Chapter 18 – Haru’s Heartbeat

The apartment was quiet when Haru unlocked the door. She slipped off her shoes, clutching her bag like it could steady her racing pulse.

Aya was already home, sprawled on the couch in a loose white T-shirt and black shorts, hair damp from a shower. She looked impossibly relaxed—except for the faint scrape on her right hand, raw and red.

Haru’s stomach tightened. “Aya… your hand—what happened?”

Aya glanced down, blinking as if she’d forgotten. “Ah, that? Basketball practice. I dove for the ball and ate the floor. No big deal.”

“No big—” Haru sputtered, dropping her bag and hurrying to the kitchen. She returned with a small first aid kit, kneeling in front of the couch before Aya could protest.

“You should disinfect it,” Haru muttered, her voice sharper than intended. “You could get an infection.”

Aya raised an eyebrow but didn’t pull away. Instead, she watched quietly as Haru opened the antiseptic bottle, her fingers trembling just a little.

---

Close Enough to Hear Her Breathe

Haru dabbed the cotton against Aya’s scraped skin, biting her lip as Aya winced. “Sorry,” Haru whispered.

Aya chuckled low in her throat. “You always apologize too much.”

Haru ignored her, focusing on the bandage—anything to keep her eyes from wandering up Aya’s arm, over the curve of her collarbone, to the smooth line of her throat.

But Aya made it impossible. She was too close. Her scent—clean, warm, faintly citrus—wrapped around Haru like a spell. The heat from Aya’s body seeped into her skin, making her dizzy.

By the time Haru finished and sat back, her cheeks were blazing. “There. Done.”

Aya flexed her fingers, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, newbie.”

Haru tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. “You… should be more careful.”

Aya’s gaze softened, all teasing stripped away. “I’m not really good at careful.”

The words sank into Haru’s chest like stones, heavy and dangerous.

---

Before Haru could respond, Aya spoke again—quiet, almost like a confession.

“You know…” Aya’s eyes lowered, dark lashes casting shadows against her cheekbones. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

Haru froze, breath catching painfully in her throat. “Aya…”

Aya’s voice was low, raw, stripped bare. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just—when you’re around, I can’t stay calm. I can’t be… me. Not the cool, untouchable Aya everyone sees. With you, I…”

She trailed off, shaking her head as if words weren’t enough.

Haru stared at her, heart pounding so hard she thought it might crack her ribs. Aya wasn’t teasing. She wasn’t joking. Every syllable was drenched in truth—and that truth set Haru’s entire body alight.

All the walls she’d built, all the excuses she’d clung to—they crumbled under the weight of Aya’s voice, her gaze, her quiet honesty.

I can’t deny it anymore.

---

The Kiss That Wasn’t—But Was Everything

Haru’s hands moved before her brain could stop them. She reached up, fingers brushing Aya’s cheek—just the lightest touch, trembling like a secret.

Aya stilled, eyes widening, lips parting softly.

And Haru, burning from head to toe, leaned in—just enough to press her lips to Aya’s cheek. A fleeting kiss, gentle and shy, barely there.

But it sent shockwaves through Haru’s body, through Aya’s too—because Aya sucked in a sharp breath, muscles going taut beneath Haru’s fingertips.

Haru jerked back immediately, face flaming, heart slamming so violently it hurt. “I—I need to—”

She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over the futon as she bolted for her room.

Behind her, Aya sat frozen on the couch, fingertips ghosting over the spot where Haru’s lips had been—eyes wide, breath uneven, a slow, stunned smile curving her mouth.

---

Haru slammed her door shut, collapsing against it as her heart screamed one truth she could no longer run from:

I love her.

And outside, Aya whispered to the empty room, voice thick with something fierce and tender:

“…Haru.”