Chapter 18 : The Confession She Never Made

You’d think eating dinner together would erase tension. Nope. All it did was carve it deeper into the walls of Asuka’s apartment, like some cruel graffiti saying welcome to domestic purgatory.

I kept pretending to focus on the food—rice with grilled mackerel, simple miso soup, and something Asuka swore wasn’t burnt but my tongue disagreed with. But the silence afterward was heavier than a sumo wrestler sitting on your chest.

And then Asuka said it.

---

“Reiji-kun… I should probably tell you the truth about Kazuma.”

Oh. That name again. My personal Voldemort.

I put my chopsticks down slowly, like they were grenades with loose pins. “If you want to.”

She gave me a look, the kind people give when they already know the other person wants to hear it, but is too cowardly to ask. She tucked her hair behind her ear, hands trembling slightly, and began:

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“I was in love with him. I thought… maybe stupidly, that he was the one. We dated all through university. He was charming, ambitious, always saying he’d take care of me. And then…”

Her voice cracked, like a record scratching. She looked down at her hands, gripping her lap so tightly I thought she’d tear through her jeans.

“…when I got pregnant, he left. Said he ‘wasn’t ready,’ that he ‘had dreams.’ And I—” she bit her lip. “I refused to beg him to stay. If he wanted to go, then fine. I’d raise Yume alone.”

---

I sat there. Silent.

Because inside me, every neuron was screaming: What kind of bastard leaves her like that?

If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t have run. I’d have stayed, even if it killed me.

But my mouth refused to say any of that. My mouth chose the Hikigaya-approved route:

“…That’s rough.”

She blinked at me, then let out a small laugh. “That’s all?”

“Yeah. I don’t do sympathy speeches. They always sound fake.”

The truth is, I wasn’t sure if my voice wouldn’t break if I said more.

---

Later that night, I tried to sleep on the futon Asuka laid out for me. Emphasis on tried.

My brain had other plans: playing back Asuka’s trembling hands, her voice cracking when she mentioned Kazuma. I wanted to find that guy and feed him to a woodchipper. Preferably feet first.

And then it happened.

A small shadow crept across the floor, soft little footsteps like a cat. I peeked one eye open.

Yume.

In her pajamas, holding a stuffed rabbit by one ear. She looked at me, pouty-faced.

“…Reiji-oniichan.”

Uh oh.

She shuffled closer and whispered, “Mama’s sad today. Can I sleep here?”

And without waiting for permission—because apparently I’m a human teddy bear—she plopped right onto my futon and crawled under the blanket.

I froze.

Her tiny hands clung to my shirt, her little head resting against my arm. And just like that—bam—I was now an unwilling co-sleeper.

---

“Oi, oi, oi…” I muttered, staring at the ceiling. “What if your mom walks in? This looks way too suspicious.”

But Yume was already asleep. Kids, man. No respect for a man’s sanity.

I sighed, trying not to move an inch. Every fiber of me screamed: don’t get comfortable, don’t get soft. But at the same time…

She was warm. And not in a bad way. More like a reminder of the family warmth I’d never had.

Before I knew it, my eyes drifted shut.

---

Morning chaos.

“Yume—what are you—eh?!”

That was Asuka’s voice.

My eyes shot open. And yep. Exactly as feared.

Picture this: Yume snuggled into my chest, my arm unconsciously wrapped around her like a protective shield, both of us in what could only be described as a dad-and-daughter pose.

Except—I wasn’t her dad.

And Asuka was standing there in her pajamas, hair messy, jaw dropped.

I panicked. “W-wait, this isn’t what it looks like—”

Yume, still half-asleep, mumbled: “Mmm… Reiji-oniichan, don’t go…”

…Yeah. Goodbye, reputation. You lived a short, meaningless life.

---

Breakfast was the most awkward ordeal of my existence.

Asuka set plates on the table, lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to make eye contact. Yume cheerfully hummed, blissfully unaware of the social death she’d sentenced me to.

I cleared my throat. “Uh… about last night—”

Asuka raised a hand. “Don’t. It’s fine.”

Translation: It’s not fine at all, and if you say another word I’ll hurl this miso soup at your head.

So I shut up.

---

But throughout breakfast, I kept stealing glances at her. She looked tired. Her eyes were still a little red from the night before.

And that’s when the thought hit me like a baseball bat to the chest:

I didn’t just want to “help.”

I wanted to stay.

I wanted to be there when her hands trembled. I wanted to be there when Yume had nightmares. I wanted to be there for the messy mornings, the awkward silences, the laughter that only happened in rare, fleeting sparks.

I wanted to be… theirs.

---

Of course, I didn’t say that out loud. That would be way too honest, and honesty is terrifying.

Instead, I quietly picked up Yume’s dropped chopstick, wiped it clean, and handed it back to her.

She grinned. “Thanks, oniichan!”

Asuka glanced at me then, her eyes softening for a brief second before she looked away.

And maybe—just maybe—she was starting to see it too.

That I wasn’t going anywhere.

Not this time.