Chapter 7: Her Rules

Kei woke before dawn, hoping for a few quiet minutes to himself. The house was still, the sky outside faint and gray. He slipped out of bed carefully so he wouldn’t wake Yui, who had fallen into another deep, exhausted sleep.

Maybe today he could breathe.

He went downstairs and began making tea. The quiet felt fragile, like it could break any second. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he checked the time. If he left early, he could take a walk around the neighborhood before work. Clear his head.

But as he reached for his jacket, a soft voice drifted from behind him.

“Don’t go.”

Kei turned.

Touko stood at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in her pajamas. Her hair hung slightly messy around her face, as if she had run straight down from her room. She stared at him without blinking.

“It’s too early,” she said.

Kei steadied his voice. “Touko… you should still be asleep.”

“You shouldn’t leave the house this early.”

Her tone was calm, almost gentle, but her eyes were fixed—steady, intense, unyielding.

“It’s fine,” Kei said slowly. “I’m just taking a walk. I’ll be back before you and your mom wake up.”

Touko stepped closer.

“No,” she said. “You shouldn’t.”

Kei frowned. “Touko, you don’t get to tell me when I can leave the house.”

She didn’t argue. She just held his stare, her expression calm in a way that didn’t feel calm at all.

“You shouldn’t leave,” she repeated, softer this time.

Kei exhaled, realizing this wasn’t a discussion. It was a rule. A rule she had decided on without telling him.

“Touko,” he said, forcing a careful tone, “you can’t set rules for me.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I’m an adult.”

“You’re Papa.”

The kettle whistled sharply, startling him. Touko didn’t flinch. She only watched.

Kei turned off the flame and poured the tea to gather himself. When he turned around again, Touko was gone.

He hadn’t heard her leave.

---

Later that morning, he tried to bring up the early exchange with Yui before she left for work. But Touko stayed close to her mother, glued to her side like a quiet shadow.

When Kei said he wanted to talk privately, Yui gave him an apologetic look.

“Can it wait? I’m already running late.”

Touko smiled sweetly at him from behind her mother’s arm.

Kei swallowed whatever he was about to say.

It couldn’t be forced.

Not yet.

---

The next few days grew stranger.

Kei couldn’t make a phone call without Touko appearing at a doorway.

He couldn’t open the front door without hearing her footsteps.

He couldn’t speak above a gentle tone without her flinching like he’d done something wrong.

She never directly told him what to do.

She simply appeared.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting for him to slip out of the quiet, controlled space she wanted.

Once, when he dropped a metal spoon and it clattered louder than expected, Touko appeared from the hallway within seconds.

“You’re being noisy,” she said. Not accusing, not annoyed—just stating it, like she was reminding him of a forgotten rule.

Kei stared at her. “Touko, it was an accident.”

“You should be more careful.”

Her voice wasn’t harsh.

Somehow, that only made it worse.

He tried to swallow the frustration, the chill, the rising sense of suffocation.

Touko wasn’t yelling.

She wasn’t threatening him.

She wasn’t even touching him.

She was just present—always present—pressing invisible boundaries around him until he felt like he was shrinking inside the house.

---

On the third night, Kei sat on the couch trying to unwind while Yui showered. Touko walked behind the sofa slowly, tracing a finger along its back. Kei kept his eyes on the TV, even though he wasn’t paying attention to the screen.

He could feel her watching him.

“Kei,” she said softly.

He didn’t look. “Hm?”

“You shouldn’t talk loudly. Mama gets tired.”

Kei’s jaw tightened. He had barely spoken all evening.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Touko circled around the couch until she stood beside him. She leaned her head slightly, studying him as if checking whether he understood.

“Good,” she whispered.

Then she turned and left.

Kei let out a slow breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He felt trapped—not by locks, not by threats, but by a constant pressure he didn’t know how to escape. The house felt smaller every day.

He needed to talk to Yui again. A real conversation. Without Touko listening from corners.

But every time he tried, Touko found a way to keep close.

Every time he opened his mouth, Touko appeared.

Every time he thought he had a chance, she interrupted.

A boundary he couldn’t see but always felt.

---

One night, after Yui went to bed early, Kei stayed downstairs to do some work on his laptop. He needed quiet, space, something normal.

Around midnight, he finally climbed the stairs. The house was silent. Too silent. He reached the bedroom door and froze.

His closet door was slightly open.

He didn’t remember leaving it like that.

A cold feeling slid across his back.

He stepped closer, each movement slow. He pushed the closet door gently—

And his breath caught.

Touko sat inside.

Perfectly still.

Back straight.

Eyes wide open in the dark.

She was hugging one of his shirts tightly to her chest. His favorite one—the one he had worn on their moving day.

Her voice came low, calm, almost affectionate.

“I didn’t break any rules,” she whispered.

Kei’s heart thudded painfully. “Touko… what are you doing?”

She pressed her cheek to the shirt, eyes never leaving him.

“This one smells like you.”

Kei stepped back involuntarily.

Touko didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even loosen her grip on the shirt.

She only smiled.

A slow, small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Papa,” she whispered into the fabric, “don’t change your smell.”

Kei’s throat tightened.

He could no longer pretend these were misunderstandings.

Something was wrong.

And Touko was no longer hiding it.