*Back to Ryusei's POV*

The next day after the funeral, everything felt heavier. The world hadn’t stopped for our grief. It never does. I was already back at work, forced to slip into the role of a mechanic like nothing had happened. The clang of tools, the smell of grease and burning oil — it all felt dull, like someone had turned the world’s colors down.

Keiko still got a day off. Ruka, the only one in the workshop who knew about what happened — about everything between me and Keiko — kept glancing at me, concern written all over her face.

“You sure you’re okay, man?” she asked quietly during lunch break.

I just nodded, though neither of us believed it.

After work, I dragged my exhausted body home. The apartment felt different. The absence of mourning incense still lingered in the air, the same way silence settles after a storm.

I kicked off my shoes and was greeted by a familiar, gentle voice.

“Welcome home,” Keiko called from the kitchen, standing in her loose house tee and apron. The soft clatter of cooking utensils accompanied her words.

“Oh… I’m home,” I murmured, rubbing my neck. “Did you… cook something?”

She gave a small nod. “Yeah. For you. Rin already had dinner with Chiyori.”

My chest tightened. She didn’t need to do this. She should be resting. “Thank you, but… are you okay? I could cook for myself, you need rest.”

Keiko smiled, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “It’s fine. You’re the one who looks worse than me. You haven’t slept properly, and you went straight back to work.”

I sighed, defeated, and gave her a grateful look. “Thanks… I’ll shower first.”

She nodded again without a word.

When I came out of the shower, toweling my hair, the grilled mackerel and miso soup were already on the table, the scent wrapping around me like a warm, nostalgic embrace. The taste hit differently tonight — simple, homely, but carrying a weight of memories. I let out a small groan of satisfaction.

“God, this is so good. Thanks,” I said between mouthfuls.

Keiko was tidying up the kitchen, her back turned to me, but I caught a small smile tugging at her lips. “Glad you still like it.”

It was one of my favorite dishes. One she used to make a lot back then — before everything got more complicated. Before my mistakes.

After finishing dinner, I washed the dishes and headed to our room. Keiko was already lying on the bed, a book in hand, her glasses slipping down her nose. She looked calm, like nothing was wrong. But I could feel it. The room felt too heavy.

I laid down beside her. “It’s been a while since you made that for me. It’s still one of my favorites.”

She kept her gaze on the book. “I just… remembered some things from the past. So I made it.”

My heart skipped. The past was a dangerous place for us.

I swallowed hard. “Like what?”

“Just… some things.”

I hesitated. “Good ones, or bad?”

Keiko finally looked at me, and my breath caught. “Both.”

I hated how hard it was to read her sometimes. She’d always put up this wall — not cold, but distant. A self-defense she’d perfected over the years.

Then I noticed it. Her book was upside down.

“Keiko…” I reached out and gently touched her hand, closing the book. “You’re not reading, are you?”

She gasped, a rare panic flashing across her face. Embarrassed, she fumbled with the book.

I chuckled, unable to hold it in. “You’re… so cute.”

She shot me a glare, cheeks pink. “Shut up.”

I sat up, cupping her cheek, adjusting her glasses so they didn’t slip. “I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

I saw the hesitation, the fear of opening old wounds. She looked away, then finally sighed. “Can you… move your hand? I can’t… like this.”

I smiled and lowered my hand. “Okay.”

A long pause.

“Back then... Did you… ever like me?”

The question hit harder than I expected. I stared at her, words jamming in my throat.

“I was just curious,” she added quickly, “about how you felt… when we were first started our relationship.”

I sighed. “I… I’m sorry.”

Keiko smiled bitterly, like she already expected that answer. She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “Well… I remember how we first met. And other stuff.”

I didn’t know where this was going, but it made me uneasy. “Sorry… I know it wasn’t a great start.”

To my surprise, she shook her head. “It was... for me.”

I blinked. “What?”

Keiko let out a shaky breath. “I’ve always been the awkward one, the nerd. No friends... It was the first time someone noticed me. Even if you were just messing around when you ask me out. But when your friends talked behind your back just because you were with me… you still stayed. You taught me things, made me laugh. I was… happy.”

My stomach twisted. I’d never known this. Never bothered to ask.

"Then I started falling for you, and it terrified me. I was so scared of expecting something you’d never give me… so I told you to break up with me before it could hurt more."

I was silent, guilt crushing me.

“Sorry for bringing up the past again now.” She smiled weakly, but her eyes glistened.

“I was a jerk,” I confessed. “But I… you grew on me. I was just too much of an idiot to admit it. And I didn’t sleep around with just anyone, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? What about when you cheated on me? Did you like her too?”

I bit my lip, shame burning my face. “I… Sorry... I was drunk. It was a mistake. The biggest one of my life.”

Keiko sighed, her voice soft but steady. “It’s okay… I don’t want us to fight about that again.”

But deep down, I wasn’t lying. I had liked her back then — maybe not in the way she deserved, maybe not in a way I even understood at the time, but those feelings were real. And I was too stupid, too blind to see how much she cared.

I let out a long, heavy sigh, guilt sitting thick in my chest. “I was really stupid… you even liked me back then, and I didn’t notice any of it. I messed everything up, hurt you more times than I can count.”

I looked at her, my voice barely holding steady. “And now… after everything, you still forgive me for all the things I’ve done. Why, Keiko?”

“Because I loved you.” Her voice cracked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “And I still do.”

My breath caught.

“I’ve hated myself for it. For being weak. For not being able to stop loving you even after everything." Keiko’s voice trembled as tears streamed down her cheeks, her hands clutching the bedsheet as if it could hold her together.

Keiko wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her voice trembling as she spoke. “I can’t hate you for most of the things you did… the lies, the fights, the mistakes. But the moment you cheated on me, Ryusei… my heart broke. I hated you so much then. I thought I’d never want to see you again.”

She paused, her shoulders shaking as more tears fell, her words caught between sobs. “But when I saw your face again… all those memories came back. I remembered how you stayed up all night after your shift to take care of Rin because I was too sick to move. How you skipped meals just so Rin and I could eat when we barely had enough money to get through the week. And it made me realize… there’s so many reasons I can’t bring myself to hate you, no matter how much I tell myself I should.” Her words cracked, raw and broken, and it tore something inside me. I never realized she’d carried that weight — that no matter how much pain I caused her, some part of her heart stubbornly clung to me.

I was silent, too ashamed, too overwhelmed. She loved me that much… even after everything.

Without thinking, I pulled her into a tight embrace, my arms wrapping around her trembling body. “I’m sorry,” I whispered shakily, my own tears finally falling. “I was so damn slow… but I love you too, Keiko. I do. Please… believe me. I love you. I really, really do.” I held her like I should have that time, silently promising myself I wouldn’t let her carry this alone anymore.

I never knew this side of Keiko. All these years, I only saw the stoic, composed woman she chose to show the world — the cool, unshakable Keiko who rarely let anyone see her cry. But here she was, breaking down in front of me, showing a part of herself she’d kept buried for so long.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” I whispered, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks with my thumb. “And for letting me see this side of you.”

She looked up at me, her eyes red and glistening, and in that moment, I couldn’t hold back. I leaned in, pressing my lips softly against hers, tasting the salt of her tears. I didn’t ask her to stop crying — I just kissed her, slow and tender, letting her pour everything out as I held her close, afraid to let go.

After a while, I slowly pulled away from the kiss, but before I could say a word, Keiko reached out and yanked me into a tight hug, burying her face against my chest.

The suddenness of it made me startle, but I didn’t resist. “I didn’t want you to see me crying more,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against me.

I let out a soft chuckle, brushing my fingers through her hair. “Looks like you got your sense back,” I teased gently.

I eased out of the hug just enough to cup her cheek, leaning in close so our foreheads touched. “Then you better keep your face this close so I won’t notice,” I murmured with a grin, capturing her lips in a deeper, more passionate kiss. Between the lingering tears and trembling breaths, I whispered against her mouth, “I love you, Keiko. I really, really do.”

But just as my hand wandered a little too boldly beneath the kiss, Keiko grabbed my wrist and, between shaky breaths, whispered, “W-we can’t… Rin could hear us.”

I pouted like a scolded kid caught stealing snacks before dinner. “Fine… I’ll keep it strictly NC-17,” I grumbled, reluctantly pulling my hand away from her chest.

She gave me a look — part amused, part exasperated — and I dove back in for another kiss. We kept at it, kissing like we were teenagers sneaking around, our breaths growing heavier with each moment, until even common sense reminded us we probably shouldn’t push our luck.

“I really wanna kiss you all night and never let go,” I murmured, still half-clinging to her. Keiko, a little breathless but grinning, tapped my forehead. I groaned dramatically, flopping back against the bed.

She chuckled softly and pulled the blanket over us. “Good night, idiot.” And damn it, hearing her say that felt like home.

And in that fragile, imperfect silence, we clung to each other. Two people too broken, too stubborn, but still somehow tethered by love that refused to die.