Chapter 28 – One Bed, No Problem?

The inn-style lodge was cozy, rustic, and way too romantic for a work trip.

Tatami floors creaked under their socks as Haru and Aya entered the room assigned to them. A low table with tea cups, a painted scroll of a mountain waterfall, and… a single futon, neatly laid out in the center of the room.

Haru froze.

“A-aya,” she stammered, pointing at the futon. “Is… is this a mistake?”

Aya set her overnight bag down without blinking. “Hmm. Maybe the front desk assumed we were a couple.”

“We aren’t—I mean, not like… out in public!” Haru’s voice cracked, a flush creeping across her neck. “We’re colleagues!”

Aya tilted her head, amused. “Then we’ll just sleep back-to-back like sensible coworkers.”

Haru spun around, arms flailing. “I-I’ll go ask for another room—”

“Haru.” Aya gently caught her wrist. “It’s just one night. I’ll behave. Unless…” She leaned in, voice dropping like warm honey. “You want otherwise.”

Haru’s heart thumped so loudly she was sure the sliding doors would rattle.

“N-no,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “Just—just behave.”

Aya released her and began unpacking, a little smirk tugging at her lips. “As you wish.”

---

By the time the lights dimmed and the lodge quieted, Haru had done everything she could to not look at the futon.

She’d folded and refolded her pajamas. Washed her face twice. Brushed her teeth until her gums hurt.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, she found Aya already lying down, hair fanned across the pillow. She’d tied her yukata a little loose, collar slightly open at the neck. The low light made her look softer—less teasing, more vulnerable.

Haru slid into the futon beside her, stiff as a board.

Aya lay on her side, facing the wall, giving her space.

“G-goodnight,” Haru mumbled, turning her back too.

A beat of silence.

Then Aya murmured, “Goodnight, sunshine.”

---

Midnight.

Crickets outside.

The hum of an old heater.

And Haru’s thoughts wouldn’t shut up.

Her body was warm—not from the blanket, but from Aya. Even facing opposite directions, she could feel her.

Her breathing.

Her quiet presence.

Her safety.

Every time Haru blinked, memories played behind her eyelids: the hug in the bath, the whispers in the dark, the way Aya had looked at her during the campfire storytelling with the students.

Like she was the only person that existed.

Why does she do that? Why does she keep choosing me?

She turned over slowly, careful not to disturb Aya.

But Aya was already facing her, eyes open.

“You’re awake too?” Haru whispered.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Aya said softly. “Too many thoughts.”

“Same…”

A beat passed.

Then Haru, barely louder than a breath, asked:

“…Why does it feel safer with you than alone?”

Aya’s eyes didn’t waver. She reached out gently, resting her hand between them—not touching, but open. An invitation.

“Because I’d never let anything hurt you,” she said. “Not even me.”

Haru’s throat tightened.

Her fingers brushed over Aya’s, uncertain, searching.

“Even if it’s wrong?” she whispered.

Aya’s brows drew together. “Do you think this is wrong?”

“I don’t know. It’s… it’s messy. Complicated. We’re both teachers. What if the students find out? What if the school—”

Aya’s fingers curled gently around hers.

“We’ll deal with it when it comes. But I won’t let fear decide who I love.”

Haru inhaled sharply. It felt like a confession, even if those exact words hadn’t been said.

And suddenly, all the noise in her head quieted.

Because Aya was here.

Because this warmth between them was real.

She didn’t move closer. Didn’t do anything bold.

She just let her forehead rest against Aya’s for a moment, eyes closed.

Aya’s hand rose slowly to cradle Haru’s cheek.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m scared,” Haru admitted. “But I’m happy.”

Aya gave her a ghost of a smile. “That’s a good kind of scared.”

They stayed like that, forehead to forehead, hand to hand.

Breathing the same air.

No pressure.

No demands.

Just presence.

Just trust.

And that was more intimate than anything else could have been.

---

Morning sunlight seeped through the rice-paper windows.

Haru stirred slowly, blinking against the gold haze.

She was still wrapped in warmth—her hand still held in Aya’s.

They hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t needed to.

Aya opened her eyes groggily and whispered, “Still want a separate futon?”

Haru gave her a soft, sleepy smile. “Not anymore.”

---

As the students bustled in the hallway, preparing for morning activities, Haru remained still beside Aya.

In her heart, she thought:

> Why does it feel safer with you than alone?

She already knew the answer.

Aya was her home now.

And whatever came next… she wasn’t facing it alone.