Chapter 25 – Hearts Laid Bare

The rain had started sometime after dinner.

It wasn’t loud, just a steady hush against the windows, like the sky itself was exhaling. In the tiny apartment they shared, the quiet crackled with something unsaid—like the air just before lightning. Haru sat curled on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea. The TV flickered with soft light, but neither of them was watching it.

Aya was next to her, legs stretched out, one arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers just barely brushing Haru’s shoulder.

They’d had plenty of nights like this before.

But never after saying I love you with their bodies. Never after breaking the rules they swore to follow. Never with Haru’s heart thudding like it might break through her chest and betray everything.

“…You’re quiet,” Aya murmured. “That’s new.”

Haru gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked down at her tea. “I’m just… thinking.”

Aya didn’t press, just let the silence stretch, comforting in its patience. Outside, the city was muffled, blurred in the rain. Inside, time felt slow. Safe.

But Haru didn’t feel safe.

She felt terrified.

“…Aya.”

“Hm?”

Haru turned to face her. “Do you ever… regret it?”

Aya tilted her head. “Regret what?”

“This,” Haru whispered. “Us.”

Something flickered in Aya’s eyes—surprise, then a flash of hurt, quickly masked. She sat up straighter. “Is that what you think?”

“No! I mean…” Haru fumbled, her throat tightening. “I just—sometimes I lie awake at night wondering how long we can keep this up. If someone finds out… if someone reports us—”

Her voice broke, and she didn’t finish.

Aya didn’t respond right away. She took the tea cup gently from Haru’s hands and set it on the table. Then she turned fully toward her, tucking one leg under the other.

“Haru,” she said softly, “look at me.”

Haru did.

“If I lose my job,” Aya said, voice low but firm, “if I lose my reputation, my career, even if people I care about turn away—if I lose all of that, but I still get to keep you…”

She reached out, cradled Haru’s cheek with her hand.

“…then I’ll be okay.”

Haru’s lips parted in disbelief. “You’d give all that up for me?”

“I’m not giving anything up,” Aya said, shaking her head. “I’m choosing you. There’s a difference.”

Tears stung at Haru’s eyes, sudden and sharp.

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

Aya smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Haru’s face. “That’s a lie.”

“I’m scared, Aya.”

“I know.”

“What if—what if one day I’m not enough?”

“You already are.”

Haru trembled.

Aya leaned in, pressing her forehead to Haru’s. Their breaths mingled, soft and warm.

“I don’t need a perfect life,” Aya whispered. “I just need a life where I can come home and hear you hum when you cook. Where I can laugh when you cry during dramas. Where I can steal your coffee and sleep in your scent.”

A breath.

“And hold your hand—even if it’s only when no one’s looking.”

Haru’s tears spilled over then.

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Aya, burying her face in her neck. Aya held her tight, like she was trying to shield her from everything outside that little apartment.

For a long time, they just sat like that.

Breathing together.

Alive together.

When Haru finally pulled back, her face was red and wet, but her eyes were clear.

“I’ve never said it out loud before,” she said quietly. “Not to anyone.”

Aya tilted her head.

Haru looked down, took a breath, then met her eyes.

“I love you.”

Aya blinked, stunned. “Haru…”

“I do. I’ve loved you since you dragged me to that yakitori place after my first school meltdown and told me I was too cute to cry in public.”

Aya laughed. “That’s not exactly a romantic confession.”

“I was a mess,” Haru admitted. “But you made me feel seen. Wanted.”

Aya cupped her face, pulled her in.

Their lips met gently, without urgency.

Just presence.

It was a kiss that said, I hear you. I see you. I love you, too.

When they pulled apart, Aya rested their foreheads together again. “You’ve got me,” she said. “For as long as you want me.”

Haru’s voice was barely a whisper. “Forever?”

“Forever’s a long time,” Aya teased. “But yeah. That sounds right.”

Later, when the rain slowed and the lights dimmed, they curled up together on the couch, blanket draped over them like a cocoon.

Haru felt Aya’s arm around her, her steady heartbeat beneath her palm.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel scared.

She felt held.

Wanted.

Loved.

Even if the world never knew… even if they always had to whisper… this moment was hers.

As her eyes drifted shut, Haru thought:

If this is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.