~ CHAPTER 17 – Crossed Lines ~

{ Tetsuya Hinami’s Point of View }

The café near the west library is quiet on weekday mornings — the kind of quiet I like.

No lines. No noise. Just the hum of old ceiling fans and the smell of slightly burnt espresso.

I sit in my usual corner with a textbook I’m not reading and a coffee I’ve already forgotten about.

Then he walks in.

Shoichi.

I recognize him immediately, though we’ve never properly spoken.

He’s not flashy. Not the kind of guy who tries to take up space.

But I’ve seen the way he looks at Yasuko.

And more importantly — the way she looks at him.

He orders something with oat milk and stands there waiting, earbuds half-dangling, sketchbook under one arm.

He hasn’t seen me yet.

I don’t know what makes me stand.

Maybe curiosity.

Maybe the part of me that wants to understand the guy Yasuko chose — and the guy Masumi made sure she could keep.

“Shoichi, right?”

He turns, surprised.

Then he nods. “Yeah.”

I offer a hand. “Tetsuya.”

His eyes flicker for a second — probably putting it together.

The name. The trial. Masumi.

But he shakes my hand anyway.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

We both sit.

There’s no reason to. No plan.

But we sat.

Two guys orbiting the same family, from two very different angles.

“You and Yasuko…” I start.

He nods, slow and sure. “Yeah. We’re together.”

He says it plainly.

No possessiveness. No hesitation.

Just the truth.

I can respect that.

“She’s… special,” I say, unsure if I’m trying to make conversation or offer a warning.

Shoichi doesn’t smile.

But his voice is calm.

“I know.”

A moment passes.

Then he says something that catches me off guard.

“You and Masumi — that’s complicated.”

It’s not a question.

I sit back, lips tugging into a dry smile. “You could say that.”

“She acts like she’s got it all figured out,” he continues, “but she cares more than she wants people to know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You two talk?”

“Not really.”

He shrugs.

“I just see things.”

I studied him for a second longer.

The quiet confidence.

The way he watches instead of performing.

Suddenly, it makes sense.

Why Yasuko feels safe with him.

Why Masumi backed off.

Why this works.

“Take care of her,” I say quietly.

Shoichi meets my eyes.

“I am.

*

*

*

{ Yasuko Aikawa’s Point of View }

It’s rare that Masumi invites me out for coffee.

Rarer still that she shows up on time.

“I can’t believe you’re willingly taking me somewhere that doesn’t have a VIP section,” I tease as we stroll down the campus path.

Masumi tosses her hair. “This place has decent pastries and tolerable lighting. I can suffer for one afternoon.”

“You’re such a saint.”

“You’re welcome.”

The café near the west library is small, tucked between ivy-covered buildings and half-forgotten sculptures. It’s the kind of place I go to avoid being seen.

Apparently, it’s also where Masumi goes when she’s trying to be “low effort.”

We push open the door, and the warm scent of coffee and cinnamon hits us like a memory.

Masumi orders for both of us without asking — matcha for her, iced vanilla latte for me.

It’s… oddly thoughtful.

We’re about to head to an open window seat when Masumi freezes mid-step.

I follow her gaze.

At a corner table near the back — Tetsuya and Shoichi.

Sitting together.

Talking.

My chest stutters for a second.

Not because it’s strange to see them in the same place.

But because it’s strange to see them look comfortable with each other.

Shoichi’s relaxed, leaning back in his seat, sketchbook beside him.

Tetsuya nodded slowly, arms crossed, half-smiling at something Shoichi just said.

They don’t notice us.

Yet.

Masumi blinks.

“Is that…”

“Tetsuya,” I finished.

“And your boyfriend.”

“Looks like it.”

We stood there for a second too long.

The barista clears her throat politely, handing over our drinks.

Masumi takes them with one hand, the other gripping her bag tighter than usual.

“You okay?” I ask, tilting my head.

She exhales through her nose. “Fine. Just… didn’t expect the universe to mash the four of us into the same timeline today.”

I grin. “It’s almost like we go to the same university or something.”

Masumi rolls her eyes, but her posture softens.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s sit by the window. I’m not in the mood to accidentally make eye contact and have a deeply personal conversation in public.”

“Agreed.”

We slide into a booth near the window, just far enough that we can pretend not to notice the guys — and maybe close enough that they’ll pretend not to notice us, too.

For now, we sip our drinks and talk about everything but them.

Because sometimes, peace looks like ignoring what your heart hasn’t figured out yet.

*

*

*

Masumi takes one sip of her matcha, still staring toward the corner.

I watch her. She’s pretending to be casual, but I see the way her fingers tap the side of her cup, how her eyes flicker once more toward Tetsuya.

She’s curious.

So am I.

“You want to go say hi?” I ask, teasing but honest.

She looks at me sideways. “Not really.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“…Maybe.”

Before she can change her mind, I slide out of the booth and start walking toward their table.

Masumi groans behind me but follows anyway.

Shoichi spots us first.

His eyebrows lift — surprised, but not unhappy. “Hey.”

Tetsuya turns too, and for a second, something unreadable flickers across his face when he sees Masumi.

But he straightens and nods. “Hi.”

“We didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, standing beside Shoichi’s chair.

“You’re not,” he replies, already moving his sketchbook off the table to make room.

“Sit,” he adds gently.

And just like that, the four of us are sitting together.

It’s… awkward at first.

Not in a bad way. Just in the, what do we even talk about now? kind of way.

Shoichi leans toward me, nudging my leg with his under the table. I shoot him a look, and he gives me a small grin.

I can breathe.

At least on my side of the table.

Across from us, Masumi and Tetsuya aren’t making eye contact.

She’s pretending to scroll her phone.

He’s watching the condensation slide down his coffee glass like it’s suddenly fascinating.

I sip my drink and try not to smirk.

Shoichi breaks the silence first. “So. Anyone else ready for midterms to ruin their GPA?”

I laugh. “That’s optimistic. You think I had a GPA to begin with.”

Masumi finally looks up. “You could try studying, you know.”

“Wow. Sisterly support.”

“She’s right,” Tetsuya says softly, surprising everyone — even himself.

Masumi glances at him, expression unreadable.

Something changes in the air.

Shoichi glances between them, sensing it too, but doesn’t push.

Instead, he rests his hand lightly on mine under the table, grounding me.

I glance at Masumi.

And for once… she doesn’t look like she wants to be anywhere else.

It’s a strange moment.

The four of us, sitting there like we’re just… friends.

Like we haven’t all been tangled in secrets and expectations and quiet heartaches.

But maybe this is how something new begins.

Not with a dramatic confession.

Not with a confrontation.

But with coffee.

And silence.

And a choice to sit together anyway.

*

*

*

{ Tetsuya Hinami’s Point of View }

I don’t know when it will happen.

Maybe after Yasuko laughs again — that warm, genuine sound I’ve only ever seen Shoichi pull from her.

Maybe when Masumi stops pretending her phone is more interesting than anything else at this table.

Or maybe it’s when I realize I don’t want the moment to pass without saying something that matters.

I clear my throat. Quietly.

She looks up.

Masumi.

Her gaze meets mine, guarded but steady.

“Can we talk?” I ask.

A slight lift of her brow. “Aren’t we already?”

I smile — just a little. “I mean… without the audience.”

Shoichi’s already sliding out of his seat, tugging Yasuko with him.

“We’ll go pretend to care about scones,” he says.

Yasuko mouths, Good luck before disappearing with him.

Now it’s just the two of us.

Masumi stirs her drink slowly. “So. This is happening.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of us say what we really mean.

So I try again.

“I liked you. Back then.”

She stops stirring.

“But I didn’t know it was you,” I continued. “Not really. I only saw the part of you everyone else saw. The loud, untouchable, polished part.”

Masumi leans back in her seat, arms crossed.

“And now?”

“Now I see the version who makes matcha for her sister. Who lies to her parents to protect someone else. Who offers a fake engagement just to take pressure off someone she barely knew.”

I pause.

“I see you.”

Her walls don’t fall. Not right away.

But she stops holding them up.

Her eyes are glassy, unreadable. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know.”

A long silence.

Then she asks the question that’s been building between us since the beginning.

“So what now?”

I reach across the table and tap my fingers once against hers.

“Now we start real.”

Her eyes flick to our hands. “No family pressure. No timelines. No contracts.”

“No pretending.”

She’s quiet for a beat.

Then: “Okay.”

Just like that.

And in Masumi Aikawa’s world, that is everything.

Across the café, Shoichi and Yasuko are watching from the pastry case.

He says something that makes her cover her face, cheeks flushed. He laughs and loops an arm around her waist, pulling her gently toward him.

She doesn’t pull away.

Four people.

A web of misunderstandings, old wounds, and quiet sacrifices.

But somehow, here we are — sharing the same sunlight.

The same table.

The same future.