Chapter 32:
For The Golden Flower I Stole In That Rain
The elevator refused to move fast enough. It dragged itself up like a coffin being lifted from the earth.
I watched the flickering floor count.
3
…
4
…
5
…
“MOVE!”
…
6
…
“Just fucking…move…goddamn it—”
…
7
…
8
…
Every second I was forced to wait inside that dull, humming box felt like my body was being wrung out. My mind replayed that first image—her figure by the bench, half-drenched in rain, still sketching on that paper as if the last frontier on the cruel world around her.
Then, her face succumbing to my betrayal, the blue eyes that lost light, the expectations I crushed, and the future that died today.
It burned itself to my head, an immovable object, a testament of the consequences once a person steps on the wrong side of conscience, if they ever had.
Impatience took over and I parted the elevator doors myself.
I didn’t walk out.
I ran.
Down the corridor, past the sterile walls of her building that somehow felt more suffocating than a prison. I knew which door was hers. Even without thinking, my feet stopped there like they had memorized the pain of this path.
“Fontaine/Kousaka”
No seconds wasted. I banged on the door—once, twice, again and again.
After the sharp knocks. All I could hear was her.
Her muffled cries.
Somewhere behind that thin slab of wood, Kousaka Akari—the girl who always carried herself like nothing could touch her—was crumbling.
And I was the reason.
I took a shaky breath.
"...Kousaka-san..."
I pressed my forehead against the door.
“I didn’t...I didn’t mean for you to see it like that. It’s not what you think, Kousaka-san, please just—just let me explain...”
Still nothing.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging crescent moons into my skin. I wanted her to scream. To call me a liar. To hate me—anything to shatter that silence that sounded like the end of the world.
The sobs didn’t stop.
She never cried in front of me at all.
I was too used to seeing that apathy and indifference in her face.
I could wish for nothing but to see her happy.
But what the heck did I even do to her?
“I didn’t sleep with her.” as I pressed my forehead to the door, fingers trembling over the handle. “I swear to God, I didn’t. I left the moment I realized what she was trying to do. You have to believe me.”
Quiet sobs were her only replies.
I gripped the doorknob.
And gasped.
It turned.
It wasn’t locked.
The hesitation in my chest could’ve killed me. A thousand thoughts crashed into one: Am I crossing a line? Should I even—?
But then I stepped in.
The lights were off except for the faint glow from her bedroom. The air was cold. Her sketchpad was on the study desk, pages spilling out. A broken pencil was snapped in two near the couch.
And her voice…
"...Why...why would he do that to me..."
There she was.
Buried beneath her comforter like a ghost who didn’t want to be seen. Her shoulders trembled. Her head was down. Her sobs echoed louder now, bouncing off the walls, off the hollow in my chest.
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. The words were tangled in my throat.
But I forced them out.
“I’m here,” I whispered.
She clutched her pillow tighter.
“Kousaka-san, please. Let me explain.”
“...I hate you.”
The sound of her voice was brittle—like it would snap if she spoke any louder.
“The thought of you…it disgusts me. I feel like I'm being violated.”
“...”
“Get away from me.”
“I didn’t know it would turn out like that. I didn’t even—she tricked me. I thought it was just another photoshoot—”
“Then why were you there, Shimizu?!”
She threw the blanket off, her face streaked with tears and fury. Her eyes were a storm—flickering between betrayal and rage, between the blue skies I knew and the wildfire I made.
They were raw.
They were hollow.
“Why the hell were you at a love hotel with another woman?!”
“I wasn’t with her! I left—”
“—Left?”
A sharp sound.
The mattress creaked sharply as Kousaka-san lunged towards me.
“You left?” she hissed painfully as if I just stabbed her.
Tears streaked her cheeks. Her eyes—once sky blue—looked like thunderclouds now.
And then—
WHAP.
Right hand.
My face twisted with the force of it.
Another breath—
SLAP.
Left hand. Stronger.
I staggered a step back. The sting didn’t compare to the ache inside.
“You think that makes it better?!”
She slammed her fist against my chest.
“That you almost let her?”
Another slap.
“That you almost gave yourself away?!”
“...I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said. “I just—”
WHAP.
Twice.
Thrice.
The sound of surfaces of our skins crashing against one another were gunshots in her suite.
She didn’t care where her hand landed. She just needed to hurt me, and I deserved it.
My face was already flaring with white hot pain before I could even register it.
“You wanted to give me a gift? You wanted to surprise me?! So you sold your dignity for it?!”
“I was trying to earn, Kousaka-san! I’ve never had anything to offer anyone—I thought if I just worked hard enough—”
But she hit me again.
And again.
My vision blurred. But I didn’t block her. I just stood there and took it.
“Why do you never get it?!” Her voice cracked with fury, with sorrow. “I told my father to go to hell. I burned every bridge to stay here for you!”
Tears streamed down her cheeks now, freely, violently.
“I gave up my goddamn borders for you—because I didn’t want to live another second pretending I didn’t love you! And what do you do? You go off and sell yourself for a ‘gift’?!”
“I—” I stammered, eyes stinging. “I thought I was doing something right—”
“No!” she screamed, shoving me away by my collar. “You were just running again! Like you always do! You hide in logic, in budgeting your little life so tightly you forget that real people bleed when you miscalculate them!”
She yanked at my hair, tears falling onto my shirt.
“I would’ve taken nothing, Itsuki,” she whispered bitterly, still raking over my hair. “I would’ve taken you showing up, saying Merry Christmas and Happy New Year with that stupid smile of yours.”
She pulled away, red strands caught between her fingers and nails.
“But you don’t listen!” she shouted, grabbing my shirt and shaking me. “You think everything’s about saving people and proving yourself!”
I froze.
“The night you stumbled by me on the bench, I wasn’t just upset,” she said. “I was going to jump off that damned balcony. But I cannot, not that night…I was still terrified!”
My knees nearly buckled.
“I thought I already destroyed what stood between us…” she trailed off, sobbing. “I didn’t care anymore. About art, about this city, about anything. But then—then you came. With your stupid coat and your dumb critiques and that—damn way you always show up when I’m about to lose it.”
She reached toward the desk and grabbed something—her sketchbook.
And hurled it at my chest.
It hit with a muted thud, and pages fluttered to the floor.
Memories—inked and penciled—spilled across the carpet.
“I offered you EVERYTHING to start again!” the words ripped from her throat, primal and raw. “But your…your stupid inferiority complex took over and now what, you trade my kindness into dirty work?!”
I sank to my knees, fingers numb, breath caught somewhere between my ribs and shame.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. And it felt too small for the size of what I broke.
She sat on the bed, curling into herself, arms wrapped around her knees. Her breathing was ragged.
Broken and uneven.
“I loved you!” she exclaimed. “And all I ever wanted was to feel like I belonged somewhere, like someone saw me!”
“I saw you,” I said.
She looked up, her eyes wet and trembling.
“You’re blinded today,” she whispered.
She was right.
I don't know how to love her properly.
I thought that love revolves around sacrifices.
I thought it meant proving I was worth something.
I might have said that it blooms from little gestures before, but everything blurred when I was met with my own weakness.
Money.
It poisoned me.
It made me question my standards.
Now it came to take the only thing that I have.
Kousaka-san.
I reached for her hand. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. After a moment, we intertwined.
There was a slight feeling of relief that she's still wanting to be reached by me.
“I thought…if I could make you happy with something beautiful, I’d finally be enough. But all you ever wanted...was me. And I was too stupid to see that.”
We sat there for a long moment, breathing quietly.
Her voice broke again. “You are enough. You always were.”
I rose up and leaned in, forehead resting against her shoulder.
“I never wanted the sky,” she whispered. “I only wanted the boy who offered me his umbrella.”
“I'll offer it over and over again. Just…trust me.”
“That’s the problem, Itsuki,” she whispered. “I thought I could trust you. I thought...I could give you my heart and not have to worry if you'd break it.”
Her voice broke completely.
“And now I don't even know if there's anything left.”
She blinked—slow, as if trying to will the tears back.
But it didn’t work.
Then it happened.
Her frame buckled slightly.
And for the first time in all the days I’ve known her—through benches, rain, sketches and silence—Kousaka-san cried in front of me.
Violent, heaving sobs ripped from her throat, sounding like a dam giving in to everything it had been holding back.
I embraced her fully as she covered her mouth with both hands, like she was ashamed to fall apart in front of me—as if letting me see her like this would somehow make her smaller.
It didn't.
I saw her as a human.
And it broke me.
I didn't mean to erase what she saw just earlier.
Not to bend the truth, not to sugarcoat the lies.
I wanted her to realize that even if she's drowning, I would be the shore that will rescue her.
Even if I was the one dragging her beneath those waves.
“... I'm sorry, Kousaka-san.”
She returned the embrace after a while, fingers clutching at my back, gripping me like if she let go even for a second, she'd vanish into whatever void was swallowing her whole.
Her face buried into my shoulder, her tears soaking through my shirt until the fabric clung to my skin.
"It'll never happen again, no promises, just actions."
I whispered.
Her sobs just grew louder.
“I hate you, Shimizu. I hate you so fucking much.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to forget you.”
“I know that too.”
“I want to disappear and never see you again.”
“I understand.”
“But I can’t—dammit, I can’t—” She gritted her teeth, clutching me tighter.
And all I could do was hold her as she broke apart in my arms—the girl who never cried, the girl who drew the world in charcoal and saw people in colors no one else could.
The rain outside tapped gently against the window, as if even the sky was trying not to interrupt.
Kousaka-san brushed her fingertips against my cheek—the same place she slapped earlier. Her touch was feather-light, as if asking permission to stay.
She planted a small and lingering kiss, enough to make me forget the pain that lay beneath them.
“…You are enough,” she said. “You were always enough, Itsuki.”
"I'll remember it, and I'll always love you, Kousaka-san."
She nodded and buried herself in my chest.
We stayed like that for a moment, melting against one another, saying the apologies that carried more weight than anything.
And in that moment, I realized...
Maybe Kousaka-san didn’t need an apology.
Perhaps she just needed to fall, and know I would still be here to catch her.
***
We had stopped fighting.
Or at least, the words stopped bleeding.
Her fists had quieted. Her voice fell into silence. The tears—hers, mine—had dried into a kind of truce that needed no terms.
She lay on the couch now, face turned to the wall, blanket curled around her like a makeshift shield. Her hair, slightly disheveled, glowed faintly under the soft hue of the night lamp lights. Eyes half-closed. Breathing even.
I stood there for a long while, watching her. A part of me is afraid to move.
I thought leaving would wake the storm again. But I knew I couldn’t stay here forever.
I picked up the fallen sketchbook, folded the pages gently, and placed it on the coffee table.
“Hey...” I whispered, brushing a strand of golden hair from her cheek.
Her lashes fluttered.
“I'm going home. I'll send a message when I get there.”
She responded with a quiet nod.
And then, slowly—I leaned in and kissed her forehead.
A soft kiss between her bangs and the furrowed line that stress had carved into her brow. I let my lips rest there for a heartbeat longer than I meant to.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whispered. “Goodnight...Kousaka-san.”
Still no words. But her fingers twitched beneath the blanket.
I rose, each movement heavier than the last.
The room was dim as I slipped on my shoes by the door, casting one last glance at her before closing it.
Click.
March.
Trudge.
A sigh slipped from my chest as I leaned back against the windowed hallway wall. I can see the city and the rain in a panoramic view in front of me.
Although this is not the right time to make reflections and assumptions, I still think that we're already okay and made it through.
I pulled out my phone to check for time
8:14 PM.
At the same time, the first crack of lightning split the sky.
Thunder rumbled through the building and the lights flickered.
For a brief second, every glass surface—every windowpane, every photo frame, even the elevator mirror—flashed white.
The edges of the condominium burned into the walls, an obscura from the lightning.
Curious, I stepped closer.
Then came another flash, a brighter one.
For a split second, I saw the shadows of the building but one thing was unusual.
I could see a figure standing on one balcony.
I blinked it out at first, but my heart already thawed.
CRACK.
Silhouette.
It was real.
My head slowly turned to the glass panel beside the hallway’s emergency exit.
A pale shape.
A silhouette of bare feet on cold concrete.
And hair like sunlight trembling in the rain.
My heart dropped like a stone.
“Kousaka-san?”
My stomach twisted.
“W-w-wait a second…”
With my heart thumping against my ears, I took one step backward.
I couldn't be mistaken.
Don’t let it be what I think.
Don’t let it be real.
Please.
God, please.
Another flash of lightning lit the walls like a stage—
And there she was.
Standing on the edge of her balcony railing.
Her arms were outstretched, like wings. Like she was asking the sky to take her back.
Her white sweater clung to her skin. The wind tangled her golden hair across her face.
Her gaze was fixed.
Far below.
Into the abyss.
She didn’t know. She couldn’t know what I had seen.
She didn't know I was still here, a silent, helpless witness to her silent despair.
A primal scream ripped through me, but no sound escaped.
And when it did, it was her name.
“KOUSAKA-SAN!”
A desperate, animalistic scream.
I sprinted back, my legs pumping, fueled by pure, unadulterated terror, toward the door of her unit.
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