Chapter 6: Her Name is Yume

—Because names are dangerous things. They make strangers real.

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I wasn’t planning to go back tonight.

But then again, planning implies you have control over your life. Which, newsflash: I don’t. Nobody does. People who think they do are just lying better than the rest of us.

So yeah, I went back.

Same alley. Same busted keyboard. Same girl with hair like spilled ink and a presence that felt too bright for a place this dirty.

She was sitting cross-legged again, humming something light—like raindrops that didn’t know where to fall.

I stopped a few steps away.

She didn’t turn her head. Of course she didn’t. She couldn’t.

> “You keep showing up,” she said softly.

“Guess so.”

> “Why?”

“Guess I don’t know.”

She smiled like that answer made sense. Which was… annoying.

Her fingers rested on the keys. But she didn’t play.

Instead, she asked, “Do you know my name?”

I blinked.

“…No.”

“Good,” she said, tilting her head. “Because I never told you.”

Silence.

Then she added, almost in a whisper:

> “Yume.”

It hung there in the cold air between us.

A small word. Too soft for this world.

“…Dream?” I asked.

“Yeah. My parents were optimists. Bet they regret that now.”

“…Kazuki,” I said after a beat.

“What?”

“That’s my name.”

She smiled—gentle, like the name fit the space between us.

> “Kazuki. Hmm. Sounds like someone who takes punches for a living.”

“…You’re not wrong.”

She laughed quietly, then set her keyboard aside.

And before I could figure out what was happening, her hand was reaching toward me.

“Don’t move,” she said.

Her fingers brushed my jaw. Light. Careful.

Tracing the lines of my face like a blind cartographer trying to draw a map of someone she’ll never see.

I flinched. Instinct. People don’t touch me. Not like this.

But then… I let her.

Her fingertips moved across my cheekbones, my nose, my brow. Memorizing me in silence.

Her hands were cold. Or maybe mine were too warm.

“You feel…” she paused.

“…Tired.”

“…Yeah,” I muttered, voice low.

“Like someone who’s been carrying too much for too long.”

I didn’t answer. Because she was right. And I hated that she was right.

Her hands pulled away slowly, leaving the ghost of her touch behind.

She smiled again. Not pitying. Not sad. Just… there.

The kind of smile that made you forget how broken everything else was.

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I walked home after that.

Alley lights buzzing. Wind cutting through my jacket. Blood still crusted on my knuckles.

And for the first time in years… I caught myself smiling.

Just a little.

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