Konoko sat there in silence, the phone still lying on the sheets, her chest heaving as if the air itself had turned heavy. Her hands trembled, her thoughts running wild. She couldn't stop the shameful whisper that slipped out between clenched teeth:
"…I'm useless…"
Her legs felt weak as she stood, wobbling toward the kitchen. Kazuo was already there, seated at the table with his morning tea. He looked up the moment he saw her pale face, the redness in her eyes.
"Konoko," his voice carried a rare edge of concern, "what happened?"
She froze in the doorway, the tears she tried to hide spilling despite her effort. Her lips quivered as she tried to form words.
"I… I lost it… the job. They fired me."
Kazuo's brows drew together, his usual calm shifting into something warmer, protective. He stood, setting his cup aside, and approached her slowly. "Already? On your first week?" His tone wasn't scolding—more like disbelief.
Konoko dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed.
"I-I overslept… just once, but he said… zero tolerance."
Kazuo let out a quiet sigh, then placed a large, steady hand on her shoulder. His touch was firm but gentle, grounding her spinning thoughts.
"Listen, girl… it happens. You're young, you'll find another. Don't let this break you."
Her throat tightened at his words. The comfort, the weight of his presence, the warmth of his palm—it was too much. She nodded quickly, but the tears wouldn't stop.
Kazuo, with a low rumble of reassurance, guided her to sit at the table. "You'll stay here as long as you need. We'll figure it out. One door closing doesn't mean your life is ruined."
Konoko pressed her hands together in her lap, staring at him through blurred lashes. The ache in her chest lightened just a little—but sitting across from him, her heart pounded in a confusing mix of gratitude and something deeper, heavier.
Kazuo leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as he studied her face. She was still shaken, her shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. After a long pause, he exhaled through his nose, the sound steady and thoughtful.
"You know…" he began, his voice low, almost casual, "maybe I should be paying you."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "E-Eh?"
He gave a small chuckle, scratching at his jaw. "Think about it. You cook sometimes, keep me company, even listen to this old man's ramblings. That's more than some professional caregivers do. And I've seen the rates for elder care these days—outrageous."
Konoko blinked rapidly, her lips parting but no words forming. Her heart stumbled in her chest. Pay… me? Like I'm his… caretaker? The thought made her throat tighten in a strange, unsteady way.
Kazuo waved a hand dismissively, his smile softening. "I'm not saying it as charity. You're helping me, Konoko. It only makes sense. You need something to fall back on now, don't you?"
Her fingers clenched together in her lap, the warmth spreading up her neck to her cheeks. She wanted to argue, to refuse immediately, but her voice came out smaller than she intended.
"I-I… I don't know if I should… that feels… too much…"
Kazuo leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady, paternal yet carrying a firmness that left little room for doubt. "It's not too much. You've been a blessing in this house. And if it helps ease your worries… then let an old man do what he can."
Her breath caught. Gratitude and confusion swirled inside her, the words "caretaker" and "being paid" echoing in her mind, making her feel tethered to him in a way she hadn't expected—deeper, heavier.
Konoko's lips trembled as she tried to form a protest. Her voice came out hushed, almost swallowed by the heavy silence of the room.
"I… I can't just take money like that, Kazuo-san… I'd have to… I'd have to do more. I don't do enough now to deserve it."
He shook his head with a small, patient smile, the lines of age creasing at the corners of his eyes. "You already do plenty. More than you think. You don't need to prove anything to me."
But she pressed on, her hands twisting together nervously in her lap. "N-No… I mean it. If you're going to pay me, then I should… I should really help more. Otherwise it feels wrong."
Kazuo let out a thoughtful hum, leaning back in his chair. His gaze softened, steady on her. "If you insist… then maybe…" He tapped his shoulder with a slow, deliberate motion. "…you could give me a massage once in a while. This old body of mine aches in too many places these days. Back, shoulders, legs… sometimes it feels like I'm made of stone."
Her heart lurched, heat rushing to her cheeks. Massage…? The memory of his strong hands on her body only nights ago shot through her nerves like a spark. Her throat tightened.
"A m-massage…?" she stammered, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Kazuo gave a warm, almost teasing chuckle. "Nothing complicated. Just your hands. That alone would be more than enough. I wouldn't ask for anything else."
Konoko swallowed hard, the room suddenly too warm, her mind replaying sensations she wished she could forget—yet secretly longed to feel again.
Konoko's knees pressed together, toes curling against the tatami as her pulse thundered in her ears. Her throat was dry, but she forced herself to nod, even though her cheeks burned hot.
"I… I'll do it," she whispered, her voice trembling. "If it… if it helps with your pain, Kazuo-san… I'll give you massages."
Kazuo's smile widened, the deep calm in his eyes making her stomach twist. He leaned back in his chair with a small exhale, like her words had lifted some unseen weight. "That would mean a lot to me, Konoko. Thank you. You've got gentle hands—I can tell already. Even if you don't know techniques, just your touch will ease this old body."
Her chest tightened at his phrasing. Your touch… The words seemed to echo inside her head, warm and dangerous. She lowered her gaze quickly, fingers clenching in her lap to stop their faint trembling.
Kazuo shifted, wincing slightly as he rubbed the side of his neck. "My shoulders especially… they're always stiff. Maybe next time, after dinner, we can try it. If you're not too tired, of course."
Konoko's breath caught, the image already flooding her imagination—her hands sliding over his broad back, the firm muscle under his skin, the warmth radiating from him. She bit her lip, half-ashamed of the flutter that rose low in her belly.
She bowed her head lightly, unable to meet his gaze. "O-Okay… after dinner then."