Chapter 9: I Think He's My Safe Place
Akiro walked her home for the first time.
He didn't mean to. She didn't ask. It just happened — two people drifting in the same direction because it hurt less than parting.
They didn't talk much along the way. He listened to music with one earbud in, the other hanging, offering it without speaking.
Yumi took it.
He always played strange songs. Mostly instrumental. Bittersweet. Lo-fi without lyrics. Music that said I don't want words in the way.
She liked that.
"You know," she said after the third corner, "we're starting to look suspicious."
He glanced at her. "Because we're walking?"
"Because I can't stop smiling when you're next to me."
He didn't answer, but she saw his ears turn pink.
They stopped at the small corner bakery before her street. She pointed at the heart-shaped cream bun.
He deadpanned, "That's a threat in pastry form."
She grinned. "I'm buying two."
"You're emotionally unstable."
"You're emotionally unavailable."
He snorted — actually snorted — and she laughed so hard the cashier stared at her like she was malfunctioning.
At her gate, she turned to him, bun in hand, umbrella tucked under one arm.
"You're weird," she said softly.
"You keep saying that."
"I like weird."
He looked at her — really looked. And then, as if he couldn't stop himself, he asked:
"…Why?"
Yumi blinked. "Why what?"
"Why me?"
The question hit her like a sudden storm.
She swallowed, eyes flicking to the sidewalk.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I just… feel safe. Like I can be completely silent next to you, and I won't disappear."
He didn't speak.
Not for a long time.
Then:
"You're going to get tired of this."
She frowned. "Of what?"
"Of carrying me."
"I'm not carrying you," she said. "I'm walking with you."
Another pause.
Then, quietly:
"That's worse."
Because no one's ever walked with me this far before.
Later that night, Akiro sat alone in his room, lights off, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the desk.
The phone buzzed once — Yumi had sent a photo of the cream bun with the caption:
If I die tomorrow, this will be my final meal.
He stared at it for a full minute.
Then typed:
You're the worst.
But I'd die too if you disappeared.
He didn't send it.
He deleted it.
Turned off the phone.
Laid in the dark.
And whispered:
"…Please don't leave me first."
But even as he said it, he knew:
The world had a cruel way of never asking who should be the one to walk away.