The house had gone quiet after Yuta's departure, his cheerful voice fading into the distance as the front door shut. Konoko lingered in the living room for a while, pretending to tidy up, though really her mind was restless, replaying everything—his insistence about the new house, her own refusal, Kazuo's gentle laugh.
Now it was just her and Kazuo.
She felt it the moment she realized—an odd tightening in her chest, a heat crawling up her neck. The silence of the house seemed heavier without Yuta there to fill it with chatter. Kazuo sat comfortably in his chair, adjusting his glasses as he flipped through the evening paper, looking as calm and steady as always. To Konoko, however, his presence felt unbearably magnified.
Her eyes flicked to him, then away, then back again when she thought he wouldn't notice. His hands turned the pages, the same hands that had pressed into her calf during the massage. She remembered too clearly the warmth of his palms, the weight of them, the way her own breath had betrayed her, fluttering too fast. The thought made her thighs press together under her nightclothes.
She stood there awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, clutching the hem of her shirt.
"K-Kazuo-san…" she started, her voice small, almost swallowed by the room.
He looked up over the paper, brow lifting slightly in quiet question. "Hm? Something on your mind, Konoko?"
Her throat went dry. She couldn't bring herself to say what was really there—that her body remembered his touch far too vividly, that being alone with him made her heart pound like a trapped bird. Instead, she fumbled.
"I-It's… nothing. I'll just go take a shower." She bowed slightly, the way she always did to hide her face, and hurried toward the hallway.
But she could feel his gaze lingering on her back, steady and unreadable, until she turned the corner and disappeared from view.
Inside her chest, her heart thrashed, and in her mind the same poisonous whisper returned: Maybe it's because of him. Maybe that's why I keep thinking like this.
The morning light spilled gently into the kitchen, soft and golden, yet Konoko felt as though it was too bright, too sharp against her restless thoughts. She sat at the small wooden table, fingers wrapped around the warm mug of coffee Kazuo had poured for her, but every sip caught in her throat, every glance in his direction sent a flutter through her chest.
Kazuo, calm as always, sat across from her, savoring his breakfast with an ease she envied. He spoke casually, his deep voice filling the quiet space between them. "You're quiet today, Konoko. Still tired? Maybe you didn't sleep well."
Her heart stumbled. She gripped the cup tighter, forcing a small smile, her words fumbling. "I-I'm fine… j-just… thinking about school things."
He gave her a curious look but didn't press. Instead, he leaned back slightly, as if deciding something. "You know," he said, "I was planning to set aside time tonight for some yoga. It helps loosen the body, keep the joints healthy." He chuckled softly, lifting his mug. "Why don't you join me? It might ease that tension I keep seeing in your shoulders."
Konoko blinked, startled, her breath caught somewhere between relief and panic. "Y-yoga?" she echoed, her voice too high.
"Yes," he replied with a calm smile. "And afterward… I'll reward your effort with a proper massage. A good one. Not just the legs this time—I'll make sure your back gets the care it deserves."
The words sank into her like a weight. Her pulse leapt, warmth rushing to her cheeks as she ducked her gaze toward her untouched toast. She nodded quickly, trying to disguise the trembling in her hands. "O-okay… that sounds… nice."
Kazuo gave a satisfied nod, as though it were nothing more than a simple arrangement, then returned to his breakfast. But for Konoko, every bite afterward was tasteless, every sound magnified—the scrape of his fork against the plate, the steady rhythm of his breathing—everything made her acutely aware of him, of the evening that now loomed ahead.
When she rose from the table to leave, her knees felt unsteady, as though the morning itself had already tied her into a knot she wasn't sure she wanted untangled.
All through the day, Konoko couldn't focus. At work, her coworkers' voices blurred into background noise, their laughter and chatter reduced to meaningless echoes. Every time she tried to concentrate, her mind drifted back to the kitchen table, to Kazuo's calm voice promising yoga… and a massage afterward.
Her body responded before her thoughts could stop it. A quick shiver up her spine, a prickling warmth pooling low in her belly, her thighs pressing together without her realizing. She scolded herself in silence, shaking her head, trying to drown in spreadsheets and emails. But it was useless—those words replayed endlessly, sinking into her nerves like a rhythm she couldn't escape.
Why did I agree? she thought, chewing her lip as her pen tapped frantically against the paper. I should have said no. I should have found an excuse. What if I… react? What if he notices?
And yet, beneath the panic, something softer whispered in her. A curl of heat, of curiosity she couldn't stamp out. The memory of his hands strong and steady on her calves came back with brutal clarity—how she had almost yanked away, how she had forced herself to stay still, and how that strange, dangerous warmth had spread through her body.
By the time she got home that evening, her nerves were stretched thin. The house felt too quiet, too expectant, like it was holding its breath with her. Kazuo wasn't in sight, but she could hear him moving in the back room, methodical and calm as always.
She shut her door quickly, her back pressing against the wood as she exhaled a trembling sigh. Her reflection in the mirror looked foreign—cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips parted like she was caught in something she shouldn't be.
It's just yoga, she told herself, clutching her chest as though she could slow her heartbeat. Just stretching… just a massage. Nothing more. Nothing dangerous.
But her body didn't believe the words.