crinkling his eyes. "Hi, Aiko."
"Hi, Yuji." Her eyes softened without losing their steadiness. She looked at him closely, all of him. It's him. It's always him. And her heart gave that brief jolt she had known for a long time. He lowered his gaze for a moment, then lifted it again. "Your... hair looks great," he said, nodding toward the copper highlights. "And your eyes... they look even more..." He didn't finish; his ears betrayed him.
The corner of her mouth lifted on its own. "You look good too," she answered, sincere. "Maybe you don't sleep much. But you look good."
For a few seconds they said nothing. Scents and sounds filled the space for them: the broth gaining strength, the fridge letting out a sigh, Kazuma's laugh from inside. Aiko pulled out her phone, started a timer without any theatrics, and slipped it back into her pocket.
"We have fifteen minutes," she said, her voice calm. "They need to be used well."
Yuji nodded. He gave the faintest start, like someone deciding to really speak. They sat down on the low step, side by side. The service door let out a faint stream of warm, sauce-scented air; the corridor smelled of green pesto. The copper streaks in Aiko's hair caught the light with every movement of her head, like a line of sun. Yuji placed his hands on his knees to keep them still.
For a few seconds they only looked at each other. Then he drew in a breath. Swallowed. His ears red, his hands unsure where to rest.
"Can I ask you something... stupid?" he said softly, turning just enough to catch the scent of her shampoo. She nodded.
A pause, his eyes fixed on her.
"Do you... still want me?"
He didn't wait for the answer. He leaned toward her, his gaze both asking permission and testing the emptiness of that month apart. His hand rose on its own—a timid, familiar gesture—to brush her cheek, then slid down toward her waist, trying to draw her closer.
Aiko stopped him with two fingers on the drawstring of his hoodie, level with his chest. Not harsh: steady. Her blue eyes held on him for a long second.
"Yes," she said, the word coming out pained but clear, "I still want you. That's never changed."
Then she lowered her voice a little: "But let's not skip the steps."
Yuji pulled back slightly, as if burned by his own haste. "Sorry... I..." He searched for air, found it. "I just needed to know if..." He stopped short, struck by the faint line of tiredness in her gaze. Then he sighed.
"You're right. I'll talk first."
They stayed like that for a moment, their fingers entwined, the fridge sighing from inside. Then Yuji pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket, his thumb trembling just slightly.
"Sorry." His voice cracked a little. "For that night. I left you there. And then... I disappeared. You were with me and suddenly, I wasn't me anymore. I felt... disgust. Fear. Something biting at me. I grew ashamed and, yes, irritated too—with myself, with him, with everything. I thought: if I stay, I'll hurt you. And I did worse: I left."
Aiko didn't interrupt him, but she slowly rubbed her thumb against her nail—a small, weary gesture. When she spoke, her voice was low, carefully held in check.
"A month has been a long time, Yuji," she said. A pause. Then she went on: "And there's something else that has to be said: you left me in the dark. I'm not punishing you, but I can't pretend it didn't happen."
A breath of silence. Then he lowered his eyes to the concrete, lifted them again.
"You're right. I don't want to use silence as a shield anymore. I spent this month in the best way I could, I thought about everything, and I even wrote down some rules..."
He raised his gaze to meet hers. He was regretful, but at the same time steady in his words. So he sighed, gathered courage, and went on:
"I love you. I didn't write it down because it felt like an enormous word in the middle of all the noise. But it stayed inside me, all this time."
Aiko closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were bright with tears, but not broken. "Me too. That hasn't changed." She let a pause fall. "But love isn't enough if we don't know what to do with it."
He nodded. "I wrote down some rules: if the window opens when you're with me, I stop and step away for ten minutes. When you're not there, I write you before and after, always. If I'm afraid, I tell you. No disappearing. If I should hurt you while I'm not myself, when the ten minutes are over you have to tell me, and I notify Gojo-sensei right away."
Aiko listened all the way through, without letting go of his hand. At each point she gave a brief nod, once.
"That works," she murmured. "And let's add: our normal life is not a reward. We protect it together. If he shows up, the evening ends. No debate."
Yuji nodded instantly. "Promise."
She looked at him again, close up—thinner, maybe; but whole. A clatter of broth from inside, the ding of the timer: only a few minutes left.
Yuji lowered his eyes to their hands, then lifted them again. "Sorry for trying to understand things my own way," he whispered. "I missed you... so much."
Aiko let a half-smile rise. "Me too."
The phone buzzed: one minute left. Aiko slowly drew back her hand. "I need to go back. The parmigiana's calling."
They stood up together. Yuji let go of her hand the way you put away something precious.
"Thank you... for the fifteen minutes."
Aiko nodded. This time the smile came, but short. "Used well. Keep it that way."
The door closed behind her with a breath of steam. Yuji stayed for a moment in the back, his shoulders lighter and his heart only half full: the other half shaped like a month without her, and a word left unsaid at the right time.
He shouldered his backpack, looked up at the sky through the wires. Then he walked away. On the other side of the door, Aiko drew in a deep breath, brushed the back of her hand across her eyes and went back to the dishes. Normality found its rhythm again.
Evening...
21:02 — Yuji: Hey... are you awake? 🙈 Can I steal an hour of your time...? I'd like to see you. If you're up for it... maybe you could come over? (Dorm, north gate). If you'd rather I come, just say so and I'll run. 😳
21:04 — Aiko: Awake. With a slightly noisy heart. I'll come. But I want a warm cup and that way you look at me that fixes my hair without touching it. ☕✨
21:05 — Yuji: Promise: cup, blanket, dumb movie in the background (volume low). And... listening, everything. I'll wait for you at 9:40 by the gate?
21:06 — Aiko: 9:40 works. Put your phone on silent: tonight I only want to hear you. 🫶
21:06 — Yuji: Silent mode done. My ears are already red, just so you know. 😅
21:07 — Aiko: I prefer them that way. Don't rush: I'm coming with small but steady steps. 🚶♀️
21:08 — Yuji: I'll wait under the yellow lamp on the path. If it rains, I've got an umbrella for two. 🌧️☂️
21:08 — Aiko: If it doesn't rain, let's pretend it does. That way we stay closer.
21:09 — Yuji: Then... pretend rain. See you later, Aiko. 🌙
21:09 — Aiko: See you later, Yuji. And don't disappear between one word and the next.
21:10 — Yuji: I won't disappear. Promise. I'm already here.
At 9:40, Aiko closed the gate behind her and set off toward the Institute at a brisk, steady pace, almost like a rhythm. She was beautiful in a simple, new way: she wore a graphite-colored tracksuit, the short zipper neat, the cuffs clean; the sweatshirt fell well on her hips, the slim cut following her body without clinging. Her white sneakers were spotless. Her blonde hair was loose, gleaming, with copper streaks that flared under the streetlamps; a trace of black pencil lined the blue of her eyes, making them stand out even more. She carried a fresh fragrance—something citrusy and clean, like sheets dried in the sun.
The Institute dorm welcomed her with the low hum of the vending machines and an old pine casting shifting shadows across the path. Under the yellow lamp, Yuji was waiting, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his blue sweatshirt, his gaze rushing toward her even before his steps.
He saw her. For a few seconds he couldn't speak. He stared, a mix of wonder and tenderness, as if someone had just given back something precious.
"Hi..." he said at last, his ears instantly flushing. "You're..." He couldn't find the right word, replaced it with a sigh that said the rest. "I was waiting for you here, under the lamp, like I promised."
Aiko stopped in front of him, a half-smile that seemed to set his neck straight. "Hi, shy one." With two fingers she straightened his collar, brushing him lightly. "You smell like tea and running."
"Tea, yes," he nodded, lifting two paper cups. "Yuzu and ginger. To warm our hands... and the rest." He handed her one; their fingers brushed for a moment longer than needed.
They went upstairs. The dormitory corridor was dim, wrapped in silence. In the room, Yuji switched on only the amber lamp; he placed his phone face down on the shelf, gently pushed hers aside too. On the low table lay a folded blanket and the laptop already open to a silly movie, paused, the volume low.
"Want to sit here?" he asked, pointing to the futon. "I set out the blanket... for pretend rain." He tried the joke with a tender shyness, as if he were asking her permission even to laugh.
Aiko nodded and sat down beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his shoulder. She lifted the cup to her lips. "It's good. Tastes like a new home." Then, more softly: "I missed your way of... being here."
Yuji lowered his eyes and smiled, that smile that bent the corners of his mouth. "I missed yours too. So much." He took her hands in his, warming them without haste. "Can I... hold you for a while?"
"Hold me," she said, letting him draw nearer. The blanket slipped over their knees, the movie stayed on, casting light on the ceiling.
They looked at each other. There was no rush, only that good electricity that comes before the big words. Yuji brushed her cheek with his knuckles, careful the way you touch something that might break. His breath grew deeper, shorter. Aiko held his gaze, then smiled.