Chapter 15: Things We Only Say Without Words (II)

"Come again?" the words slipped from my mouth, apparently from both shock and confusion.

The question hit me harder than I expected.

Not because of what it meant.

But because of how naturally it came from her, of all people. If she was trying to close the distance between us, she is skipping a bunch of steps towards it.

“You need an ear cleaning, seriously. Walk me home.”

And I hate the fact that her face looks serious with the inviting offer.

Well, I had nothing to lose by walking her home. So I stood up.

“Sure.”

She smiled faintly. But to me, it was sunlight cracking through morning fog.

***

The train rocked gently as we stood side by side, backs pressed against the door, fingers not quite brushing. This train should've been filled with a crowd of office workers and students but tonight, it's undeniably calm and spacious.

I turned to the automatic door's glass, and Kousaka-san’s reflection blinked back at me, quiet and sharp as ever.

We hadn’t said a word since leaving the café. She was just fixed on her phone and I was just sending introspective glances towards the environment we are passing through.

And yet, the silence felt far from empty.

There’s a difference between awkward silence and earned silence. Between silence born of fear and the kind born of mutual understanding.

This was the second kind.

I wasn’t sure when that change happened.

Maybe it was when she saw my paintings.

Maybe it was when she let me see her sketches.

The argument? Somewhat.

When I saw her sleeping on the bench? Possibly.

Or mostly it was when she asked if I’d walk her home—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like a test, or a joke, or a trap.

And for once in my life, I didn’t hesitate to answer. I'm a people pleaser, I get it. But this 'yes' came from deep within me, where I’m not used to being comfortable.

The train lurched to a stop at Hyogo station. She casually raised her glance and tucked her phone in her sweater pockets, and I followed her out into the open night.

Three stations, then five intersections. One quiet bridge humming under the faint growl of distant traffic.

Even though we were surrounded by motion, it felt like the world had stilled around us.

We walked like two ghosts that had forgotten what it meant to haunt alone.

And yet, I was very aware of everything—of her breathing, of the soft scrape of her shoes on the sidewalk, of the scarf loosely hugging her throat, of the fading scent of cinnamon and cold wind.

It was all too much for something ‘casual’.

I hadn’t said anything since the café.

She hadn’t either.

But my head was full of noise.

What am I doing?

What is she doing?

Why do I keep following this feeling like it’s safe, like it won’t hurt later?

No...

Although I'm finally getting what the hell is this weight inside of me, screaming past the 'unknown' status, I had to shut it.

I...

I'm not worthy of Kousaka-san.

I cannot give her the joy of the world her parents kept away from her.

I'm just a dango seller who barely earns anything to bring her to places.

I'm not someone who can stand next to her and match the heights of her dreams.

She's someone I can draw and paint, but never someone that can be mine.

I can memorize the light in her eyes. But I don’t know how to be the kind of person who belongs in her picture.

I said that we don't have expectations for each other, but I just wanted to show her how much she meant to me.

Goodness, I should have hated her before.

Because she reminds me of everything I’ve lost through art, the one she loves.

But I can’t.

Because she still reminds me of everything I still want.

“Shimizu.”

Her sudden stop pulled me out to reality. I never realized that we had already arrived at her place.

I looked up.

The mid-rise condominium she lived in was tucked between a shuttered bookstore and a convenience store giving faint light in the alley.

Across the large gates, I can see a blue private pool reflecting the clear moonlight like a beaming crystal.

It fit her, somehow. A girl full of contradictions—soft in the places she tried to hide, and loud in the places she wanted to destroy. High enough to match the moon's beauty, but low enough to be within reach.

She stopped by the gate and turned to me.

“…So.”

There it was.

Her voice that sliced the silence like it always had—sharp and playful and loaded with hidden edges.

“Do you use LINE?”

I blinked.

“I…think I have it installed.”

“You think?”

I hesitated, pulled out my phone.

The screen was a spiderweb of fractures, the LCD bleeding like bruised skin underneath. I had to press the power button twice before the display lit up, sluggish and dim.

She stared at it. Then stared at me.

“…You’re joking,” she said.

“Nope.”

“That’s a war crime.”

“It still functions.”

“Barely. That’s not a phone, that’s trauma with a SIM card.”

She pulled out her own device—sleek, new, definitely a flagship model. The comparison was comedic. Her phone looked like a spaceship. Mine looked like the result of one falling from orbit.

“You know,” she said, tapping her screen, “phones are kind of symbolic. They say something about you.”

“Yeah. Like poverty.”

She laughed curtly, her breaths visible in the winter air.

I found myself staring at her longer than intended, and the cuteness from the blunt edges of personality sent warmth to my cheeks.

We exchanged IDs. My contact list blinked from [0 contacts] to [1 contact].

One person. One voice that might stay.

I never thought adding someone could feel like subtracting loneliness.

“...You seriously didn’t have anyone on here?” she asked.

“No.”

“No parents?”

“No.”

“No friends?”

“You’re my first.”

She blinked.

“...Zut,” she muttered. “You must’ve really sucked at school events.”

“I didn’t go.”

“And here I thought I was the antisocial one.”

“No, you’re just loud in your isolation. I’m quiet in mine.”

“Ouch.”

We paused again. I could feel the cold creeping under my jacket. She rubbed her gloved hands together, glanced at the gate, then back at me.

“So…” she said. “Should I be expecting another invite?”

“Why? Are you looking forward to cleaning my apartment again?”

“No, I was hoping you’d actually cook this time.”

“I burn water.”

“And I burned miso. So we’re even.”

I gave her a sideways look.

“You’re not normal.”

“You’re just boring.”

Another pause.

Then, with a sigh, I surrendered.

“...Are you coming back? I'll try to cook something.”

She tilted her head. Her tone was teasing, but there was something brittle behind the smile.

“I might,” she said. “But only if you let me see your paintings.”

“After exams.”

“Deal. But only if you promise not to critique me like a bitter art professor.”

“No guarantees.”

She stepped toward the door. The motion lights flicked on. Her face lit up in gold, white and blue.

Then she turned back to me, pulled her scarf down just enough to show the smallest smile.

“...Sleep, Itsuki. I have to see more of your art before you die.”

And with that, she vanished into the condo’s mouth, swallowed by automatic doors and the elevator’s quiet chime.

I waved my hand faintly even though it was left unseen.

***

The walk back was lonelier than I expected.

Maybe because something in me had gotten used to her presence, like a song I forgot I had on repeat.

Kousaka-san already occupied my head more than any person should have.

And her absence…was louder than her presence.

I'm a fool for feeling like this.

She wouldn't allow me either.

But I can't stop now.

I already took the long road with her only to drop the ball.

When I reached the apartment complex, I noticed it.

There was a sleek black car parked under the flickering streetlight.

For all the years the apartment and its tenants relied on bikes, such a gloomy sedan emitted quiet peril.

I ignored the pressure in my chest seeing my reflection and walked past it.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor, and met the same peeling paint of my room walls, and the same faint stink of mold from the far end pipe.

Room 202.

I pulled out my key.

Then—

A hand.

Around my neck.

I reacted faster than I should’ve. I pulled away from the grasp and elbowed the leather-draped limb. The person wearing a dark hood sent another arm but I managed to swat it away.

I didn't give them much space to retaliate, quickly grabbing their armpit and propelling them over their shoulder.

I brought them to the ground with a sickening thud.

Years of walking alone had sharpened my instincts, and I only had to use it when very necessary.

Whoever it was backed off, rolling to the ground and pulling himself up quickly.

Then slowly and lazily clapped.

“…Not bad."

I froze in my position, my jaw and fists tightening gradually.

"...You still had that fight in you."

He pulled the hoodie down, revealing his crimson hair, a photocopy from mine.

Cold grey eyes glinted beneath it.

Same nose. Same sharp brow.

And that voice.

That voice.

I thought I’d buried that voice five years ago.

“Hello, Itsuki.”

I stared at the ghost that left me breathing 5 years ago.

My heart felt like it was pulled out from my chest.

"...Papa?"