Chapter 10: The Hoodie Smells Like Home Now
Yumi loved Saturday mornings.
Not because she could sleep in.
Not because there was no homework.
But because Saturday meant one thing now:
Akiro's hoodie.
It was draped over the back of her desk chair, the scent of cold air and old books still clinging to it. She hugged it sometimes when no one was looking. Wore it like armor. Slept in it like a shield.
It's not romantic, she told herself.
It's just comfort.
But deep down, she knew better.
By noon, she was at the park again — same one where they first sat, same bench, now drier and warmer with the spring sun finally breaking through.
He showed up ten minutes late.
No hoodie this time. Just a black long-sleeve shirt and a plastic bag in his hand.
"You bought something?" she asked, surprised.
He handed it to her. "It's not food."
She opened it slowly.
Inside: a tiny keychain. A silver cat with one ear bent and paint chipped at the tail. Worn, but clearly chosen.
"…This is hideous."
"Matches your personality."
She smiled wide. "You're lucky I like broken things."
"You're lucky I don't run from clingy people."
They sat there like that, teasing each other like it was breathing.
But eventually, silence settled in.
Not awkward.
Just real.
She asked, "Do you ever think about leaving?"
He stared ahead.
"All the time."
"What would you do? If you could start over?"
"…Disappear. Find a place where no one looks at me like I'm something they regret seeing."
She leaned her head on his shoulder, surprising them both.
"You could start over with me," she whispered.
He didn't answer.
But she felt his hand brush against hers on the bench.
Just barely.
Not a grip.
Not yet.
But a promise.
That evening, back in his apartment, Akiro sat alone again. The room felt colder somehow — even with the sun out.
His foster father hadn't come home in two nights.
That never meant anything good.
Akiro stared at the keychain she'd clipped to her bag earlier, the one he'd almost thrown out five times before giving it to her.
She made it feel like it meant something.
He took out his phone.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Hey.
If I disappear one day, would you still wait at the park?
He stared at the message for a long time.
Then deleted it.
Again.
Because if she said yes…
He wasn't sure he could bear making her keep that promise.