Chapter Text
When they finally meet again, they simply stand there, looking at each other.
For a moment, nothing else exists.
Everything that happened between them loses its weight. She knows they should talk. She knows she should apologize. She has rehearsed those sentences countless times, lying awake at night, convinced she would never get another chance.
Now that he is standing in front of her, every single word slips away. They disappear as quietly as the smoke curling from the tips of their cigarettes.
All that remains is relief.
Without thinking, she takes a small step closer. Then another. She wants to make sure he is real. That he won't disappear again if she blinks.
Her eyes drift instinctively to the pocket of his jacket. Before she realizes what she is searching for, she has already found it — the cigarette pack she once gave him. It is still there. A small, ordinary thing that somehow survived everything else.
Something inside her loosens.
He kept it.
Her forehead almost brushes against his chest as she closes the remaining distance. She can hear the quick rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the fabric, erratic and wild. Just like hers.
She curls her fingers into his shirt, knotting them over his sides. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his hand rises to her face. His fingertips brush against her cheek so gently that she almost mistakes it for the wind. It makes her whole body alight.
Only then does she realize she is crying. The tears she tried so stubbornly to hold back escape before she can stop them, tracing warm lines across skin gone cold in the evening air.
She closes her eyes and leans into his touch.
He came back.
He is here.
She promised herself she wouldn't run. That she wouldn't destroy what she and Sasaki have. She wants to return to the days before everything got complicated.
But it isn't easy.
Now, every time she sees him, her skin prickles, hot as sunburn. Her heart races so hard she is certain he can hear it. Her palms dampen around the cigarette she is holding.
She wonders whether he notices.
Sometimes she thinks he is just as nervous. There have been moments she dared believe he looked at her differently. But what if she imagined it? What if she's mistaking kindness for something else? What if this is only because he knows, now, that she is Yamada?
She cannot bear to destroy this again.
Whatever this is.
She will protect it.
In the end, it is the same strange fate that always seemed determined to bring them together that quietly changes everything.
He walks her home after their shift. Rain falls in a steady rhythm, turning the streets into blurred reflections. They share her umbrella again, and she steps a little closer.
Only because the umbrella is small, she tells herself. Nothing more.
But her chest feels too tight and too heavy.
Her little finger brushes against his, and she remembers the promise they sealed with intertwined pinkies — how much simpler everything felt back then, compared to now.
Before she realizes it, they are at her apartment. Disappointment sinks in her chest. It’s too fast. She isn’t ready to say goodbye yet.
She swallows and hopes the heat in her cheeks isn’t visible in the glow of the streetlights.
Just as she's about to say goodbye, lightning tears across the sky, startling them both. The umbrella slips from Sasaki's fingers and clatters onto the wet pavement. Thunder follows almost immediately.
She asks him if he is alright.
He bends to pick up the umbrella, forcing a small smile. "I'm fine.”
She can tell he's lying. Another thunderclap rolls in the distance. His shoulders flinch before he can stop them.
Something tugs at her heart. Without thinking, she reaches for his hand, ignoring the way her stomach tightens and warms at the touch of his skin.
His fingers are icy. He tries to pull away, embarrassed that she noticed. She only tightens her grip.
"Come inside."
She watches him open his mouth to decline before she can stop herself. "Please," she hears herself say.
Whatever he was about to say dies there. He nods instead.
She has never felt self-conscious about her apartment before. It is small. A little cluttered. Comfortable. But with him standing in the doorway, every crooked picture frame, every forgotten mug, every book left open feels suddenly, painfully visible.
Another crash of thunder echoes outside.
He jolts and bumps into her from behind. She's about to tease him — to lighten the mood, she tells herself, to help him relax — but she's just as tense as he is. Before she can say anything, the lights go out and darkness swallows them both.
The apartment falls silent except for the rain.
She can hear his breath, quick and uneven. She thinks he's scared, though he'd never admit it.
Without thinking, she steps closer. Just as she did once in the supermarket storage room, she lifts her hands and gently covers his ears.
"It'll pass," she whispers.
This time, though, something is different.
She cannot look away. His eyes are only inches from hers, close enough to see his hesitation, close enough to hear both of their breathing. There's something tense in his jaw, something heavy in his gaze. It draws her in, like a spell.
She doesn't remember leaning forward. Only the impossible distance between them growing smaller, until it disappears, and her lips find his.
He freezes right away. She feels every muscle in his body go tense. Her stomach sinks. She has done it again. She has crossed a line she cannot uncross.
His hands begin to rise. She braces herself for him to gently push her away.
But...
They cradle her face. His thumb strokes her skin, soft and careful, as if she were made of glass. It steals her breath, and the rest of her mind along with it.
She feels him move closer, his other hand circling her waist, pulling her against him. His fingers slip beneath the hem of her jacket, and where they touch, her skin feels like a lit match — a small, sudden fire that spreads until she has to catch a breath that won't come steady.
Outside, thunder rolls across the sky. Inside, neither of them can hear it anymore.
She doesn't know who moves first after that. Only that somewhere between the rain and the darkness, they stop being afraid of what if.
When she wakes, it's to moonlight streaming through the windows. The memory of what happened settles over her slowly and with it, a flicker of panic she isn't ready for. When she finally gathers the courage to turn and face him, the space beside her is cold.
Her heart sinks.
He left. Of course he left. This time... She really ruined everything.
Her eyes sting, her chest going numb, when a cool breeze brushes her face. The balcony door stands open, and beyond it, a tiny orange ember glows in the dark.
She lets out a shaky breath.
He is still here.
She dresses quietly into her nightshirt, takes her own pack of cigarettes, and steps outside, bare feet cold against the floor.
He is leaning against the railing, watching the rain-heavy sky. Far away, thunderclouds still flicker faintly against the stars.
She stops a few feet behind him. Her heart is louder out here than it was inside. She wishes she could hide again, the way she used to at the old playground, but she promised herself she wouldn't run anymore.
She wonders, briefly, if he'll tell her he's going home now — that last night was a mistake, and he's sorry for it, even though it was her who reached for him first. He would never say it was her fault.
She doesn't know which she would dread more. Him regretting it. Or him not regretting it at all, and neither of them knowing what to do about that.
She lights a cigarette to buy herself time, to find the right words. The lighter doesn't catch. She flicks it again, and again, and curses under her breath.
Of all times. Why now.
Sasaki holds his own lighter out to her without a word.
“Sorry.” His voice is low, still half-asleep.
Her eyes find his, bracing for whatever she'll find there. But there is no regret in them. Only something she has never seen on him before — quiet, and a little unguarded, like he's letting her decide.
She smiles a little at it and shakes her head. “It’s fine.”
He exhaled deeply at that.
"There's a moonbow," he says, moving to stand beside her, pointing out into the dark.
She frowns, following the line of his arm, but there's nothing there. Only night. Then he reaches for her hand, his fingers wrapping lightly around hers, guiding it toward the horizon.
“A little more to the left."
She squints — and then she sees it. A pale silver arc stretching silently across the night. She has never seen one before.
His hand doesn't leave hers. Instead, his fingers slowly intertwine with hers, and something in her that had been wound tight all night finally uncurls completely.
Silence settles between them again, filled only with the exhale of their cigarettes. It almost feels like they're back behind the supermarket except this time, neither of them is pretending not to look.
"We should probably talk." A soft smile touches his lips, and she laughs in relief.
"Yeah," she whispers. "We probably should."
A new routine settles in. They still smoke behind the supermarket. They still share their work troubles. He still walks her home…..But now, he stays.