Chapter 13: The Dinner

One of the first things Izumi did when she got better was apologize to me.

Profusely.

It was a quiet evening.

“If I may Keizo… I am terribly sorry for putting you through all of this. I should never have forced you to take care of me.” She said, patting me on the head softly.

“It’s fine Izu. Don’t worry about it.”

“I do not know what happened, ” she continued anyway. “I think that I… I did not mean to… I— It must be—”

“You were sick remember? I didn’t mind taking care of you.” I put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze hoping that would derail the spiral. 

She nodded looking away biting her lip like she didn’t quite believe me.

We didn't say much to each other for a little while.

We sat in the darkness of my bedroom for ages until we both decided the kitchen was a better place.

Technically, her stomach growl—as cute as it was—had been the deciding factor there.

She helped with setting up dinner.

I’ll admit it this right now, was totally different having someone else living with you.

Seems obvious when I say it out loud, but it really does.

Especially if that someone else is… someone like her.

I’d replayed her whole backstory way too many times by now. 

Not out of fascination—out of habit. Like if I kept it neatly summarized in my head it’d stay manageable. 

But standing there watching her carefully arrange utensils she didn’t need to touch I realized how thin that mental shortcut really was.

She wasn’t a story or a blurb. She was here.

“I would like to make it known,” Izumi said suddenly, “that I am very torn about something Keizo.”

Torn, huh?

“Well,” I said raising an eyebrow “what's got you feeling torn?”

She hesitated. “Uncertain is more accurate. I do not know what I ought to do. I fear that I may not be permitted to remain here and yet it also may be unsafe for me to return home… or perhaps it is not. I cannot tell.” She said it calmly but her hands betrayed her worrying at the hem of her skirt.

She looked at me with those glassy eyes.

Don't cry Izu. 

Please?

“I like this place ” she added quietly. “I like it very much. It is… kind. Gentle. I feel at ease here. But I fear such things do not last. That this too may come to an end.”

She glanced around the room like it might vanish if she looked too closely.

I understood what she was really asking then—and it wasn’t about worlds or danger or politics or magic councils.

It was about whether she was allowed to want this, right?

Is that accurate?

I exhaled and leaned back against the counter. “Izumi… I’m not qualified to tell you what you should do about your world.”

Her shoulders tensed just a little.

“But, ” I continued. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. You don’t have to figure out where you belong tonight.”

She looked at me again searching my face like she was checking for hidden clauses.

“You’re allowed to like it here,” I said. “That’s not a crime. And it’s not a promise either. It’s just… how you feel.”

Her grip on her skirt loosened.

“For now,” I added softer. “You’re here. You’re safe. And you’re not inconveniencing me."

Izumi swallowed nodded once and let out a slow breath she’d clearly been holding for a while.

“Thank you,” she said. “For saying that.”

After that neither of us spoke.

The quiet wasn’t awkward—just full. 

It was the kind that settles in after something important has finally been said and neither person wants to disturb it by moving too fast.

Izumi glanced toward the stove then back to me.

“May I… assist further?” she asked. “If that would not be troublesome.”

“Yeah ” I said. “Yeah that’d be nice.”

She nodded visibly relieved to be given a task and moved closer. I handed her a ladle without thinking. She accepted it carefully like it might bite her if she held it wrong.

The soup was simple. Miso mostly. Nothing fancy. I’d been living off variations of “easy” for weeks now.

Izumi stirred slowly watching the surface like she expected it to respond to her thoughts.

“This,” she said after a moment “is similar to a broth my mother used to make. When I was young.”

I paused. “Yeah?”

“Yes. She would insist I help even when I wished to study instead.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. 

“She said that knowing how to nourish oneself was as important as knowing how to defend oneself.”

That landed heavier than she probably meant it to.

“I guess she wasn’t wrong,” I said.

Izumi hummed in agreement then fell quiet again. 

The soup steamed gently between us.

When we finally sat down the bowls warming our hands she took a careful sip. Her shoulders relaxed almost immediately like her body had been waiting for permission.

“This is… very comforting ” she said.

“High praise ” I replied. “Considering I barely cooked it.”

She smiled at that. A real one this time.

The sashimi came next—thin clean slices. I noticed how carefully she ate it like she didn’t want to waste a single bite.

“Keizo ” she said suddenly eyes still on the plate “if I were to return to Epithar… it would not be unnoticed.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“There are systems,” she continued. “Nodes. Observatories. Mechanisms meant to ensure that prisoners remain… where they are meant to be.” Her fingers curled slightly. “When my containment failed, my node surely would have gone dark.”

“So they know?” I said.

i don't even wanna know who I was referring to.

“Yes ” she replied quietly. “Or they will soon enough. And if I return without preparation or without leverage…” She trailed off then shook her head. “It would not be mercy that awaits me.”

I swallowed. The fish suddenly tasted like nothing.

“And if you don’t go back?” I asked.

Izumi hesitated. “Then I remain a variable. An anomaly. A problem left unsolved.”

I let out a breath through my nose. “Join the club.”

She looked up at me surprised.

“I’m serious,” I said. “You think you’re the only one whose life doesn’t fit back where it came from?”

Her gaze softened but she didn’t argue.

The entrée took longer. She insisted on helping—too much honestly—hovering over the pan asking questions correcting herself mid-sentence. It felt strangely domestic. Like we were rehearsing a life neither of us had signed up for.

Halfway through eating she spoke again.

“Keizo… if I must return ” she said carefully “I do not wish to do so alone.”

I froze.

She hurried on. “Not because I would ask you to endanger yourself. I would never—but because I fear that if I go back without someone who knows me as I am now… I may forget why I endured any of it in the first place.”

I stared at my plate.

Mika’s laugh flashed through my mind. Eiji’s silly grin. If it weren't for those two I'd be practically invisible.

Earth hadn’t exactly been gentle to me either.

“I don’t know if I belong there anymore,” I admitted quietly. “Here I mean. Everything feels like it’s on pause. Like I already left and just… forgot to tell anyone.”

Izumi didn’t reach for me this time. She just listened.

When we finished eating neither of us rushed to stand. Rice and pickles sat between us untouched for a moment longer than necessary.

“So,” I said finally forcing a small shrug “we don’t decide anything tonight.”

She nodded. “No. Tonight is for… sustenance... No judgment.”

“Good ” I muttered. “Because I’m terrible at judgment.”

That earned a soft laugh out of her.

We cleaned up together. She dried dishes with careful focus as if memorizing the motion. When the kettle finished heating she poured the tea with steady hands.

We sat again steam curling between us.

Izumi took a sip then looked at me over the rim of her cup.

“Keizo ” she said “whatever choice awaits us… I am grateful that this moment exists.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

Outside the world kept being normal. Cars passed. Somewhere a dog barked.

Inside nothing was decided.

But nothing was running away anymore either.