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Four days passed. They felt like four lifetimes.

Akio hadn’t stepped outside the apartment since the moment Amaya left. He had called in sick to work with some mumbled excuse.

Now it was mid-morning on the fourth day.

Akio stood in the centre of the living room, hands limp at his sides, surveying the space with red-rimmed eyes. It was immaculate, not a speck of dust in sight. After all, he had been cleaning relentlessly, using the vacuum cleaner as both weapon and shield against the suffocating silence. The vacuum sat in the corner now, cord still plugged in, as if awaiting orders.

This morning, Akio had awoken on the couch with a heavy ache in his chest. He had drifted off sometime around 3 A.M., apparently wrapped in the quilt Amaya usually stole at night. It still faintly smelled of her. The ache sharpened at that thought, spurring him to start yet another round of chores. Anything to keep from thinking.

So here he was, floors vacuumed twice, surfaces wiped down thrice, the kitchen scrubbed until it gleamed. It was like he was trying to erase any chaos, any sign that she had ever lived here. But he couldn’t. Because despite his best efforts at sanitizing their home, Amaya’s presence lingered stubbornly in the most unexpected places.

There, on the coffee table, was the stray sparkle of glitter. He moved closer and found more glimmering specks embedded in the rug. He knelt down and picked at one stubborn sparkle with a fingernail, eyes burning.

On the kitchen counter sat a single mug, a dried tea bag stuck to its bottom. Amaya’s mug from five days ago – she’d made chamomile tea the night before their university visit to calm her nerves. He hadn’t washed it. He couldn’t bring himself to. It was ridiculous, but part of him felt that cleaning it would wash away another piece of her.

He turned away, only for his eyes to fall on the couch. A rumpled pair of socks peeked out from under a cushion, one of her signature knee-high rainbow socks.. Akio walked over and gingerly picked it up. The fabric was soft between his fingers, and for a moment he pictured her sitting cross-legged on this very couch, folding laundry while watching a silly period drama on TV, chattering at him about the plot. She must have dropped this sock and never noticed.

He sank onto the couch, sock still in hand. Having known the warmth and chaos Amaya brought, the return of silence and order felt suffocating.

Akio leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He was so tired. Tired of thinking, of regretting, of imagining all the ways he could have handled that day differently. She’d been right; he hadn’t admitted his own feelings. He thought he was doing what was best for her, but maybe it was partly for him too. And in trying to keep her, he’d driven her away.

If he’d learned one thing from Amaya, it was to face problems head-on, no matter how scary. Yet here he was, hiding in a spotless apartment with only a vacuum for company.

Pathetic. He could almost hear Amaya’s wry voice say it.

He stood up abruptly, the sudden motion making him a bit lightheaded, and paced towards the window.

Pickles the ivy sat on the sill, drooping dramatically. The poor thing hadn’t been watered in… well, four days. The soil looked dry as a desert and a couple of leaves had crisped at the edges. Akio gently touched a wilted leaf and sighed. “Sorry, buddy,” he murmured. “I’ve been a lousy plant dad this week.”

The ivy seemed to mirror his despair. He set the brittle leaf down, guilt twisting in his chest.

A sudden knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. Akio’s heart leapt into his throat. He wasn’t expecting anyone. It was probably Shinji checking in, as he’d threatened to do if Akio didn’t answer his phone (six missed calls from Shinji sat on Akio’s screen, all unanswered).

The knock came again, a little more hesitant this time. Akio quickly raked a hand through his unkempt hair.

Akio dragged himself to the door. He mustered his best attempt at a steady voice. “Coming,” he called softly.

He opened the door, preparing a pretence of a greeting. “Hey Shin—”

It wasn’t Shinji.

Amaya stood on the threshold, small and forlorn.

She wore a navy sweatshirt, one of his, he realized with a start.

Her hair was gathered messily under a beanie, a few unruly white strands escaping around her face. That vibrant, mischievous spark usually in her eyes was absent; instead they were puffy and red, as if she’d been crying for days (probably because she had, his chest constricted at the thought). She clutched the strap of her duffel bag so tightly her knuckles were white.

Akio’s mind went blank. For a second, he wondered if he’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was a cruelly vivid dream. But then she spoke.

“I l-love you,” Amaya stammered, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. Her lower lip quivered as she said it, and immediately after, tears pooled anew in her eyes. “I love you, Akio.”

Akio’s heart stopped, then thundered to life. She... she loved him. Amaya sniffled, trying to hold herself together, but it was futile. A sob escaped her, and she raised a hand to cover her mouth as if she hadn’t meant for that to come out so plainly. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

In an instant, Akio surged forward. All the paralysis, all the uncertainty of minutes ago evaporated. He reached for her, pulling her inside. The duffel bag thudded to the floor as she collapsed against his chest, her fingers fisting into his shirt. Her whole body shook with sobs.

Akio wrapped his arms tightly around her, one hand cradling the back of her head. He held her, anchoring them both as waves of emotion crashed. His own eyes burned, relief and remorse and love flooding through him all at once. She was here. She came back.

After a few moments, he gently guided her away from the doorway, kicking the door shut behind them. He led her to the living room, but she refused to let go of him even for a second. They sank to the floor together right there in the entrance hall, kneeling amidst discarded shoes.

Amaya cried into his shoulder. Akio stroked her hair with trembling hands, whispering soft, nonsensical comforts: “It’s okay… I’m here… It’s okay.”

Eventually, her sobs eased into sniffles. She pulled back just enough to look at him, though she still clung to the front of his shirt as if afraid he might vanish. Her face was blotchy and tear-streaked.

Akio gently wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Amaya,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I—”

Before he could finish, she spoke in a raspy rush. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes searched his imploringly. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I-I freaked out and I ran, like always.” She let out a shaky breath. “You were right.”

Akio opened his mouth to protest, to tell her no, he was the one who was wrong, but she pressed on, words spilling out faster, as if she’d practiced them and if she didn’t say them all now, she might lose courage.

“I was afraid.” Her voice cracked, but she kept going. “I was, am, so afraid of staying, of failing, of… of losing myself if I change. I thought if I stayed in Tokyo, went to school, did the ‘normal’ thing, I’d stop being me. And that terrifies me.” A tear rolled down her nose and dripped off; Akio caught the next with his finger, heart aching. “So I pushed you away. I twisted your words. I hurt you.” She hiccupped, shaking her head in self-disgust. “I’m sorry I said you didn’t understand. I think… you understand me better than anyone.”

Akio’s eyes stung. “Amaya, I—”

But she wasn’t finished. “Please, just let me get this out.” She inhaled, steadying herself with her fists still curled in his shirt. “The past few days I kept thinking about everything—what you said, what I said. And the truth is, you were right about me using fear as an excuse. I’ve always run away. From schools, from cities, from people. Because if I left first, they couldn’t throw me out or hold me down.” Her voice softened. “Then I met you.”

She managed a tiny smile through her tears, one that pierced straight through Akio. “You and your stupid early-morning vacuuming, and your color-coded schedules, and all the ways you drive me absolutely insane.” A wet laugh escaped her, and Akio felt his lips curve too.

“I fought it so hard, you know? How safe I felt with you. How right it felt being here. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to get tired of me or for me to mess it up.” Her voice broke again. “So I guess I tried to mess it up on my own terms.”

Akio closed his eyes, guilt washing over him. “Amaya… I pushed you to that. I—”

She shook her head vigorously.

“When I left… it hurt. It hurt so much more than I expected. Because I wasn’t just leaving a city or a job. I was leaving—” her breath hitched, “—my home. You. And I realized… none of the freedom out there, none of the new places or big top performances mean a damn thing if I’m not coming home to you.”

Akio cupped her face in both hands now, needing to feel the reality of her here.

“I love you,” she whispered again, leaning into his touch. “I love you so much it…it petrifies me. But being without you? That’s worse. That’s… that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever faced.” She bit her lip, a fresh tear streaking down.

“I want our life, the messy, ridiculous, wonderful life we have together. I want to wake up to the sound of you obnoxiously vacuuming at sunrise. I want to trip over my own stupid shoes that I leave in the hallway, and then laugh because you warned me not to leave them there.” She gave a watery chuckle.

“I want to hear you mumbling about the awful layout of this apartment, how the closet door bangs into the shoe rack, and how the kitchen is somehow too far from the living room for your liking. I want to fight over what to watch on TV, and steal your food, and hog the blankets, and hear you lecture me about eating vegetables. I want everything. The good, the bad, the chaotic, the boring, all of it. With you.”

He couldn’t recall a single word he’d planned to say, because her words overwhelmed it all. “I—I love you too,” he managed, voice shaking.

It was as if those words had been waiting on his tongue for months. He realized now how often he’d held them back, disguising them with gestures and fussing instead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I’m sorry I pushed you when you weren’t ready. I thought I might lose you if I didn’t find a way to make you stay… and in doing that, I almost did lose you.”

She shook her head, and he could see relief begin to dawn in her expression, the weight lifting.

Akio’s breath hitched in something like a laugh laced with tears. “I want you here.” He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “I was just too much of a coward to admit it.”

Amaya’s hands came up to cover his, which were still cradling her face. Her fingers slipped through his, warm and familiar. “Looks like we’re both cowards,” she whispered.

Slowly, she disentangled from his hands and stood, tugging him up with her by their joined hands. Akio rose unsteadily, still holding on, afraid to break contact for even a second, as if she might disappear.

But Amaya didn’t let go. Instead, she stepped closer, so close that her chest brushed against his with each unsteady breath. “I came back because I choose you,” she said softly, looking up at him. “If… if you’ll still have me.” As she said it, she dropped her gaze, suddenly unsure, as though the thought of him rejecting her now might shatter her.

Akio felt a gentle, incredulous smile form on his lips. In answer, he let go of one of her hands to reach down and lift the abandoned duffel bag at their feet. With a deliberate motion, he swung it aside, letting it tumble against the wall, out of the way. Then he took her now-free hand in his as well, holding both tightly.

“Welcome home, Amaya,” he murmured, voice tender and full of meaning.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening. A slow, radiant smile began to bloom on her face, more beautiful than a sunrise. “I’m home,” she whispered back.

Still clasping her hands, he gently pulled her closer. Her breath caught, but she didn’t resist; she tilted her chin up in quiet anticipation. Akio drank in the sight of her, her tear-streaked eyelashes, the freckles dusting her nose, the slight parting of her lips, and he wondered how he had lasted even four days without this.

He bent down and kissed her.

His lips met hers with a soft hunger. He felt her sharp intake of breath, and then she was kissing him back, her hands releasing his only to slide up around his neck. She pressed into him, making a soft sound in the back of her throat that sent warmth flooding through him.

Akio’s world narrowed to just this: Amaya’s mouth on his, warm and a little salty from tears, yet sweet and familiar.

He slid his arms around her waist, holding her firmly. When they finally parted, both were breathing a bit unsteadily, Akio rested his forehead against hers. Amaya’s eyes remained closed for a moment.

Amaya brushed a stray strand of hair away from his face. “I was so scared you might not want me back.”

Akio’s expression softened into something serious. “I will always want you,” he said quietly, the certainty of it ringing through every word. “We’re a team, remember? Operation: Keep Ivy Alive?” He nodded toward Pickles on the windowsill. “I can’t do it alone.”

At the mention of the plant, Amaya followed his gaze and gasped dramatically. “Oh no, Pickles!” She pulled away from him, stepping over a pile of their shoes, and rushed to the plant. She gently lifted one limp vine. “You monsters,” she scolded both herself and him. “Look at what we’ve done to our child.”

Akio chuckled, playing along. “We should both be ashamed.”

Amaya turned back to him, a spark of the old mischief returning to her teary smile. “Well, Papa Akio, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me save our son?”

He barked a laugh at the familiar nickname and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “I told you never to call me that,” he groaned. But the effect was spoiled by how utterly happy he sounded.

He moved to the kitchen nook to fetch the little elephant-shaped watering can. Filling it at the sink, he walked back to find Amaya still cooing over the plant and apologizing to it under her breath.

He handed her the watering can. “Room temperature water, until the soil is moist but not drenched,” he instructed gently. His voice held a playful sternness that made her grin.

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Amaya said, rolling her eyes.

Together they carefully watered Pickles, watching the dry soil turn dark and damp. Amaya lightly touched one of the revived green leaves. “We’ll do better, little guy,” she whispered to the plant.

Akio placed his hand over hers on the edge of the pot, squeezing gently. “We will.”

He realized he was now standing behind her, his chest against her back as they both hovered over the potted ivy like doting parents. He slid his arms around her waist from behind, hugging her close. Amaya leaned back into him with a content sigh, resting her hands over his.

They stayed like that for a peaceful moment, watching as a ray of midday sun peeked through the clouds and illuminated their little plant. Pickles almost seemed to perk up already. Or maybe that was just Akio’s imagination, buoyed by hope.

He pressed a light kiss to Amaya’s temple. “So,” he murmured, “what happens now?” It wasn’t a demand, but a gentle query of the future, their future.

Amaya tilted her head to look up at him. “Now,” she said slowly, “we figure it out. Together.” She turned in his arms so she was facing him, her hands resting on his forearms.

“I’m not promising I’ll enroll in uni tomorrow or anything.” A ghost of her cheeky grin appeared. “But… I’ll think about it. I might want to audit a class or talk to that professor again. Maybe see if that scholarship is still on the table.” She bit her lip, then added with shy hopefulness, “I mean, if that sounds okay to you?”

Akio smiled, feeling a swell of pride at her bravery. “Amaya, if that’s what you want, I’ll support you every step of the way. And if you decide it’s not for you, that’s okay too. I just want you to be happy.”

She stood on her toes and kissed his chin, since that’s as high as she could reach without his help. “You are what I want,” she said softly. “The rest we’ll figure out. Together”

He bent down and met her lips again, a slow, sweet kiss filled with reassurance. When they broke apart, he touched his forehead to hers, smiling. “Together,” he echoed, sealing the word with another quick peck that made her giggle quietly.

Outside the window, a cluster of leaves fluttered down, twirling in the breeze. Late autumn would soon give way to winter, a season of rest and renewal. Fitting, Akio thought, as he looked at the woman in his arms.

Amaya wriggled in his embrace, glancing at the abandoned mess near the door. “I kinda just dumped my stuff everywhere, huh?”

Akio chuckled. “It’s fine. We’ve got time to clean up. Years, if you’re staying.” He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You are staying… right?”

Amaya didn’t answer right away. Instead, she just leaned in and wrapped both arms around his waist, squeezing like she was trying to fuse their spines together. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Except maybe to the kitchen because I’m actually still starving.” Her stomach, as if on cue, emitted a very unladylike gurgle.

She laughed, and Akio felt the vibration of it where her body met his. The sound was the most welcome thing he’d heard in days.

“Then let’s fix that,” he said, reluctantly loosening his hold just enough for them to walk. He kept one arm around her shoulders as they moved toward the kitchen.

“I think our egg fried rice disaster can still be redeemed.”

“I believe in us,” she said seriously.

He glanced down at her. “You just believe in food.”

She grinned up at him, utterly unrepentant. “Same thing.”