Akihiko opened the passenger-side door and carefully guided Ayaka inside, his hands surprisingly gentle as he buckled her seatbelt for her.
His touch lingered for just a second too long—warm, steady, quietly protective—before he stepped back.
Ayaka said nothing.
She didn't protest, didn't flinch, didn't fight like she usually did.
She simply sat there, staring blankly out the window, as if all her energy had been drained by the emotional rollercoaster ride.
Akihiko walked around the car and got into the driver's seat.
The engine rumbled to life with a low hum, but the silence between them was louder.
"Where are you taking me?" Ayaka finally asked, her voice low but tense, like a wire about to snap.
Akihiko didn't look at her.
His eyes stayed on the road. "To talk." he said simply.
Then he drove.
The streets blurred past, glowing with city lights and neon signs, but Ayaka wasn't looking outside anymore.
She crossed her arms and stared at him, her voice sharp when she asked, "How did you even know I was there?"
"Mori told me." he replied, hands tight on the wheel.
Ayaka let out a sharp breath and rolled her eyes. "Tch. That Takeshi—I swear, I'm going to smack him."
Akihiko let out a low chuckle. "Seems like he's too invested in our love story."
"Love story? With you?" she scoffed, laughing bitterly. "That story ended a long time ago. It's over."
He glanced at her, his ice-blue eyes catching hers in the dim car light. "This is the sequel."
Ayaka's words caught in her throat.
Heat surged up her neck to her cheeks.
She looked away quickly, swallowing the emotions clawing up her chest.
She didn't respond—not because she didn't have anything to say, but because part of her didn't trust what might come out.
------
When they finally pulled up to the building, Ayaka froze.
Everything looked so familiar.
Too familiar.
Her heart stuttered.
She followed him out of the car, her legs heavy as if the weight of the past was dragging her steps.
The world outside bustled with life—voices, cars, distant music—but between them, a suffocating silence reigned.
Floor by floor, the elevator climbed, and not a word was spoken.
When the doors opened, Akihiko led the way.
He stopped in front of a door she hadn't seen in years, pulled out a key, and unlocked it with practice ease.
Her voice cracked. "Y-you… You still live here?"
"I was still paying for it even after I left." he said, not looking at her. "I asked the landlord to keep my things in a storage room for the meantime."
"But… the landlord told me it was open for viewing years ago." Ayaka protested, confused and trembling.
"I told him to say that. Just in case you asked." he replied quietly. "Toru had a spare key. He cleaned the place up before I came back."
Ayaka's hands clenched at her sides. Her voice wavered. "You're… You're pretty sneaky. Is that how badly you didn't want me to know the truth?"
He turned to her then, his eyes somber. "Let's talk inside."
Without waiting for her response, he gently took her wrist and led her in.
The moment the door closed behind her, the scent, the air, the arrangement—it all hit her like a wave.
Memories surged forward.
This was their place.
Their laughter.
Their dreams.
Their arguments.
Their late-night talks.
Everything came flooding back.
"Sit." he said softly, guiding her to the couch with care.
She sat, stunned, her mind spinning.
"I'll grab something."
Akihiko disappeared into his room.
When he returned a few minutes later, he wasn't holding coffee or tea or one of the things she expected.
He held an old newspaper.
Her heart skipped.
"Read this." he said, voice heavier now.
Ayaka took it from his hands, and when her eyes landed on the headline, everything inside her stopped.
"Tragic Collision Claims Four Lives: All Passengers Killed in a Fiery Car Crash."
Her fingers trembled. The room spun slightly.
Her voice broke. "A-Akihiko… why do you have this?"
She couldn't stop staring at the date, the photograph, the twisted metal, the horror.
Akihiko sat beside her and gently took her hand in his. "I'm sorry..." he whispered, voice raw.
She didn't understand. "What the hell are you apologizing for, Akihiko? I don't get it—I don't get anything!"
Tears welled in her eyes.
Her chest tightened with frustration.
"I never told you how my mom died, did I?" he asked quietly.
Ayaka didn't speak.
He swallowed hard. "My parents were in that crash. The car that collided with your parents' vehicle… it was theirs."
Her breath caught violently. "W-What?"
"I got a call from the police. They'd been taken to the hospital, but it was too late. They didn't survive. But… the reports said the impact on your family was worse. Your car got full force."
Tears streaked down Ayaka's cheeks. "S-since when did you know?"
He looked down. "That day we were supposed to go out. I was cleaning, and a box fell open. I found the paper. I noticed the car—it looked familiar like the one in the picture hanging on your wall. Then I remembered… what you told me. About how your parents died. It all clicked."
Ayaka stared at him, her mouth dry, her entire body numb.
"You disappeared… because of that...?" she whispered.
"I didn't want to. But I was scared. If you found out, I thought… you'd never want to be with me again. And I—I couldn't bear that. I asked Toru to push you away. To help you stop waiting for me."
"I have loved you..." she said quietly. "I waited for you every day."
"I know." His voice cracked. "I loved you too—I still do. But knowing that my parents…"
He stopped himself, his hands shaking. "And what's worse? I can't stop loving the girl whose parents died because of mine."
Ayaka covered her mouth, sobbing.
"My father…" Akihiko whispered, "was drunk that night because my mother had filed for divorce. He was driving and they were searching for me. I ran away from home because they didn't want me to become a doctor."
He laughed bitterly. "So it was my fault. I was the reason they came to Tokyo. The reason they were even on that road."
"And I…" He looked at her with glistening eyes. "I lost everything. But somehow, I still wanted you. Even knowing what it meant."
Ayaka collapsed into him, burying her face in his chest as sobs overtook her.
Akihiko wrapped his arms around her tightly, like he was holding onto the last piece of hope he had.
They were broken, tangled by fate and tragedy.
But still holding on.
Still breathing.
Together.
------
Ayaka couldn't breathe. The words were crashing over her like waves in a storm, each one heavier than the last.
She stared at Akihiko, her vision blurred with tears that refused to fall.
"You idiot..." she finally whispered, her voice cracking. "You think running away would protect me? That staying away would somehow make the pain less?"
Akihiko's jaw tightened.
He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. "I thought... if I left, at least you wouldn't be burdened by the truth. That you'd be able to move on, live your life without guilt."
"I waited for you. I stood in front of your door like a fool, every single day, hoping you'd come back. You disappeared without a word, Akihiko. I thought I wasn't enough. I thought... I did something wrong."
"I know." he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"I know what I did was unforgivable. I let my fear control me. I let the past drown us both. But I never stopped loving you, Ayaka. Not for a second."
Ayaka shook her head. "You don't get to say that now."
He reached for her hand again, gently this time, as though she might shatter. "Please. Let me explain everything. Let me tell you what I was too much of a coward to say before."
She hesitated, her eyes scanning his face.
He looked tired as if grief had lived inside him for too long.
And beneath the pain in his blue eyes was a raw sincerity that pierced her.
Akihiko exhaled shakily. "After I found out... I kept replaying everything. How we met. How happy we were. And then suddenly, it felt like fate had played a cruel joke. That we were never meant to be. I couldn't breathe knowing I might be the reason behind your pain. I—I even considered quitting medicine. But then I thought... maybe if I worked hard enough, saved enough lives, I could somehow atone."
Ayaka stared at him, stunned. "You were punishing yourself."
"I still am." he admitted. "Every day. I couldn't let myself be happy knowing that the woman I loved lost everything because of something tied to me. And when I saw you with Miura and how everyone was cheering for the two of you to start dating, I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to see you. Even if you ended up hating me. Even if this was the end, I needed to tell you the truth."
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
"I hate you..." she murmured.
Akihiko flinched.
But before he could respond, she added, "...for making me love you so much."
There it was—raw, unfiltered, agonizing honesty.
Her tears finally fell, but she didn't turn away.
And neither did Akihiko.
His hands trembled as he reached up and gently brushed away the tears trailing down her cheeks.
"You can scream at me. You can hit me. You can walk out that door and never look back." he said hoarsely. "But I won't leave again. I'll fight for you this time. Even if it takes a lifetime to earn your forgiveness."
Ayaka looked at him, searching for some trace of the cold, distant man he used to be.
But all she saw was Akihiko—her Akihiko—worn down by regret and love and pain.
------
The sky had begun to dim, the last traces of golden light melting into shades of deep blue as the city prepared for nightfall.
Street lamps flickered to life one by one, casting soft pools of amber across the sidewalk.
Akihiko gently reached for Ayaka's hand.
His touch was steady, warm, and familiar—like the quiet return of something she didn't realize she had been aching for all this time.
"I'll take you home." he said softly, the corner of his lips tugging into a faint smile. "It's getting dark."
Ayaka's fingers curled around his without hesitation.
There was no need for words anymore.
By the time they reached her apartment complex, the moon had fully risen, partially veiled by thin clouds.
A soft wind blew past them as they stood near the entrance, neither of them eager to say goodbye just yet.
Ayaka hesitated.
Then, her voice came out in a nervous stammer. "T-The copy of the book we made... I saved one."
She avoided his gaze, clutching her hands together. "Come inside for a moment... if you're not in a rush..."
Akihiko blinked, surprised by her invitation.
But then he gave a small nod, his tone gentle. "Of course."
------
Inside her apartment, the air was filled with a soft floral scent and the lingering warmth of a recently brewed cup of tea.
The lights were dim, casting the room in a gentle glow that made everything feel more intimate, more still.
"Take a seat first." Ayaka offered quickly, gesturing to the couch. "I'll go get it."
Akihiko watched her disappear down the hallway, his gaze lingering on the way she moved—hurried, almost like she was nervous about what was coming next.
Moments later, she returned holding something wrapped carefully in a cloth—a book.
Its edges were well-kept, the cover slightly worn from being handled, but the care she'd given it was unmistakable.
She held it out to him.
"Here." she said softly, almost breathless.
Akihiko took it from her hands, his fingers brushing hers.
The warmth of her touch lingered as he looked down at the familiar cover.
"Do you mind if I read it here?" he asked, meeting her eyes.
Ayaka shook her head quickly. "Not at all. Be my guest." She sat beside him, just close enough that their knees brushed.
He opened the book, the soft flutter of pages filling the space between them.
As he flipped toward the beginning, something caught his eye—a handwritten note, tucked before the first chapter, penned in a delicate, unmistakably familiar script.
"They felt cold, but I felt warmth instead."
The words struck him like a silent chord.
His breath caught, and he looked up at her, eyes searching hers. "This..." he began.
Ayaka's cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she quickly turned away, staring at the floor as if it might swallow her whole.
"T-That was three years ago, okay?" she said quickly, voice flustered and low.
But Akihiko wasn't smiling out of amusement.
No—he was smiling because something inside him, something that had been cracked and cold for so long, felt like it was mending.
"You were always better with words than you gave yourself credit for." he said softly, his voice laced with something she couldn't quite name—admiration, maybe. Or longing.
He continued flipping through the pages, slower this time, like he wasn't just reading a story but reliving a piece of their shared past.
Each line, each sentence seemed to carry the echo of long nights, quiet stares, and memories stitched into paragraphs.
The silence stretched, but it wasn't empty.
It pulsed with unspoken feelings, with history and heartache and possibility.