【After exposure】

Akira was still slumped against the wall when the doorbell rang.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, without thinking, he pushed himself up and swung the door open.

Jitsuko stood there, a paper bag in one hand and her phone in the other. Whatever she was holding didn’t register. The moment he saw her, something inside him shifted.

He pulled her into his arms.

The hug was sudden and clumsy. He didn’t squeeze her; he just held on, forehead resting against her shoulder, breathing uneven. His body stayed rigid, as if he didn’t know what to do with the comfort once he had it.

For a second everything went quiet.

Then she patted his back.

Akira loosened his arms and stepped aside. “Sorry,” he muttered.

She entered without comment. He closed the door behind them.

They walked into the living room in silence. Jitsuko sat down on the couch, directly across from the framed family photo. Akira hovered near the kitchen entrance, unsure where to put himself.

“So,” she said at last, turning to face him. “What happened?”

Dread crawled up his spine.

She didn’t know yet.

Of course she didn’t. The vodcast hadn’t been uploaded.

He forced a crooked smile. “Ha… um…”

“Did the vodcast not go well?”

“A-about that,” he said quickly, already backing away. “Do you want something to drink? I’ll....yeah, I’ll get it.”

“Akira—”

“I’ll be right back.”

He fled into the kitchen before she could finish.

His hand slipped against the counter as he reached for it, his legs suddenly unsteady.

Should I tell her?

He opened the fridge and stared inside, not really seeing anything.

What will I even say?

The words surfaced, raw and unfiltered.

Tell her that I loved my aunt?

His chest tightened. He grabbed a bottle of juice and two glasses, his grip too firm. He meant to find a tray but gave up halfway through. He carried everything back and set it down on the table.

When he turned toward the couch, he froze.

Jitsuko was holding her phone.

The sound came out of it—his own voice, hoarse and shaking.

“She raised me. As a parent. This is...this is sick.”

His breath left him in a rush.

He rushed forward and snatched the phone from her hands before she could react, turning it face down on the couch. His entire body trembled now, not just his hands.

He stepped back. Once. Twice. The vodcast was uploaded.  

Everyone knows.

“Akira?”

He looked up. 

Her face had gone pale, her expression tight with worry. That made it worse. He hated that look. He hated that he was the reason for it.

A smile pulled at his lips, instinctive.

God, I hate this smile.

“Aha… s-so you saw,” he said, staring at the floor. “I didn’t want to hide it… Um, I’m sorry.”

She stood and approached him slowly. When she reached him, she took his hand and squeezed it.

“Will you tell me the truth?”

The room felt like it tilted.

Memories pressed in all at once. Things he knew, deep down, no one would ever fully understand.  Especially not someone who grew up loved so easily.

His fingers dug into her sleeve. He leaned forward before he realised what he was doing, desperate to escape his own head.

But he stopped.

She lifted a hand between them and moved him away. “Were you about to kiss me?”

He nodded.

“Were you trying to drown this,” she said quietly, “instead of facing it?”

The question landed harder than an accusation.

He dropped his gaze.

“And you think,” she continued, her voice firmer now, “that you’re so broken no one could ever understand you.”

She cupped his face and forced him to look at her. Her brow was furrowed, anger and concern tangled together.

He stared at her, stunned.

“I—it’s true,” he said finally, words tumbling out. “I was in love with my aunt. She raised me and—”

His chest hurt. His heart was racing too fast.

Jitsuko let go of his face and sat back down, creating space between them. She looked at the family photo, then back at him.

She asked carefully. “When exactly did it all start?”

He swallowed. “I—I think it became… that way by the end of middle school.”

She exhaled slowly.

“I don’t think that’s normal,” she said. 

“I know,” he replied immediately. “I just… I look like him.”

They sat in silence.

Jitsuko said at last, her voice softer now, “Was it mutual?”

“Yes,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I genuinely loved her."

That admission didn’t bring relief. It only made the room heavier.

He leaned back against the couch. Jitsuko didn’t move. 

"Akira." She looked at him. "I don't think that kind of love comes from equality. Especially after how much you had to depend on her."

"I don't know." He moved his gaze lower, not meeting hers.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked.

“Maybe go on hiatus.”

She shook her head. “That would raise more suspicion.”

He looked at her then, eyes searching. “I’m really depressed,” he said quietly. “Won’t you tell me that you love me?”

The words were sudden—but not careless.

He needed something solid. Something unquestionable.

She met his gaze and shook her head. “You shouldn’t use me to feel better.”

Akira jolted upright. “I-I didn’t—”

“I noticed this habit early on,” she said calmly, standing and walking to the table. She poured herself a glass of juice. “You look for something or someone to stabilise you.”

He reached for her. 

She raised an eyebrow.

He stopped.

The silence between them wasn’t rejection.

It was a boundary.

And for the first time that night, Akira understood that crossing it would mean losing her and saving himself.

He wobbled towards her, stumbling down on the floor. “I-I love you. I truly do… Don’t hate me. Please don’t.”

Her face tightened; she narrowed her eyes. “I don’t hate you.” She sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. "But you will have to understand your aunt might have fractured something more in you than you think."

He remained still, moving his arms around her. He pressed his forehead on her shoulder.