Chapter 44: The Walk to the Hotel

The air changes after Hanami’s tears fade.

The argument outside the hotel drains the both of them, leaving only a quiet exhaustion lingering between their breaths. Kosuke tries to speak twice, but no words make it past his lips. Hanami wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, pretending it’s just the wind making her eyes red.

“It’s cold,” she murmurs.

Kosuke shrugs off his jacket instinctively, then freezes halfway, unsure if he should. She notices the movement anyway.

“…I’m okay,” she whispers.

He nods, even though he doesn’t believe her.

They step away from the hotel’s bright doorway. The night pulls them back into its calm, and their pace slows naturally as they walk under the streetlights. The shadows stretch behind them like old memories that never learned to stay quiet.

Kosuke keeps a respectful distance—close enough to reach her if she stumbles, but far enough not to make anything uncomfortable. She glances at him from time to time. Each time she does, her expression softens a little.

“Don’t go home yet,” she finally says.

Her voice is small, the kind people use when they’re afraid of sounding needy.

Kosuke stops walking. For a moment, he thinks she said it by mistake.

“Hanami… are you sure?” he asks gently.

She nods without looking at him, staring at her shoes as she kicks a small pebble across the sidewalk.

“I’m not ready to go home.”

Kosuke hears everything she doesn’t say.

Not ready to return to a silent hotel room.

Not ready to sit with her thoughts alone.

Not ready to let this night end, not after years of pretending they were strangers.

“…Okay,” he says.

And that single word loosens something heavy inside her.

They start walking again. Her steps slow to match his. His hands stay buried in his pockets so he won’t accidentally reach for her the way he used to.

The town is quiet at this hour.

Shops are shuttered.

The wind carries the faint smell of distant rain.

There’s a hum of street lamps, the occasional passing car, the soft tap of Hanami’s heels on the pavement.

For the first time in years, Kosuke feels like he’s moving beside her, not behind her shadow.

When they reach the hotel entrance again, the revolving door reflects both of them in the glass. Two adults. Two people who weathered years apart. Two hearts still confused about how to exist near each other.

Hanami stops walking.

She grips the strap of her bag tightly, breathing in once before turning toward him.

“Don't go yet,” she says again, more firmly this time. “Just… stay for a bit.”

Her voice cracks on the last word.

Kosuke’s heart thuds once—hard enough to hurt.

He tries not to show how much her request affects him.

“Alright,” he says quietly.

They step inside the lobby.

The bright lights feel too sharp after the gentle dark outside.

Two receptionists talk among themselves while a tourist family checks in at the counter. The normalcy of the scene almost feels surreal after the emotional storm they just walked through.

Hanami sits on one of the lobby couches. Kosuke sits beside her, leaving a polite amount of space. The cushions are stiff, the air smells faintly floral, and people walk past them without knowing how many pieces they’re holding together just to breathe normally.

Hanami tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and whispers, “It’s too bright… too noisy.”

Kosuke follows her gaze around the room. He can see what she means.

The lobby feels like it doesn’t belong to their night, their fragile moment, their slow return to something they both thought had died long ago.

He leans forward slightly.

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” he asks.

She nods.

Her voice almost disappears when she responds.

“Can… you come to my room?”

Kosuke goes still.

Every scenario he tries to avoid flashes through his mind, and he immediately pushes them aside. He looks at her—really looks. Hanami isn’t asking with flirtation or nostalgia. She looks tired, overwhelmed, and scared of being alone with her own thoughts.

She needs a friend from her past.

Not anything more.

“Only if you’re sure,” Kosuke says softly.

She nods again, this time with more conviction.

The elevator ride is quiet. Kosuke stands on one side, Hanami on the other. Their reflections in the metal walls look like two people pretending to be calm.

When they reach her floor, the hallway is silent except for a distant hum of an air-conditioning unit. The carpet muffles their footsteps. Hanami walks a little ahead, glancing back as if afraid Kosuke might vanish.

She unlocks the door and steps inside first, flicking on the warm lights. Kosuke hesitates at the threshold for a heartbeat, then enters.

The room is neat, simple, with a small sofa and a table by the window. The curtains are half-open, letting in a thin strip of moonlight.

Hanami stands near the bed, her hands fidgeting with the zipper of her bag.

Kosuke notices the slight tremble in her fingers.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

She nods, exhaling shakily. “I just… didn’t want to be alone.”

Kosuke sits on the sofa slowly, making sure not to move too casually or confidently.

He doesn’t want her to misunderstand.

He doesn’t want to push her boundaries.

Hanami doesn’t sit immediately. She walks toward the window, looking out at the quiet city below.

“It feels strange,” she murmurs. “Being here like this. Talking to you again. After everything.”

Kosuke lowers his eyes.

“Yeah… it does.”

Finally, she walks over and sits beside him. Not too close. But not far enough to pretend they’re strangers either.

For a moment, neither speaks.

No crowds.

No noise.

No excuses to avoid the truth.

Just them—two people trying to navigate the space between regret and relief.

And for the first time in years, Kosuke feels the night settling into something honest. Something fragile. Something they both needed more than they realized.