Konoko spotted him before she even crossed the street—Gramps, waiting near the corner lamp post with his hands clasped behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. His face lit up the moment he saw her, and he waved as though they hadn't seen each other in weeks.
"There you are, Konoko! Took you long enough," he chuckled, already falling into step beside her as she approached. "Busy day at the café, I bet. You wouldn't believe how many people in this neighborhood gossip about that place. Some folks say their beans are imported straight from Italy—ha! As if they'd spend that kind of money. It's probably just regular stock with a fancy label."
Konoko managed a small, polite smile, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. The warmth of his chatter filled the silence she might have wanted, leaving her to nod now and then, careful not to seem distant.
Gramps didn't pause, his words flowing as naturally as the evening breeze. "Oh, and I heard old Mrs. Tanaka slipped again near the market steps. That's the third time this season! I keep telling her she needs better shoes, but does she listen? No, no. Too stubborn, that one. And then—" He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Some say the young man who just opened that flower stall is secretly running it for his girlfriend. A pretty little thing, they say, but never shows her face. Makes you wonder, eh?"
She murmured soft acknowledgments, her thoughts tugged between exhaustion and the odd comfort of his endless talking. His voice was familiar, filling every empty corner, guiding her steps back toward the small house where she knew quiet would finally come.
Konoko's breath caught as her eyes flicked to the side of the street.
There he was again—the same ragged homeless man from the other day, his clothes just as torn, his eyes just as fixed on her. The sudden recognition jolted her, and in her distracted step she caught the edge of the curb.
Her ankle twisted, and she stumbled forward with a soft cry, barely catching herself before hitting the pavement.
"Konoko!" Gramps' hand was instantly at her arm, steadying her. His brows knitted with worry as he looked her over. "Careful, careful… you nearly took a tumble."
Her cheeks burned, a mix of embarrassment and the echo of that unsettling stare following her from the shadow of the alley. She nodded quickly, brushing dust from her skirt. "I-I'm fine… just clumsy."
But she felt the throb in her leg already, the ache blooming sharp and warm along her calf.
Gramps studied her step as they resumed walking, his tone softening into something almost fatherly. "When we get home, I'll fetch that special oil I keep tucked away. Old remedy, passed down to me years ago. Works wonders for sore muscles and twisted ankles. You'll see—by morning you'll forget you even hurt yourself."
Konoko forced a small smile, though inside she wondered what exactly he meant by "special oil." Still, she nodded, letting his chatter cover the unease still prickling at her skin from the homeless man's eyes.
Steam curled from the surface of the tea, its faint floral scent reaching Konoko as she sat quietly on the sofa. She held the porcelain cup with both hands, back straight, posture disciplined—just as she had been taught long ago. Her lips curved politely when Gramps settled into his chair across from her, his voice spilling into one of his usual rambling stories.
She nodded at the right moments, her polite smile never faltering, even as her thoughts drifted. Always talking… always watching…
When she finished the last sip, Gramps rose with a little clap of his hands. "Ah, wait here, Konoko. I nearly forgot—I made you something special. You've been working so hard, it will do you good."
Her stomach tightened. The memory of the strange thick "fermented milk" he had given her before was still fresh, the nauseating aftertaste lingering in her mind. Not again… she thought, suppressing a grimace.
He returned with a small glass, the liquid inside pale, almost creamy, with a faint yellow tinge. He set it down before her with a smile too eager to refuse.
Konoko straightened her shoulders, bowing her head slightly as she accepted it. "Thank you, Gramps. You really didn't have to… I don't want you to trouble yourself for me."
"Drink, drink," he urged gently, his eyes twinkling.
Her smile held, but only just. It's too much. Why does he insist on this? she wondered, forcing the glass to her lips. The thick flavor coated her tongue, and it was all she could do not to shiver.
When it was finally gone, she set the glass down carefully and folded her hands on her lap. "Thank you… truly. But please, Gramps, you don't need to prepare these things for me. A little tea is more than enough."
He chuckled warmly, waving off her words. "Nonsense. You need strength. And speaking of that ankle—" he leaned closer, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially—"I have an oil that will fix it right up. Old recipe, very special."
Konoko blinked, quickly shaking her head with another polite smile. "Ah, no, it's already feeling better. I'll manage, really. You're too kind."
But Gramps waved her protest aside, already rising from his chair. "Don't be shy. It would be selfish of me not to help. Just wait, you'll see what I mean."
Her polite nod masked the unease twisting in her chest. Always insisting… always deciding for me…
Gramps returned with a small dark bottle, holding it like some secret treasure. The faint herbal scent drifted into the room as he uncorked it, sharp and earthy, but with something else mixed in that Konoko couldn't quite place.
He crouched down in front of the sofa, his movements surprisingly steady for his age, and gave her calf a pointed look. "Show me where it hurts, Konoko. Don't be stubborn."
Her cheeks warmed as she pressed her knees together. She had always been careful, modest. I can handle a bruise… it's just a small strain. Why does he insist?
Still, she lifted her skirt just slightly, enough to bare the curve of her calf and the tender spot on her shin. "It's here… but please, you don't need to—"
Before she could finish, Gramps' warm, rough hand closed gently around her leg, steadying her as he poured a trickle of oil onto his palm. The liquid glistened against her skin, sliding slowly down toward her ankle.
Konoko bit the inside of her cheek, her thoughts racing. So forward… so insistent. Why won't he just listen?
He began rubbing the mixture into her calf with slow, circular motions, his fingers pressing into the firm muscle of her panturrilha. The slick warmth spread over her skin, leaving it shining faintly in the lamplight.
"You've been pushing yourself too hard," he murmured, voice soft, almost paternal. "A young body like yours needs care. This oil has worked for generations."
Konoko sat stiffly, back straight, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Out loud, she managed, "Thank you, Gramps… you're very thoughtful."
Inside, though, her mind whispered sharper words. Too close… too much. Why do I feel trapped like this?
Gramps' thumbs pressed deeper into the tender muscle of her calf, the circles deliberate, almost too slow. Each glide of his hand spread the oil farther up her leg, leaving a sheen on her pale skin that caught the faint glow of the lamp.
Konoko's breath came shallow, and she fought to keep her body still. He doesn't notice… or maybe he does. Why won't he just stop at the bruise? Why move higher?
The smell of the oil clung to her nose, herbal but heavy, mixing with the warmth of his hands until it felt stifling. A bead of sweat slipped down her temple, though the room was cool.
"Your muscles are tight here too," he muttered, almost to himself, as his fingers crept to the edge of her knee. "If I don't loosen this, it will hurt more tomorrow."
Konoko's heart fluttered, half with embarrassment, half with unease. Her knees pressed closer together, thighs tense beneath her skirt. Out loud, she managed a soft, polite voice:
"Gramps, you really don't have to… I'll be fine. Truly."
It's not him I'm afraid of… it's me. The way my skin responds. The way I don't pull away fast enough. What if he notices? What if I seem… strange?
But inside, her thoughts trembled. Why can't I just pull my leg away? Why do I let him do this? I hate how small my voice sounds…
He gave a final, long stroke down her calf, letting the oil glisten across her ankle before patting her lightly. "There. Better already, hm? You'll thank me in the morning."
"I can feel you stiffen. If you want me to stop, just say so."
Konoko forced a small, strained smile. "Yes… thank you."
Inside, her chest ached with the effort of swallowing her true feelings. Not gratitude. Not relief. Just… trapped.
But... Her true feelings is:
His hands are too warm… but part of me doesn't mind. Maybe I'm just tired… maybe it feels good to be cared for, even like this.