I didn't mean to stay hidden so long.
But after seeing Tohru and Yuki walk away, my feet wouldn't move. I just stood there, back pressed against the rough bark of the ginkgo tree, heart hammering like it wanted out. The rain had softened to a mist, clinging to my skin like a second breath, and the air smelled of wet earth, plum blossoms, and something faintly sweet like old paper and green tea.
They're real. They're really here.
I kept replaying Tohru's voice so warm, so kind and the way Yuki's shoulders relaxed when she laughed, like he'd forgotten, just for a moment, how heavy the world could be. I'd read those moments a hundred times, traced them with my fingers in dog-eared manga pages, cried over them in the dark when no one was watching. But seeing them? Feeling the damp air between them, hearing the rustle of Yuki's uniform as he adjusted his bag, watching Tohru tuck a stray hair behind her ear with that familiar, absentminded gesture it was like waking up after years of sleepwalking.
For the first time, I wasn't just reading a story.
I was standing inside it.
I didn't notice him until he spoke.
"Lost, are we?"
The voice came from right behind me smooth, amused, and way too close.
I yelped, jumping so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet. Whirling around, I came face-to-face with him.
Shigure Sohma.
In the manga, he was elegant ink lines and shadowed smiles. In the anime, he was playful, voice like honey over quiet steel.
But in person?
He was… more.
Taller than I remembered. His dark hair slightly tousled from the rain, eyes sharp beneath that lazy smile like he'd already seen through every lie I'd ever told myself. He wore a loose indigo yukata, sleeves pushed up just enough to show lean forearms dusted with faint ink stains writer's marks.
And he was looking at me not with suspicion, not yet, but with the kind of curiosity that felt like being gently peeled open, layer by layer, until nothing was left hidden.
"O-oh! Hi there!" I stammered, voice cracking like a nervous teenager (which, okay, I was). "I - I didn't mean to -"
He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he hadn't decided whether to solve. "Lots of strangers wandering into our garden lately," he mused, voice light but eyes steady. "You're not the first."
"I'm so sorry!" I blurted, bowing quickly, hands trembling at my sides. "I'll go, I swear -"
But then I looked up.
And my brain short-circuited.
He's right here. Shigure Sohma. The Dog. The writer. The one who sees everything.
And wow seeing him in real life was nothing like panels on a page. There was a warmth in his presence, a quiet intelligence in his gaze that made the air feel thicker, charged. And yeah, okay, he was unfairly handsome. Like, stupidly so. Not in a flashy way but in the way sunlight looks through old glass soft, golden, impossible to ignore.
My mouth moved before my brain caught up.
"You look… way more handsome in person."
Silence.
Oh.
Oh no.
My eyes went wide. My hands flew to my mouth. Heat flooded my cheeks so fast I thought I might combust. My pulse roared in my ears like ocean waves.
"N-nothing!" I squeaked, waving my hands like I could erase the words from the air. "I didn't say that! That didn't happen!"
But Shigure?
He smirked.
Not a mean smirk. Not even a teasing one. Just… knowing. Like he'd heard every unspoken thought I'd ever had about him the late-night rereads, the way I'd pause on his panels just to study the curve of his smile and found it amusingly, beautifully human.
"Ohh~?" he drawled, voice low and rich like dark tea. "So someone thinks I'm handsome?"
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. I just stared at the moss between my feet, wishing it would swallow me whole. My mind raced he's going to think I'm a weirdo, a stalker, maybe even a spy. Akito will hear about this. They'll throw me out. Or worse.
"What's your name?" he asked, calm, unhurried as if he already knew I wouldn't run.
I hesitated. But something in his voice gentle, not demanding made me trust him, just a little.
"Misaki," I whispered. "Misaki Aoi."
"Misaki Aoi," he repeated, testing the sound like poetry. "Aoi… like the hollyhock?"
I nodded, surprised he knew.
"Fitting," he mused, glancing toward the house. "They bloom even in hard soil. Resilient little things."
My breath caught. Did he know? Could he see how lost I'd been how invisible? How I'd spent years feeling like I didn't belong anywhere, not even in my own skin?
He studied me a moment longer really studied me. Not like I was a threat. But like I was a question he wanted to understand.
"Where are you from, Misaki Aoi?"
I looked down, twisting the hem of my yukata. "Nowhere important. My family… moved away suddenly. I got separated. I didn't know where else to go."
It wasn't the full truth. But it wasn't a lie, either. To be honest, it sounded like a pathetic excuse not gonna lie.
I braced for suspicion.
I started turning slowly, shoulders tense, already planning my escape into the trees.
He noticed. Of course he did.
But he just sighed, almost fondly.
"Run if you want to," he said, voice softer now. "But the garden's always open."
And with that, he turned slowly, deliberately and walked back toward the porch, hands folded in his sleeves, shoulders loose like he'd already decided I wasn't a danger.
I didn't run right away.
I watched him go, the way his shadow stretched long in the fading light, the quiet certainty in his step.
Only then did I turn and flee into the trees heart pounding, not from fear, but from the terrifying, beautiful certainty
He didn't make me go away.
He even said I can come back.
And maybe…
that was enough.
That alone made me feel happy.