The morning after their kiss, the world felt quieter.
Not in the absence-of-sound kind of way, but in the something-changed-and-nothing-wants-to-scare-it-off kind of way.
Airi woke up to a message.
Ren:"Thank you.For last night.For not running.For finding me before I lost myself."
She smiled, clutching the phone to her chest.
It wasn't "I love you," but maybe it was better.
Because it meant he saw her—not as an escape, but as a reason to stay.
When they met later that afternoon, he brought her a coffee.
It was a little too sweet, just how she liked it.
"Peace offering," he said.
"For what?"
"For worrying you. For freezing up. For almost vanishing again."
She took the cup. "You don't owe me anything."
"I know," he said. "That's why it matters."
They walked together down their usual route—the long path between the art center and the bookstore near the station.
It had become their place.
The halfway space. The "between" that their whole story seemed to bloom in.
"I've been thinking," Ren said after a long pause.
"That's always dangerous," she teased.
But her voice was light. Encouraging.
"I don't want to stay stuck," he said. "And I don't want to keep making you part of the cleanup every time I fall apart."
She glanced at him. "You're not a burden, Ren. Not when you're honest."
"That's just it," he said. "I don't know how to be honest without making it someone else's responsibility."
He stopped walking.
She stopped too.
"I need help," he said quietly. "Not just from you. Not just from Yui. I mean real help. Therapy. Maybe medication. I don't want to just survive the bad days—I want to know what good ones feel like consistently."
Her chest swelled with quiet pride.
"That's the bravest thing I've heard all week," she said.
He laughed, almost bashfully. "It's only Monday."
"Exactly."
At the bookstore, she picked up a copy of a novel she'd once mentioned loving.
He noticed and added it to his pile without saying anything.
When they sat on the bench outside, flipping through pages, their knees brushed.
Neither pulled away.
"I used to think love was about fixing things," Airi said.
He looked at her.
"And now?"
"Now I think it's about showing up. Even if your hands are empty."
He reached out and took her hand.
"I'll keep showing up," he said. "Even if all I have are mismatched socks and bad coffee metaphors."
She grinned. "Deal."
But peace doesn't stay untested for long.
Later that evening, Ren's phone buzzed with an unknown number.
He let it go to voicemail.
But the second time it rang, he answered—out of habit.
"Hello?"
"Ren. It's me."
He froze.
The voice was low. Controlled.
Masaki.
His older half-brother.
The one who'd made life a game of comparison since the day they were forced to call the same man "father."
"What do you want?"
"I heard about Dad. About the hospital. And I heard you showed up."
Ren's jaw clenched. "What's your point?"
"Don't get too comfortable playing the good son, Ren. We both know you're just doing it for the attention."
Ren nearly hung up.
"But hey," Masaki continued, voice oily, "if pretending to care helps you sleep at night, who am I to ruin the fantasy?"
Ren hung up.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
He didn't tell Airi.
Not yet.
He wanted to.
But he couldn't bear to bring the past into this fragile, precious new space they'd carved out.
Instead, he messaged Yui.
Ren:"Is it wrong that I want to erase certain people completely from my life?"
Yui:"Not wrong. Just human.But healing isn't just forgetting. It's choosing what still deserves a place in your present."
Later that week, Airi noticed Ren was quieter.
Not distant, exactly.
Just… muted.
"You okay?" she asked as they walked through the park.
He hesitated. Then nodded.
"You sure?"
He gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm working on the honesty part. Still learning."
She didn't push.
But she looped her pinky with his as they walked.
Just enough to say I'm here without demanding anything more.
They passed a group of teenagers sitting on the swings.
One of them had a guitar, strumming a soft melody.
It reminded Airi of the old days.
Of moments when everything felt on the verge of becoming something important.
She leaned against Ren's shoulder.
"Do you ever feel like something big is about to change… and you're not sure if it's going to be for better or worse?"
He glanced at her.
"All the time," he said. "But for the first time in a long time, I'm not afraid of it."
That night, she finally asked.
"What happened a few days ago? The night you called me out to the bridge."
He was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, "I got a call. From someone I thought I was done with."
Airi's eyes flickered with concern.
"Someone from your family?"
He nodded.
"I didn't want to ruin our moment. I didn't want to bring that toxicity into something that's finally starting to feel… clean."
She touched his hand gently.
"You don't have to protect me from your past, Ren. If I'm part of your life, I want the whole picture. Even the ugly brushstrokes."
His throat tightened.
"You sure?"
She nodded.
"I'm not afraid of ghosts. I just don't want you carrying them alone."
He told her everything.
About Masaki. About the resentment. The way their father had always made Ren feel like the spare tire in a life that already had its golden son.
By the time he finished, he was trembling.
Not from fear.
From release.
Airi said nothing for a while.
Then she leaned in and kissed his knuckles, one at a time.
And whispered: "You are not a spare anything."
They sat in silence after that, watching the rain begin again outside her window.
"Is it weird," Ren murmured, "that I feel like the rain understands us better than people do?"
Airi smiled.
"No. It's where we always find our rhythm."
But across town, Masaki wasn't done.
He stared at the message Ren had ignored.
Then made another call.
This time, to someone Ren didn't even know was still in the picture.
A woman's voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi. I'm looking for Airi."