A faint fragrance of incense lingered in the hotel room. Kitagawa Ryo had been staying there for three days now, yet it was only at this moment that he noticed it.
That subtle scent of herbs and wood teased both his nose and his nerves. There was something almost plant-like in its temptation. Ryo lay on the sofa and turned up the volume of the television, perhaps trying to drown out the sound of running water coming from the bathroom behind him.
Even though Horikita Suzune had used the same bathroom earlier in the day, Ryo had already left the room by then. Now, fully aware that a girl was in the bathroom behind him—less than ten meters away—he couldn't help but feel a complex mix of emotions.
A bit of nervousness, a strange sense of anticipation, a flicker of embarrassment… and a mess of other feelings all blended together like the sauces he often mixed when eating dumplings—sticky and tangled.
At this moment, Ryo's heart was like a shrimp dumpling being dipped up and down, again and again, into that chaotic mixture.
Perhaps because this was a relatively high-end hotel, the bathroom came with both a bathtub and a shower. Karuizawa Kei had apparently first rinsed herself in the shower and then slipped into the already filled tub. Ryo's judgment came from two sources—sound... and something else.
He carefully adjusted his position on the sofa. Though his eyes were glued to the TV screen, his mind was elsewhere. Having lived alone for so long, he hadn't realized the hotel bathroom's design was quite… unique. The frosted glass wall covered only about four-fifths of the enclosure. Everything below the knees was completely transparent.
As a result, when Ryo had still been lying on the bed, just one turn of his body had let him see Kei's bare legs and feet, with water cascading down her pale skin. Alarmed, he had quickly escaped to the sofa, evicting Hotaru—who had been curled up comfortably there—without mercy, and turned on the television in a show of false nonchalance.
"...What a hassle."
Outside, the rain was still falling. Raindrops hit the window, trailing down in erratic streams. The distorted reflections on the glass made Ryo's face appear warped. He leaned his head on his left hand, eyes half-closed.
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Compared to what the word "bathroom" usually implies, this one was exceptionally spacious. In Karuizawa Kei's mind, a bathroom should be as narrow and confined as a fitting room—small enough to scan the entire space with a glance. That kind of enclosure brought some people a sense of security, but to others, it was suffocating.
She studied this one.
The bathtub alone occupied more space than her entire hotel room. It was large enough to fit two adults with room to spare. By the time she entered, it had already filled with hot water, automatically adjusted to the most comfortable temperature. On the shelf nearby were an assortment of bath oils and a few rubber ducks whose function was unclear.
Warm yellow lighting cast a soft glow across the bathroom, and the spotless, mirror-bright tiles showed no trace of mold—obviously maintained daily.
Kei submerged herself completely in the water, every muscle relaxing. She gazed up at the misty ceiling.
From outside, she could hear the sound of the television. Kei found herself enjoying this moment. She was in the bathroom, and outside, Kitagawa Ryo was watching TV. When she finished bathing, she could casually lean against him. Whatever was playing on the screen wouldn't matter.
When she was little, there was a period where Kei didn't like taking photos with Ryo. His posture was always perfectly straight, his lips always curled into a smile, and there was always light in his eyes—not like her, who resembled a sickly, rain-soaked puppy. Fragile like a cracked porcelain doll.
Back then, she had wondered whether Ryo only stayed friends with her out of pity. But was pity really a kind of affection? The word itself felt laced with condescension, like charity handed from above. Kei sank half her face underwater, blowing a trail of bubbles.
She shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. She was halfway along a path she had set herself on—there was no turning back now. Perhaps not understanding one's feelings wasn't so bad after all.
When she stood before the mirror post-bath, something was different from yesterday. This time, Kei accepted her own body, scars and all. She reached out and lightly touched them. They no longer hurt. As long as she didn't recall the pain, it was as if they never existed.
The truest, most enduring things in life lived only in one's thoughts. Keep thinking, and they'd never die. Let go, and they would vanish like smoke.
She dressed quickly. Summer clothes were few to begin with. Now she resembled a newly fired piece of porcelain—fresh, fragile, slightly nervous—as she pushed open the bathroom door.
Kitagawa Ryo sat upright, expression composed. But the moment she emerged, his hand sped up—he was suddenly petting Hotaru with the fervor of a man trying to turn her bald. Startled, the little cat glanced at him suspiciously.
Kei, however, didn't come over immediately. She grabbed a blow-dryer and began drying her damp hair.
The gusts of warm air blew Hotaru's fur into disarray. Thinking a storm had arrived, she squeezed closer into Ryo's arms.
When the blow-dryer finally fell silent, Ryo's nerves tightened. He saw Kei approaching from the corner of his eye. Her skin was still misted with heat from the bath, pale and flushed. Her honey-blonde hair hung loose, not tied up as usual. Wearing a simple white T-shirt and denim shorts, she sat beside him.
"Ryo, help me dry my hair."
Her hair, thick and long, still clung with dampness at the tips. She handed him a dry towel, naturally, almost carelessly.
"...Okay."
Her skin radiated warmth, and when their hands touched during the towel exchange, Ryo felt it. Without protest, he began carefully drying her hair.
Her hair was soft and silky, with a pleasant herbal scent. Ryo moved Hotaru to his left and turned toward her, tenderly patting her hair dry. Water droplets slid down her shoulder, a quiet and seductive sight.
"All done."
He smoothed her hair once more with his hand. But just then, Kei leaned back—falling straight into his arms. His hand landed on her head, and his fingers brushed something rough.
A scab.
"Ah… that's—"
Kei instinctively began to lie—she'd practiced this line after her talk with Horikita. But Ryo just smiled and shook his head.
"I saw Uehara Emika today."
Panic and shame crashed into Kei. She looked like a child caught in a lie, eyes welling up as she searched for a way out.
She looked up at Ryo with the same pitiful gaze Hotaru had given him the day he found her.
"You really… really don't have to do this anymore."
Ryo's gaze held pain and tenderness.
'Why is he looking at me like that?'
'I don't understand. But if he says any more, things might spiral out of control.'
'No. This isn't how it's supposed to be.'
"Uehara Emika lied to you. You can't trust her. She's always been jealous of me! She wanted me to be bullied! She started it all! See this scar? She cut me with a knife! She wanted to kill me—she would've, if you hadn't come back!"
"She used my name to bully others, and in the end, everyone just said I was the bully—and then they bullied me too! You saw it, didn't you? Right? Right?"
Kei suddenly flipped over and pinned Ryo beneath her, clutching him as she poured out a mess of half-connected thoughts and fragmented words—trying to bury all her secrets into him like he was a bottomless fairy tale tree hole.
"..."
Ryo felt her weight on top of him. Her legs locked around his thigh, hair draping over his chest. He stared at her, stunned—as if seeing her for the first time.
"Kei."
He heard her heartbeat, her breathing. He ignored her excuses and simply called her name.
His eyes reddened. His voice turned hoarse:
"You lied."
"You said you'd never lie to me."
Ryo had always been a boy who grew up too fast. He learned to encourage himself, comfort himself. He lived quietly, understanding more than he should.
He cooked for himself. He made a friend named Karuizawa Kei. For her, he transferred schools. Even after moving to the UK, he wrote letters. He'd sneak back to find her.
No one ever taught him how to be good to others, so he used the only way he knew—clumsy sincerity.
He gave her all sorts of gifts—food, clothes, handmade sweets. None of them tied to holidays. If she asked for a star, he'd try to climb the sky.
He gave her a special dress in spring, and a flowing summer dress in white. He learned to bake because she liked sweets. He would even give her Hotaru, if she asked.
He would never abandon her. Sometimes stubborn, sometimes shameless, sometimes meddling—but always there.
But...
The fire in his chest raged.
He didn't want Kei to lie to him.
In the half-year since finding his birth parents, Ryo had met others—made new friends—but he'd always held a pure, unwavering feeling for Kei.
In his loneliest years, only Kei had played with him. Only she built sandcastles with him every day.
Like The Little Prince, Ryo believed their story was a fairy tale.
'So why lie?'
He heard Kei's voice—trembling with restrained calm:
"I'm sorry."
Almost pleading.
"I'm sorry."
She could only repeat it, over and over.
She seemed to have lost the ability to express emotion through words. So she chose action.
Before Ryo could react, her lips had already pressed against his.
He tasted blood—familiar and metallic. He couldn't tell whose it was.
His jaw was clenched tight. Her long lashes brushed his face.
"Ryo."
She pulled away. Her lips were bloodstained, and her gaze carried an intoxicating allure far beyond her years.
"...I'm here."
Ryo responded instinctively, dazed.
She seized the opening.
The next moment, Kei's soft tongue pried open his clenched teeth.