Chapter 15: The Time I Chose You

Chapter 15: The Time I Chose You
“As long as you walk beside me, I don’t mind how far the road goes.”

Adam arrived ten minutes early.

Not because he was anxious—he told himself that at least twice—but because the street corner outside the station had always been a good place to wait. Sturdy trees lined the sidewalk, a small bakery nearby puffed out the scent of warm sugar, and the hum of the city felt softened by familiarity. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, his gray eyes drifting across passing faces without really seeing them.

Then, he did.

Akane came into view from the far end of the street. Her pace was unhurried, her expression lighter than it had been in weeks. She wore something simple—soft colors that didn't demand attention, nothing like the loud, structured outfits of the studio. Her hair brushed her shoulders, just a little longer than it had been at the start of the month, catching the gold of the afternoon sunlight whenever she moved.

Adam noticed immediately.

She noticed him noticing and slowed her pace, a smile creeping onto her face like she couldn’t quite help herself.

“Hey,” she said when she reached him, her voice a soft melody in the open air.

“Hey,” he replied. His voice was calm—it always was—but his eyes lingered on her.

She tilted her head, a playful spark returning to her gaze. “What?”

“…Your hair,” he said. “It’s different.”

She lifted a hand, her fingers brushing the ends of the strands self-consciously. “The agency asked me to grow it out a bit. They said it suits the 'new look' better.”

Adam stepped closer—not crowding her, just enough to lower his voice beneath the noise of the city. “I like you this way.”

The words were barely louder than the rush of traffic behind them.

Akane blinked.

Then her cheeks warmed, the color blooming so fast she had to look away, laughing under her breath to hide her flustered expression. “You say things like that too casually, Adam.”

“I mean them casually,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

She nudged his arm with hers, a gesture that was light, fond, and unmistakably them. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet,” he replied dryly, “you’re still here.”

She smiled, softer now, and slipped into step beside him. Their shoulders brushed as they walked, the contact light but constant, as if they were anchoring each other to the pavement.

There was no rush. No plan more complicated than simply being together.

And for now, that was enough.

The café sat tucked between two older buildings, its sign modest and almost shy, as if it felt no need to compete with the neon pulse of the city. Inside, the air was a thick, comforting blend of roasted beans and baked sugar.

Akane paused just past the threshold, letting the atmosphere settle over her like a warm blanket. “This place feels… calm.”

Adam nodded. “That’s why I like it.”

They claimed a small table by the window—unremarkable, private, and just right. Adam pulled out her chair with a natural fluidity that spoke of habit rather than performance. Akane noticed, as she always did, but she kept the usual tease locked behind a small, grateful smile.

A waitress appeared, her smile polite and practiced. “Ready to order?”

Adam didn't even glance at the menu. “Short carrot cake. And a matcha.”

Akane blinked, surprised. “That fast?”

He shrugged, leaning back. “I don’t come here to make big decisions.”

The waitress chuckled and turned to Akane. “And you?”

“I’ll… have what he’s having,” Akane said, before adding with a quick wave of her hand, “But coffee instead of tea.”

Adam’s brow furrowed slightly. “You don’t even like carrot cake.”

“I don’t dislike it,” she corrected. “I just haven’t had it your way.”

He raised an eyebrow. “My way?”

“Sharing,” she said, her smile widening.

When the cake arrived, it was warm and fragrant, the frosting smooth and shimmering under the low lights. The plate sat between them like a peace treaty. Adam picked up his fork, then paused, holding it out toward her.

“…You first.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure? You always say this is your favorite.”

“That’s why,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave.

She took a small, tentative bite. Her eyes widened almost instantly. “Oh,” she whispered. “Okay. I get it now.”

He smirked—a rare, victorious expression. “Told you.”

She went in for another bite, then realized she was encroaching on his half and froze. “Sorry—”

Without a word, Adam leaned forward. He cut a generous piece, balanced it on the fork, and lifted it toward her.

Akane’s breath hitched in her throat. “…Adam,” she murmured, her heart doing a frantic double-tap against her ribs.

“Eat,” he said simply.

She obeyed, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as she accepted the bite. The sweetness of the frosting lingered, but it was nothing compared to the warmth spreading up her neck.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” she accused, trying to regain her footing.

“I like watching you like things,” he replied. “It’s informative.”

She hid her face behind her coffee cup, laughing quietly. “You’re so weird.”

He smiled into his matcha, the steam fogging his glasses just enough to mask the look in his eyes. They drifted into easy conversation—Minato’s latest disaster, Ryusei’s legendary sleeping habits, and Hikari’s perpetual search for her misplaced sketchbook. Small things. Safe things.

Then, Akane’s gaze drifted to the window, and she froze.

“…Adam.”

He followed her line of sight. Across the street, towering above the boutique shops, was a billboard. It was clean, polished, and unmistakable. There stood Akane, larger than life and draped in elegance, her smile poised and radiant for the world to see.

Adam stared at the image for a long moment. Then, he smiled. It wasn't the smile of a fan, nor the possessive look of a boyfriend. It was just… warm.

“You look cute,” he said.

Akane turned back to him so fast she nearly sent her coffee flying. “Don’t say it like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s nothing!”

He shrugged, his own ears turning a telltale shade of pink. “It’s not nothing. I just… don't want to make it weird for you.”

She watched the color climb his face and softened instantly. “Too late for that.”

They shared the final bite of cake in a comfortable silence, the gentle clink of their forks the only soundtrack to the moment.

Outside, hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, a camera lens lingered on the window a moment longer than necessary.

Inside, Adam and Akane leaned closer together, unaware of the world, content in the quiet sweetness they had found.

They left the café at a slower pace than they had entered, the weight of the sugar and the quiet atmosphere still grounding them.

The sky had dipped into a deep, early-evening blue, a shade that made the shop windows glow with an inviting warmth. Reflections of neon and streetlights layered the pavement with shifting colors. Adam walked beside Akane, his hands loose at his sides and his posture easy. Their steps matched without effort, a natural syncopated rhythm.

They didn't notice the billboard at first. It felt like the billboard noticed them.

Akane felt it before she saw it—that strange, electric prickle at the back of her neck, the unmistakable sense of being perceived. She glanced up, then stopped short, her breath hitching.

“Oh.”

Adam followed her gaze.

Her face was everywhere. Clean lines. Soft, cinematic colors. It was the same smile she’d practiced in the mirror until it stopped feeling like a performance and started feeling like a mask. There she was, larger than life, suspended above the bustling street like a promise she wasn't entirely sure she’d made yet.

She groaned softly and covered her face with both hands. “This is still so weird.”

Adam tilted his head, studying the massive image with clinical focus. “You look… like you,” he said. Then, his voice dropping into a shy undertone, “just more amplified.”

She peeked through her fingers, her eyes searching his. “Is that a compliment, Adam?”

“Yeah,” he said, meeting her eyes. “A quiet one.”

They continued walking, the billboard receding into the background, when a voice called out—tentative, polite, and unmistakably directed at them.

“Um—excuse me?”

Akane turned. A man stood a few steps away, his phone already gripped in his hand, his eyes bright with a mix of recognition and uncertainty. “Sorry to bother you,” he said quickly, his face flushing. “Are you… Akane Hayasaka? From the ad?”

Akane’s shoulders tensed for a split second, then relaxed. She forced a smile—small, careful, but kind. “Yes. I am.”

“Oh—wow,” the man said, clearly delighted. “My sister absolutely loves that brand. Would you mind a picture? It would make her day.”

Akane glanced at Adam. He gave her a single, calm nod—the silent reassurance she needed.

“Okay,” she said. “Sure.”

The man beamed and, without thinking, thrust his phone toward Adam. “Could you take it for us?”

Adam accepted the device, his hands steady. “Of course.”

They stood side by side on the sidewalk. Akane angled herself slightly toward the fan, her movements practiced now; the smile was easy, not forced. Adam framed the shot carefully—no rush, no fuss, ensuring the lighting was just right.

“Ready,” he said.

The shutter clicked.

“Thank you so much!” the man said, bowing slightly in gratitude. “Good luck with everything. You’re going to be huge!”

He retreated to a nearby café table, already texting someone with frantic energy.

Akane exhaled a long breath, half-laughing as the adrenaline faded. “That wasn’t too bad.”

Adam handed the phone back to her. “You handled it well.”

She glanced up at him, her expression turning thoughtful. “You didn’t mind? Being the photographer?”

“Why would I?” he asked, his voice genuinely curious. “It’s part of the life you’re choosing.”

She studied his face, searching for a trace of the "weirdness" from before—then she smiled, satisfied. “Thank you, Adam.”

They lingered for a moment longer, talking quietly about where to head next, blissfully unaware of the world outside their bubble.

Across the street, a man in a nondescript jacket lowered a professional-grade camera.

He wasn't close, and he wasn't being invasive. He was just observant. He checked the shots on his digital screen—nothing scandalous. No dramatic clinches or hidden tears. Just a girl from a rising ad campaign and the boy walking beside her. They looked comfortable. Familiar.

Interesting, the man thought, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he slipped the camera back into his bag.

Adam and Akane moved on, their shoulders brushing as they walked. The city hummed around them, and the brief flash of attention faded back into the ambient noise of the evening.

For now, it was just a date. And that was all they wanted it to be.

They walked on without a hurry, the crowd thinning as the street curved away from the busier blocks. Akane slowed near a narrow storefront, its windows glowing softly under warm lights that felt a world away from the harsh studio lamps she had grown used to.

She stopped.

Adam noticed immediately. It was as if his senses were tuned to her frequency, picking up even the slightest change in her momentum.

“What is it?” he asked.

She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes were fixed on the display—simple jewelry arranged on pale fabric. There were bracelets and necklaces, but her gaze was anchored to a small hair clip shaped like a pressed leaf. It was subtle and elegant, catching the light just enough to stand out without being loud.

“It’s cute,” she murmured, more to herself than him.

Adam followed her gaze, committing the shape of the leaf to memory.

She smiled faintly, then shook her head as if shaking off a daydream. “Ah—never mind.” She glanced toward the end of the block. “I’m going to the restroom. There’s a public one just around that corner. I’ll be quick!”

And just like that, she jogged off, her ponytail swaying lightly with every step.

Adam watched her until she disappeared from view. Then, he turned back to the window.

He stood there longer than he meant to. The clip was still there, quietly waiting in its velvet nest.

She noticed it without even trying, he thought. That’s very her.

He stepped inside.

The shop was small and calm, the kind of place that felt insulated from the noise of the city. A bell chimed softly as he entered. The clerk looked up, offering a polite nod before returning to her work.

Adam moved toward the display, hands in his pockets, studying the clip more closely. It wasn’t flashy. There was no unnecessary glitter, just clean lines and gentle curves.

It suits her, he decided. Because it doesn’t try to be anything else.

He bought it without hesitation.

The clerk wrapped it carefully, folding the paper with deliberate precision and tying it with a thin, silken ribbon. Adam accepted the small package, holding it in his palm like something fragile—not because it was breakable, but because of the weight it carried.

Outside, he slipped the gift into his jacket pocket, resting his hand over it for a second. He didn’t plan to make a grand speech or a dramatic presentation. He never did.

A few minutes later, Akane returned, her cheeks slightly flushed from the brisk walk back.

“Sorry! Took longer than I thought. Did you wait long?”

“It’s fine,” he said easily, his voice as steady as ever.

They fell back into step together, her arm brushing his as they walked into the deepening twilight. She didn’t notice the slight shift in his posture, nor the careful way he kept one hand tucked near his pocket, guarding the small secret inside.

But she would. Soon.

And when she did, it would feel like what it always felt like with Adam—not a grand, cinematic gesture, but the quiet, undeniable proof of being seen.

The stop wasn't planned. It was simply an inevitability, a quiet gravity pulling them toward the shore.

The city’s roar had faded into a distant, indistinct hum. Ahead, the lake lay perfectly still—a vast sheet of darkening blue reflecting the sky as the evening leaned in close. A single tree stood sentinel near the water’s edge, its branches bending lazily in the breeze, sheltering a wooden bench worn smooth by years of waiting.

Adam slowed his pace. “Want to sit for a bit?”

Akane followed his gaze and smiled, the tension finally leaving her face. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He disappeared for a moment, returning with two drinks—a cola for her, a matcha for himself. They crossed the short grass together, the faint crunch of their steps the only sound in the twilight. They sat side by side, their shoulders touching with a natural, comfortable weight.

Akane took a sip of her cola and let out a long, contented sigh. “This feels nice,” she said softly. “Like the world finally stopped yelling.”

Adam leaned back, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the water met the sky. “The world gets tired too,” he replied. “It just doesn't show it as much.”

She laughed—a soft, melodic sound—then fell quiet, watching the ripples skim the surface of the lake. The sky was transforming now, soft oranges and dusky pinks folding into one another in a slow, cinematic fade.

The silence between them wasn't empty; it was full.

Then, Adam shifted. He reached into his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing the small, wrapped gift. His heartbeat picked up—not in panic, but in a focused, steady awareness.

“Akane.”

She turned to him immediately, her eyes reflecting the orange glow of the sunset. “Yeah?”

He held out the small package, resting it in her open palms. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “For everything. I hope you keep… going further.”

She blinked, looking down at the ribbon. “What’s this?”

“Just—open it.”

She did. Her movements were careful, her fingers nimble as she avoided tearing the paper. When she saw the leaf-shaped clip resting inside, her breath caught.

It was the one from the window.

Her fingers hovered over the metal, then closed around it as if she were afraid it might dissolve into the evening mist.

“…You remembered,” she whispered.

“I noticed,” Adam corrected gently.

Her eyes lifted to his, shimmering. “I only looked at it for a second, Adam.”

“That was enough.”

Her lips trembled for a heartbeat, and then she laughed—a soft, breathless sound. “You’re so unfair.”

She stood up abruptly and hugged him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing close without a trace of hesitation. Adam froze for a split second—then his body relaxed into her warmth, his arms coming up to hold her steady.

“Thank you,” she murmured into the crook of his neck. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” he said quietly.

She pulled back, her cheeks flushed, then suddenly began rummaging through her bag. “Oh—wait. I have something for you, too.”

Adam tilted his head. “You didn't have to—”

“I wanted to,” she said, cutting him off with a gentle firmness. She placed a small, elegant box in his hand.

He opened it. Inside was a watch—simple, clean, and timeless. It was a piece built to last, a quiet statement of permanence.

He stared at it for a long, unblinking moment. “…Akane.”

She swallowed hard, her words chosen with the weight of an oath. “Whenever you look at this,” she said, “I want you to remember that I’m there. No matter how far the ads take me. No matter what’s happening. I’ll always be with you.”

Adam’s throat tightened. He didn't speak right away; he just closed the box slowly and looked at her—really looked at her, past the idol, past the model, to the girl who had stayed.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “I’ll treasure it.”

The air between them felt charged, intimate, almost too full for a public place. Akane smiled first, breaking the spell before the gravity of the moment became overwhelming. “We should head back before it gets too dark.”

He nodded, standing up and offering his hand. She took it without thinking, her fingers interlacing with his.

They walked on, fingers loosely entwined, the lake behind them glowing softly as the night finally took hold. As they neared her street, Adam spoke again, his tone casual but warm. “By the way… Ellie’s coming with us to the fireworks festival.”

Akane’s smile widened, bright and genuine. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “I want her there.”

He squeezed her hand once, a silent agreement. “Me too.”

They kept walking, the city welcoming them back with its myriad of quiet lights and open streets. Two people moving forward—not because the path was certain, but because they had chosen to walk it together.

The streetlights flickered on one by one, casting warm halos onto the pavement as dusk settled fully into night. The city felt quieter now, like it was holding its breath, giving them space.

They walked side by side, hands still loosely intertwined. Neither of them rushed.

Akane swung their joined hands gently, the way she always did when she was content. Adam noticed it—he noticed everything about her when the world went still like this. He noticed the way her steps matched his without effort and the way she hummed softly under her breath, a tune without words that seemed to harmonize with the evening air.

“You’re smiling,” she said suddenly, glancing up at him.

He blinked, caught off guard. “Am I?”

She nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Yeah. It’s small. But it’s there.”

He looked away, a rare touch of embarrassment coloring his features. “Guess I forgot to stop.”

She laughed, a sound that was warm and quiet. “Don’t.”

They passed a row of closed shops, their shutters painted with faded murals of old cityscapes. Akane slowed, then stopped entirely, her grip on his hand tightening just enough to bring him to a halt.

“Adam.”

He turned to face her. She stepped closer, invading his personal space with a comfortable familiarity. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, and the faint, sweet scent of soap and cola that always seemed to follow her.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “For today. For… always making space for me. Even when you don’t say much.”

He studied her face, the way the streetlight caught the fine edges of her hair and the unwavering sincerity in her gaze.

“I don’t know how to do grand things,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I can stay. I can walk you home. I can listen.”

Her expression softened, something tender and unguarded unfolding in the curve of her lips. “That’s more than enough,” she whispered.

For a moment, the world around them ceased to exist. Then, she reached up, her fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve before finding his wrist. She traced the edge of the new watch gently, as if sealing a silent promise.

“Now you can’t forget me,” she teased softly, though her eyes remained serious.

He huffed a quiet, dry laugh. “As if I ever could.”

She leaned forward then, resting her forehead against his chest. His arms came around her instinctively, pulling her into a steady, sure embrace. They stayed like that for a long time—no words, no rush. Just the rhythm of their breathing, the distant, muffled hum of traffic, and the soft certainty of being held by the one person who truly saw them.

When she finally pulled back, she smiled up at him, her eyes shining with reflected light. “Walk me the rest of the way?”

“Always,” he said.

They resumed their walk, their fingers laced more firmly now, their steps perfectly in sync. When they reached her street, the air grew heavy with the impending goodbye.

She squeezed his hand one last time. “Tomorrow,” she said.

He nodded. “Tomorrow.”

She took a step back, then paused, turned, and pressed a quick, feather-light kiss to his cheek. It was sudden enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

“Good night, Adam.”

He stood there long after she walked away, watching until she reached her front door and the warm light of the Hayasaka household flicked on inside. Only then did he turn toward his own apartment.

The watch felt heavier on his wrist now. It wasn't the weight of a burden, though. It was the weight of an anchor.

As Adam walked home under the quiet, indifferent stars, one thought settled firmly in his chest—steady, warm, and undeniable.

This was what it meant to belong.