Chapter 28: Two Awkward People

POV: Kaito Minami

Morning came in muted shades of gray.

Not lighter.

Not warmer.

Just present.

I had been awake long before the sun began its slow climb behind the buildings—my body accustomed to schedules that didn’t belong to me and sleep that rarely stayed long enough to matter.

But today, my thoughts were not on work.

They were on the message I finally sent.

If you’re still available today, I’ve chosen a location.

I’ll meet you there. 13:00.

Clear. Neutral. Unassuming.

And yet sending it felt uncomfortably close to stepping onto a thin sheet of ice.

Even after she replied, the tension in my chest refused to ease. Anticipation was unfamiliar. I didn’t like unfamiliarity.

I dressed in all black—necessary, not aesthetic.

Cap low.

Mask secure.

Hood up.

Hands hidden.

Identity concealed.

I didn’t look like myself, but that was the point.

The world I belonged to had eyes everywhere.

And today, for reasons I refused to analyze, I needed to be invisible.

---

Seeing Her Again

I found her standing by the river, reading a sign about migratory storks with a level of seriousness usually reserved for company contracts.

Her presence was… steadying.

Not bright.

Not loud.

Just steady.

She turned when my steps approached.

Her eyes widened.

She froze.

“...Fujimoto-san?” I said.

“Yes,” she replied quickly. “Um. You’re—covered.”

“It felt necessary,” I answered. “The press appears in places I don’t intend. And if my father found out I was…”

I gestured between us.

“…here—”

The rest remained unsaid. It didn’t need saying.

“I understand,” she murmured.

“It may be excessive,” I added. A rare admission.

“It’s very… thorough.”

I felt warmth touch the edge of my ear. Irritating.

We began to walk.

A careful distance.

Never too close.

Never too obviously together.

“So,” I started, “this isn’t—”

“A date,” she said.

I nodded. “Not a date.”

“Just an outing.”

“Yes. An outing.”

Neutral words.

Neutral meaning.

Yet the air between us wasn’t neutral at all.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked.

“I attempted to,” I said.

She tripped. I stepped closer. Reflexive.

“Are you hurt?”

“Only my dignity,” she muttered.

A quiet laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.

The sound felt… warm. Dangerous.

---

The Bridge

The river below us was a shifting sheet of silver-gray. Cold. Familiar.

“This is one of the few places reporters don’t follow,” I said.

“It feels peaceful,” she answered.

I studied the water instead of her face. “I thought you might prefer somewhere without attention.”

Her voice softened. “Thank you.”

The gratitude hit harder than it should have.

“I’m glad you came,” I said quietly.

She exhaled. “I’m glad you asked.”

Silence followed—not awkward, not tense.

Balanced.

Controlled.

Almost pleasant.

“There’s a café nearby,” I said. “Outdoor seating, private hedges. Less risk.”

“That sounds nice.”

“I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer. So I chose something unobtrusive.”

Again, that softness in her expression. “Thank you.”

I tugged my mask, unsettled.

Why did I care so much what she preferred?

---

The Café

She sat first when I waited.

Then I sat.

The space was enclosed by hedges—private by design. A precaution, not a gesture.

At least that’s what I told myself.

“Order anything you like,” I said.

“Anything is fine,” she reflexed.

I lowered my menu to look at her. “That isn’t what I asked.”

“…Right.”

She chose something modest—but not too modest.

Good.

The waitress left.

“You seem nervous,” I said.

“I’m not,” she lied.

I raised an eyebrow.

“…Maybe a little.”

“Why?”

Her answer was soft. “I’m just not used to this.”

“I’m not used to it either,” I said honestly.

Those words felt like stepping outside of protective glass.

We talked—slow, careful exchanges.

Her hometown.

Her mother’s odd habits.

Burnt bakery bread.

Festivals.

Every detail made her more real.

Too real.

When I spoke of my childhood—piano lessons, etiquette drills, losing a tooth mid-meeting—she didn’t laugh at me.

She didn’t pity me.

She just… listened.

No angle.

No agenda.

No calculation.

It was disarming.

When the food came, I lifted my mask only enough to eat. Quick, efficient movements. No unnecessary exposure.

Yet she watched me with something gentle in her eyes.

Not judgment.

Something else I chose not to define.

---

The Station

The sky grew darker as we reached the station—winter settling over us like a cold sheet.

She stopped.

I stopped.

“Thank you… for today,” she said.

“Thank you for coming,” I answered. “I wasn’t certain you would.”

“I wasn’t certain either.”

Her honesty struck dangerously close to something fragile.

“It wasn’t a date,” she blurted.

“If you say so.”

“It wasn’t!”

I tilted my head. “Then I’ll consider it a practice run.”

“…A what?”

“For something that might be a date.”

Her shock was immediate.

“You don’t need to answer now,” I said. “But I’d like there to be a next time.”

“I’ll… think about it.”

Her voice trembled—not with fear.

With something else.

Possibility.

I stepped back, letting distance fall into place like armor.

“Have a good afternoon, Fujimoto-san.”

Then I disappeared into the crowd—

mask back up,

hood shielding my face,

the grayscale of my world settling over me again.

But something had changed.

A faint warmth, small but persistent, lingered in my chest.

Not enough to add color.

Not yet.

But enough to make the world feel slightly less cold.