Steam curled against the bathing room wall. Kurobane stood with his head bowed beneath the spray, letting the water drum his scalp. Faint streaks of red rinsed from his knuckles, pooling at his feet before spiraling down the drain. He saw Haruka’s hand slide into Midori’s. The way they broke apart when he neared.

  Somehow it stung more than the cuts. His stomach knotted. He pressed the heel of his palm to the tile until his arm trembled. You knew, idiot. You just pretended not to notice.

  The hot water traced his body. He tried to follow its warmth back to something softer: his mother folding a shirt against his chest. “Eat before you go, you’ll just get dizzy later.”

  Mom. I know you said it’s not good for me, but it’s hard not to be angry. Everything is falling apart. I’m losing my mind. I’m losing her…

  His father’s voice crashed in. “Coward. If you want a thing, take it!” Old anger unbarred itself, then curled into something smaller and meaner inside him. Kurobane ducked under the spray, gulped a mouthful, spat it out hard, and let the sound kill the chatter in his head.

  When the water turned cold, he dried off and dressed. The hallway air bit at his damp skin. The boards groaned beneath him, the old wood sighing along with him. This place is a dump.

  He turned the corner and nearly collided with Mizushima Satsuki, of all people. She leaned against the wall, arms clasped at the small of her back, one foot propped behind her. A rebellious strand of blue hair fell from her messy ponytail; she kept tucking it back only for it to fall again. Her oversized white T-shirt—Jell-O printed in faded pink—hung loose over mid-thigh cargo shorts. “You still take forever in there, huh?” she asked, the corner of her mouth lifting.

  “I was faster this time, I think, I thought the roof might cave in on me.” He tipped his chin at the ceiling where water stains bruised the rafters.

  “Mm...” Her gaze flicked past him. “You know… you used to call me the night before every exam. Panic, beg me to quiz you. For weeks. We were pretty close. Or at least, I thought so.”

  Kurobane winced.

  “Then you just… stopped.”

  It wasn’t an accusation. Worse, it was the truth. He let the towel hang from his shoulders. He almost laughed it off, but the words stuck. Running wouldn’t work anymore. After everything he’d seen, the truth wasn’t half as frightening. “I got scared,” he said before he could stop himself. “Not of you. Of everything. Of wanting anything with you when everything else was—” He faltered. “It was easier to be busy. Easier to pretend I didn’t care. Easier to be alone...”

  She didn’t answer right away. Down the hall, the wind rattled the window, and he had the stupid thought that the house itself was waiting to hear if he’d go on. “I should’ve said something,” he added, quieter. “I should’ve tried.”

  Her silence weighed until he almost broke just to fill it. When she finally spoke, the tease was gone. “I waited,” she said. “And then I stopped waiting. I figured you’d decided I was… inconvenient. But I never thought you used me.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “I never—” He swallowed. “You weren’t inconvenient.”

  Her face softened by degrees. She pushed back from the wall and stepped closer, the faint scent of vanilla soap came with her. “Well,” she said, “you did save my life. I guess I can forgive you this one time.”

  His chest eased with a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

  “Just the one?”

  “Don’t get greedy.”

  They stood too close for it to be nothing, not close enough for it to be anything. Somehow that was steadier ground than Kurobane had known in days. He realized he was standing straighter.

  “You should rest,” Satsuki said.

  “Yeah.” He thumbed the towel’s frayed edge. “I think I’ll do that.”

  * * *

  Ren lingered beneath the oak after Genzo dismissed him. His palms were cracked and raw, yet the rough grain of the split logs beneath them felt like home. The scent of woodchips and grass pulled him back to mornings in his grove, the weight of the axe in his hand, his father’s silhouette cut against the sunrise.

  Morning light caught the farmhouse’s weathered body. A thin curl of smoke rose from the chimney, and through the walls, paper screens captured the sun’s glow like lanterns.

  In the yard, a boy wrestled the iron crank of the well, arms trembling as if the handle were fused to stone. A woman in a faded skirt brushed straw from her hem, cheeks pale with leftover fear. At the wood’s edge, a man in a threadbare jacket leaned against a trunk, eyes darting as though the forest itself might step forward.

  Genzo hadn’t given names, but Ren knew these were the others—strangers on the same sinking raft. It should have been a comfort, but it only sharpened the unease in his chest.

  “Ren.” Haruka waited in the barn’s shadow, arms crossed over her chest.

  The bloodied university uniform was gone, replaced with borrowed clothes. Red track jacket and blue jeans stuffed into work boots. A ray of sunlight caught her face, illuminating the flush on her cheeks and the rawness around her eyes that betrayed a sleepless night.

  “Come with me.”

  It wasn’t an invitation.

  They moved around the barn’s corner where the fence dipped low. He leaned on a post, studying her. “Well?” he asked. “What is it?”

  “Did anyone call you? My dad? My mom? Grandpa?”

  “Hayate called me,” he said evenly. He left the rest unspoken—that Hayate’s words had been a plea: Protect her.

  Her eyes darkened. “When Kuro and I were trapped on that rooftop, my mom called me.” She paused, thumb tracing the edge of her sleeve. “She wanted me to tell you something. She said it was important that I did.” She took a step closer. “Her exact words were, “Don’t do anything drastic.” What exactly was she afraid you might do, Ren?”

  “You tell me. She’s your mother.”

  “I’ve always thought it strange, how you appeared out of nowhere.” Scarlet eyes searched him for secrets. Her gaze raked over him, hunting for what he might be hiding.

  He felt suddenly cornered. What if she had pieced it together? What if she already knew the truth? And if she did—would it mean anything? He braced for the accusation, but Haruka’s rigid posture softened slightly.

  “I’m worried.”

  “...Me too,” he admitted.

  “I bet my parents are organizing survivors somewhere, taking charge like they always do. Meanwhile, I’m out here, hiding in the woods.”

  “We’ll find them.”

  She glanced toward the trees. “Don’t let your guard down. This place isn’t safe. And whatever you do, don’t trust Shigure.”

  Ren considered the warning, sensing the undercurrent of rage beneath her words. His response died in his throat at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  “Hey!” Midori bounded down the dirt path, cheeks pink from the chill, breath puffing white. He skidded to a stop, relief softening his face. “You’re both here. Takemori-san made breakfast. She told me to round everyone up.”

  Haruka’s eyes widened slightly before her expression smoothed over. She took a half-step away from him and walked off. Midori looked at him, questions written across his face, but thankfully, he kept them to himself.