Work Text:
The problem started with rice cookers.
—not volleyball; not exams. Not one of their usual arguments about who had the better notes or who was going to rank higher after the next test.
A rice cooker.
Zemu was lying on the floor beside Kei with her biology notes spread around her like she had been defeated in battle. Her textbook was open near her knee.
Flashcards were scattered by her elbow.
A half-empty pack of strawberry candy sat between them, opened because she had promised it would help her focus and then immediately used it as a reward for doing absolutely nothing.
Kei sat straighter than her, because of course he did.
His notebook was balanced on his thigh. His pen moved in clean, even lines; the same pen Zemu kept stealing whenever hers started acting up.
Tonight, he had taken it back twice already. She had stolen it three times.
That meant she was winning…
Outside, the night had settled over the street.
The window was cracked open, letting in cool air and the sound of a motorcycle passing somewhere far away.
Zemu’s room was bright enough to study in, but not harsh. Her desk lamp sat on the floor with them: throwing a warm circle over their notes, their hands, Kei’s socks, the edge of Zemu’s textbook.
The rest of the room looked like Zemu.
Art supplies stacked near the wall. A pencil case half-open… A hoodie thrown over the chair. A small pile of books that had started neat and ended up leaning sideways. A few of the pieces she had made for the school festival were tucked into one corner: painted signs, studies of hands, glasses, shoulders and other details subtle enough to pass as simple arts if no one looked too closely.
Photos were pinned near her desk— some of friends, some of art references, and a frankly concerning amount of Kei… mixed in with sketches and painted studies of him in pieces and angles. The most obvious one—her central piece for the school festival—was soft and impressionistic: his back by the classroom window, painted from the seat she had been given after transferring, when she sat right behind him and learned the shape of him while looking past his shoulder at the board. Kei had told her to take them down three separate times.
She had not.
Kei knew better than to ask again.
Zemu was supposed to be rewriting notes— instead, she was talking.
“When we go to Tohoku,” she said, dragging the end of her pen across the margin of her notebook, “I’m bringing my own rice cooker.”
Kei did not look up.
“You’re assuming you’ll survive entrance exams first.”
“Wow.” Zemu lifted her head just enough to glare at him. “Supportive boyfriend. Ten out of ten. So inspiring.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“Realistically, I’ll pass.”
Kei made a small sound that was almost a laugh, but not kind enough to be called one.
Zemu pushed herself up on one elbow. Her hair was messy from lying down too long, and there was a faint line on her cheek from where she had pressed her face into her sleeve earlier. One of Kei’s sticky notes was stuck to the side of her notebook (she had stolen that too).
“I will pass,” she repeated, louder this time. “Then I’ll stay in Sendai. Then I’ll bother you forever.”
Kei clicked his pen once.
“That sounds like a threat.”
Zemu’s grin widened. She returned to her notes like she had not just said forever so easily.
“It is. A romantic one.”
Kei rolled his eyes.
That should have been the end of it.
—It would have been, on a normal night.
Zemu would say something ridiculous and Kei would make some dry comment. She would call him mean, then steal his pen again. He would pretend to hate it, even though he always brought an extra now. They would study until one of them got tired enough to start making mistakes... usually Zemu. Sometimes Kei, though he acted like exhaustion was a personal insult.
But tonight, the word stayed.
Forever.
It sat in the room like something Zemu had tossed there without thinking.
Kei kept writing.
His hand moved. The pen touched paper.. the ink formed letters he would probably understand tomorrow morning.
None of it reached him.
Zemu kept talking.
She talked about Sendai like she already knew the streets— like the future was not a thin, breakable thing. Like college was just another place where she could put her books down, find a cake shop, and take up space beside him.
“I need to find the nearest grocery too,” she said. “Not just convenience store food. I refuse to live like a sad bachelor.”
“You’re already dramatic enough without planning your adult life.”
“I’m planning because someone has to. If I leave it to you, your apartment will have one cup, two plates, and emotional repression.”
Kei’s pen stopped for half a second.
Zemu did not notice.
She was leaning over her notebook again, drawing little stars beside the headings she wanted to remember. Her voice stayed casual.
“Also, we need shelves.”
“We?”
“Obviously.” She tapped her pen against the page. “For my art stuff— your books. Your cute dinosaur things.”
Kei should have said something.
He should have told her not to call them that. He should have said that she was planning too far ahead for someone who still forgot where she put her own eraser. He should have told her to study.
Instead, he looked at her.
Her hair was falling into her face. There was highlighter on one finger; her notes were messy, but she understood them somehow. She was tired enough that her words had started getting a little slower, but she kept talking anyway.
Like he was already there.
Like there was no question.
Like loving him was not something she had to think hard about.
Kei felt something twist under his ribs.
It was not a clean feeling.. it was not soft in the simple way people wrote about in songs.
It was sharp.
It had teeth.
“You’ll get sick of me,” he said.
Zemu answered too fast.
“No, I won’t.”
Kei looked down at his notebook.
The words there had stopped making sense.
“You say that like you’re sure.”
“Because I am sure, tanga.”
She did not even look up.
That made it worse.
She said it like she was saying the sky was dark outside; like she was saying there were flashcards on the floor… like it was just true and easy and did not need to be defended.
Kei stared at the page.
Because I am sure.
His fingers tightened around the pen.
How?
The thought came before he could stop it.
How are you sure?
He thought about every sharp thing he had ever said to her.
Not the harmless ones; not the silly ones they threw back and forth until one of them laughed. The real ones. The lines that had come out colder than he meant them to. The times he had acted like her affection was embarrassing because it was too much and he did not know what to do with too much.
He thought about every time she had reached for him and he had stepped back.
Every time she had smiled too brightly after he said something mean.
Every time he told himself she could take it.
Every time he knew she could take it and still hated himself for making her.
Zemu kept choosing him.
That was the part he could not understand.
If she had left, maybe it would have made sense. If she had gotten tired— if she had looked at him one day and finally realized he was not worth the effort she kept spending like it was nothing.
… But she stayed.
She stayed and made plans about rice cookers.
Kei swallowed, his throat felt tight.
Zemu was still talking.
“—and I’m serious, the shelf can’t be ugly. I don’t care if it’s cheap, but it can’t be ugly. I have standards.”
Kei heard himself breathe in.
He should tell her to focus.
He should close his notebook.
He should ask if she wanted water… anything normal. Anything that did not pull the thing in his chest into the open.
Instead, the words left him before he could bury them.
“Do you really love me?”
Zemu stopped mid-sentence.
Her pen hovered above her notebook.
For one second, her face started to move into its usual shape: teasing, bright. Ready to turn it into something ridiculous because that was what they did.
“Huh, Keki,” she started, her mouth curving.
“Are you asking because you want me to say it again? Grabe—”
Then she looked at him properly.
The smile disappeared.
Kei was not smirking.
He was not rolling his eyes.
He was staring at the edge of her notebook, shoulders stiff, fingers curled around his pen too tightly. His mouth was set in a line that was trying to be bored and failing. He looked like he had asked a question and already hated himself for it.
Zemu’s pen lowered slowly.
The tip touched the page but did not move.
“Kei.”
He hated the way she said his name, not because it was wrong.. But because it was careful.
He could handle loud Zemu. Teasing Zemu. Angry Zemu. Zemu calling him Keki like she had decided she owned the right to make him sound like a dessert.
Careful Zemu was harder.
Careful Zemu meant she had seen something.
Kei looked away.
“Forget it.”
His voice came out flat– too flat.
He tried to look bored, but the act was already breaking. He could feel it in his face; in the stiff line of his jaw, in the way his fingers would not loosen around the pen.
“It was a stupid question.”
Zemu did not move right away.
The room felt quieter than before. Her snacks, her notes, the open textbook, the stupid rice cooker conversation; all of it was still there, but it felt far away now.
She set the pen down, not tossed and not dropped.
Set down.
That was how Kei knew she was taking it seriously.
His chest tightened more.
“You don’t have to answer,” he said.
“I do.”
“You really don’t.”
“Kei.”
He shut his eyes for a second.
He could still turn away. He could still make it nothing. He could say she looked too serious and he was just messing with her. He could insult her notes… he could ask for his pen back.
Any of those would be easier.
None of them came out.
When he opened his eyes, Zemu had shifted closer, not too close but just enough. Her knee brushed one of the flashcards. A few of them moved across the floor.
She looked at him, and her face hurt to look at.
—Not because she was crying.
Because she was not.
She was trying so hard to understand him.
“It wasn’t stupid,” she said.
Kei laughed once under his breath.
It sounded wrong.
“It was.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I meant.”
“I think I do.”
That made him angry, not at her.
At himself. At the room. At the way she was looking at him like she wanted to help, as if he had not been the one who opened his mouth and ruined a normal night.
His grip on the pen tightened again.
“You say things like that too easily.”
Zemu blinked.
“Things like what?”
“Like it’s obvious.”
“Because it is.”
His mouth tightened.
“That’s the problem.”
Zemu went quiet.
Kei regretted it immediately.
He saw the change in her face: small, but there. Confusion first.. then hurt, hidden quickly behind focus. He adjusted his glasses even though they were already fine. His notebook sat open on his lap, useless.
“You’re loud,” he said.
Zemu’s eyebrows pulled together.
His voice stayed flat because if it changed, he might not survive the sentence.
“You’re stubborn. You’re annoying. You’re... a lot.”
“Wow,” she said softly. “Romantic.”
“Let me finish.”
She stopped too fast. Zemu never stopped that fast unless she was scared. Kei felt something inside him drop.
Good job.
His own thoughts sounded cruel.
You made her quiet.
Congratulations.
He looked down at the pen; the plastic bent slightly under his fingers.
“You keep choosing things like they can’t hurt you.”
Zemu’s lips parted.
“Me?”
He did not answer right away.
His throat worked once.
Then, quieter:
“Me.”
The word landed between them, it was heavy and ugly… true in the way he hated most.
Zemu did not speak.
That was worse than anything she could have said.
Kei stared at the notebook; the lines on the page blurred just enough that he had to blink.
“I’m not easy to deal with.”
“Kei—”
“I know I’m not.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“That’s not better.”
His voice sharpened there, not loud and merely enough to cut.
Zemu flinched a little.
He saw it.. of course he saw it. His stomach turned.
Stop.
—-But he had already started, and now everything was spilling out of him wrong.
“I say things I shouldn’t. I push people away. I make things difficult when they don’t have to be.” His thumb pressed hard against the pen. “And you keep acting like that’s just something you can love through.”
Zemu’s throat moved as she swallowed.
Kei hated himself for noticing.
He hated that she looked hurt.
He hated that part of him wanted her to look hurt because at least hurt made sense… At least hurt meant she was not pretending. At least hurt meant there was a cost.
He looked away before that thought could finish.
What is wrong with you?
His chest felt tight enough to make breathing annoying.
“You talk about the future like I’m just...” He stopped.
He did not know how to say it without sounding pathetic
Like I’m safe.
Like I won’t ruin it.
Like you won’t wake up one day and wonder why you wasted yourself on me.
Zemu waited.
She waited even though waiting was not her natural state— even though her whole body looked like it wanted to move closer, grab his face, shake him, kiss him, yell at him. She stayed still.
That almost broke him more.
Kei stared at the floor between them.
“So, yeah,” he said.
His voice lowered until it almost disappeared. “I’m asking.”
The silence after that was terrible.
The window was still open; cool air touched his arm. Somewhere outside, someone laughed; far away, normal, unaware.
Kei’s hand hurt.
He looked down and realized he was still holding the pen too tightly.
“Do you really love me?” he asked again. This time, it sounded worse.. smaller.
He hated that.
Zemu did not answer right away. For a second, panic flashed through him.
There it is.
She has to think about it.
You forced her to think about it.
His heartbeat felt too loud inside his own head— then Zemu reached for his hand. Kei’s first instinct was to pull away.
He almost did.
His fingers twitched.
Zemu noticed, but she did not grab him harder. She just waited with her hand open near his.
That was worse too.
She was giving him a choice.
Kei hated choices when every option made him feel exposed… Finally, he let her touch him. Her fingers curled around his.
His hand was tense; cold around the pen. Zemu looked at it, then carefully took the pen from him.
He let her.
The moment it left his hand, he realized how close he had been to snapping it.
Zemu placed it on her notebook, then she took both of his hands between hers. Her hands were smaller.. yet warm. A little ink-stained.
—She held him like he was something breakable.
That made anger rise in him for half a second.
He did not want to be breakable.
He did not want to be the kind of person who asked questions like that. He did not want to need an answer. He did not want her to see that he needed one.
… But Zemu’s thumbs moved gently over his knuckles, and the anger lost its shape.
“Yes,” she said.
Kei swallowed.
She squeezed his hands once.
“Yes, I love you.”
He closed his eyes.
The words should have helped immediately. They did not.
Some part of him rejected them on contact.
She’s saying it because you look pathetic.
She’s saying it because she’s kind.
She’s saying it because she doesn’t know how tired she’ll get.
Zemu’s hands tightened around his, like she could hear the thoughts.
“I love you,” she said again, slower this time, “even when you’re difficult.”
“That’s not—”
“Shut up. Ako muna.”
His mouth closed.
Her voice was not loud, and that made it stronger. She leaned closer, not enough to crowd him, but enough that he could not pretend she was not there.
“I love you when you’re mean because you don’t know how to say you’re scared,” she said.
Kei’s face went still.
Zemu kept going.
“I love you when you act like you don’t care, then remember every stupid little thing about me. I love you when you hide. I love you when you push. I love you when your brain lies and tells you you’re only something people endure.”
His breathing caught.
He hated that word.
Endure.
Because that was the word, wasn’t it?
The shape of the fear.. not that she hated him.
Not even that she would stop loving him.
Worse.
That she would keep loving him while he wore her down. That one day her affection would turn into duty. That she would stay because she had already promised too much, and he would become another thing she had to carry.
Zemu’s eyes did not move from his.
“You are not something I endure, Kei.”
Something cracked.
—Not loudly; nor in a way anyone else would see.. but he felt it.
A thin line running through the wall he had spent years building inside himself; not enough to bring it down, not yet. Maybe never completely.. but enough for air to get in.
Zemu’s voice softened.
“You’re someone I choose.”
Kei looked down at their hands.
Her fingers were wrapped around his like she had no plans of letting go. His hands looked pale against hers… too still. He wanted to move, but he did not know where to put himself.
For once, there was no clean answer.. no sharp comment and no safe little insult.
His throat hurt.
He hated that too.
Zemu stayed quiet.
That was the hardest thing for her, he knew.
She liked noise. She filled space with words because empty space made too much room for thoughts. He had seen her do it in class, in cafés, during walks, during study sessions. She talked when she was happy– talked when she was nervous. Talked when she was trying not to cry.
But now, she held the silence for him.
She did not rush.
She did not ask if he was okay.
She did not make him perform recovery so she could feel better.
She just stayed.
Kei breathed in and it shook a little.
He hated that.
Zemu’s thumbs moved once over his knuckles.. again: a small rhythm— something to follow.
He took another breath, then another.
His shoulders lowered slowly, like his body had been holding a fight he had not noticed until it started ending.
His fingers curled around hers, not tightly but just enough.
“You’re stupid,” he said.
The words came out quiet and almost tired.
Zemu smiled a little.
“Yeah.”
His brow furrowed.
“You’re supposed to argue.”
“Later.”
He looked at her and she looked back.
There was something wet at the edge of her eyes, but she did not let it fall. Her smile was small and crooked and trying so hard to be brave that Kei wanted to look away.
He did not.
“That’s new,” he muttered.
“Don’t get used to it.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
Almost.
Zemu saw.
Her smile warmed.. then she took a breath, and Kei felt the change before she spoke. Her hands stayed around his, but her face became serious again.
“You want the truth?”
Kei’s eyes flicked to hers.
“I thought that was what you were doing.”
“No.” Her thumb paused over his knuckle. “That was the nice version.”
His stomach tightened.
He almost pulled back; Zemu felt it immediately and held on, not hard but enough to tell him she knew.
“The ugly version,” she said, “is that sometimes you hurt my feelings.”
Kei went still.
There it was.
The thing he deserved. The thing he had been waiting for. Zemu’s voice did not shake, but it was quieter now.
“Don’t run. I’m not finished.”
His jaw tightened.
He stayed— barely, but he stayed.
Zemu looked down at their hands for a second, like she needed them to get the words out.
“Sometimes you say things, and I know you don’t mean them like that,” she said. “But they still hurt.”
Kei’s chest felt hollow.
He tried to remember how to breathe without making it obvious.
“Sometimes… you pull away, and I get angry because I don’t know if you want space or if you want me to chase you.” She swallowed. “Sometimes loving you is hard.”
Kei’s gaze dropped.
The room tilted a little.
There.
There it is.
He knew it.
He had known it.
The ugly relief of being right burned through him, followed immediately by shame so thick he almost could not swallow.
His hands started to loosen from hers.
“Then why—”
“Because hard doesn’t mean unwanted.”
He stopped.
Zemu’s voice was firmer now, like she was planting both feet on the floor and refusing to let him drag them somewhere worse.
“You think if you’re not easy, I’ll regret you.” Her fingers squeezed his. “But I’m not easy either, Kei.”
He looked at her.
She gave him a small, sad smile.
“I’m loud. I’m clingy. I overthink. I get jealous. I cry over things and then pretend I’m fine. I eat dairy like I’m immortal.”
Despite everything, something in his face almost broke into disbelief.
Zemu’s smile turned crooked.
“I’m a lot.”
Kei said nothing as she leaned closer.
“And you love me anyway, no?”
His ears warmed.
He hated that his body betrayed him so easily around her; Zemu saw it, because of course she did. Her smile softened, but she did not tease him yet.
“So let me love you anyway too.”
Kei stared at her.
He wanted to say something.
He wanted to say she was wrong. He wanted to say it was not the same. He wanted to say her difficult parts were alive and bright and impossible not to love, while his were sharp and cold and always facing the wrong direction.
—But Zemu was looking at him like she already knew all of that; like she had heard every argument he had not spoken; like she was still choosing him.
His throat hurt again.
“You shouldn’t have to,” he said.
Zemu’s face changed.. something angry moved through it, not at him.
For him.
That was almost harder to face.
“Kei.”
He looked down.
“No.” Her voice sharpened a little. “Look at me.”
The words should have annoyed him (they did not).
He looked at her.
Her eyes were wet now; no tears falling yet, but close. Her eyebrows were pulled together, and her mouth pressed tight like she was holding back ten different things at once.
“You don’t get to decide what I should or shouldn’t love,” she said.
Kei’s lips parted but no sound came out.
Zemu’s hands held his tighter.
“You can tell me when you’re scared. You can tell me when you feel like you’re hard to love. You can even ask me that stupid question again if your brain gets loud.” Her voice cracked on the last word, just a little. “But you don’t get to answer it for me.”
Kei stared at her.
The room blurred for half a second.
He blinked hard and Zemu saw that too.
Her anger softened, but it did not disappear.
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m not confused. I’m not trapped. I’m not being forced. I’m not staying because I feel bad for you.”
Her thumbs moved over his hands again, slower.
“I’m here because I love you.”
Kei could not speak.
If he tried, something would happen— something embarrassing. Something he would not be able to cover with a joke.
… So he looked down at their hands and nodded once.
It was barely anything, but Zemu’s shoulders lowered like it mattered. She let out a breath.
For a while, they stayed like that.
The notes remained open around them. Her textbook still waited on the floor. The flashcards were out of order. The candy packet sat between them, forgotten.
Kei kept his hands in hers.
His breathing slowly evened out.
Zemu watched his face carefully. She did not stare in a way that made him feel trapped. She just looked; checking the line of his mouth, the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers had stopped shaking against hers.
Only when he seemed steadier did she let the joke return.. gently; not to run away from the feeling this time but just to lead them back to themselves.
She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles and said, very seriously, “Also, honestly, no one else would survive my personality.”
Kei blinked.
The shift caught him off guard.
Zemu nodded like she was explaining a very important scientific fact.
“Like, imagine some normal guy trying to date me. Kawawa naman. He’d cry in three days.”
Kei stared at her.. then, quietly, “Three days is generous.”
Zemu gasped.
“Excuse me?”
His mouth twitched.
“I’m being kind.”
“You just admitted you’re built for me.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It is what you meant.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Zemu’s eyes were still a little shiny, but her grin came back.. small at first, then wider.
“Fine. I’ll put cake in your mouth later.”
Kei sighed.
It was not as heavy this time.
“You’re impossible.”
“Good thing you are too.”
The words sat there, not quite a joke— not only a joke.
Zemu shifted closer until her shoulder pressed against his. She did not let go of his hand. Kei let her lean there without complaint, which was almost a confession by itself.
The future she had been talking about earlier still hung in the room.
Tohoku. Sendai. Shelves. Rice cookers. Cake shops. His dinosaur things. Her art supplies. A life neither of them knew how to hold without being afraid.
—But it felt different now.
Less like something Zemu had thrown into the air without noticing.. more like something they were both looking at.
Something frightening.
Something wanted.
Zemu rested her cheek near his shoulder, not fully against it yet.
“If we’re both impossible,” she said, “then we might as well be impossible together.”
Kei looked down at her.
His expression was still guarded, but less than before. The wall was there.. of course it was. Kei did not become soft all at once. He did not open like a door; he opened like a fist slowly learning it did not have to hold so tight.
“That sounds inefficient,” he said.
Zemu bumped her shoulder into him.
“Say something romantic for once.”
He was quiet for a long moment.. long enough that she lifted her head to look at him properly.
Kei’s eyes moved over her face. Her messy hair. The tiredness under her eyes. The wet shine she had not fully hidden. The stubborn tilt of her mouth as she waited for him.
His hand shifted in hers.
Then he said, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Zemu’s teasing smile softened— because coming from him, that was romantic.
It was not pretty; it was not dramatic. It was not the kind of line someone would write on a cake box or a love letter.
But it was Kei.
I’m still here.
It meant: I didn’t run.
It meant: I heard you.
It meant: I’m trying to believe you.
It meant: stay.
Zemu’s fingers tightened around his.
She stayed.
They returned to studying after that.. technically.
The notebook was still open. The textbook was still there. Zemu did write a few more lines, though her handwriting had gotten worse. She kept one hand linked with Kei’s under the low table while she wrote with the other.
Kei looked down at their joined hands.
“This is inefficient.”
Zemu did not look up.
“Romantic threat.”
“That doesn’t apply here.”
“It applies everywhere.”
He sighed, but his hand stayed in hers.
Every few minutes, he glanced at her like he was checking if she was still there.
Every time, she squeezed his hand before he could ask.
The third time it happened, his eyes stayed on their hands a little longer.
Zemu pretended not to notice.
She noticed.
—Of course she noticed.
Eventually, her writing became unreadable… even to her. Kei leaned over and looked at the page, then he closed her notebook.
“You’re done.”
Zemu blinked at the closed cover.
“I’m not.”
“You wrote mitochondria like it hurt you.”
“It did.”
“You need sleep.”
“I need to finish.”
“You’re not finishing anything like this.”
She frowned, but there was no real fight left in her.
Her body had become heavy with the kind of tiredness that came after crying without fully crying. Her head hurt a little. Her eyes felt warm… her hand was still in Kei’s, and she did not want to move it.
So she leaned against his shoulder.
Kei stiffened for half a second, then he relaxed.
Zemu closed her eyes.
“Say it back first.”
Kei looked down at her. Her voice was softer now: sleepy.
“What?”
She did not open her eyes.
“You know what.”
He sighed– a long, suffering sigh (extremely fake).
Zemu smiled against his sleeve.
The silence stretched.
For a second, she thought he might refuse.. not because he did not feel it. Because saying it out loud still cost him something.
Then Kei shifted beside her.
His thumb pressed lightly over her knuckles.. so quietly she almost missed it, he said, “I love you too.”
Zemu’s smile trembled.
She kept her eyes closed because if she opened them, she might cry for real this time.
“I know,” she whispered.
Kei clicked his tongue.
“Annoying.”
But he did not let go of her hand.
And later, when Zemu finally fell asleep beside her notes, her head resting awkwardly against his shoulder, Kei stayed there.
The room had gone quieter. Outside, the street sounds had thinned. The lamp still lit the mess of notebooks and flashcards on the floor.
Kei looked down at their hands.
Zemu’s fingers were loose now, but still curled around his.
She stayed even in sleep, somehow.
His chest ached, though not like before.
Softer.
Still painful, but not sharp.
He looked at her sleeping face. The line on her cheek. The messy hair. The small frown that remained even unconscious, like she was still fighting biology in her dreams.
His thumb moved once over her knuckles; careful and barely there.
Do you really love me?
The question still existed somewhere inside him.
It would not disappear in one night.
Kei knew that.
He was not stupid. Feelings did not fix themselves because someone said the right thing once. His brain would lie again. Fear would come back. He would probably ask in other ways, uglier ways, quieter ways. He would probably still push before he learned how to stay without flinching.
—But Zemu had answered.
She had held his hands and answered.
Yes.
Even when it was hard.
Even when he was not easy.
Even when he could not believe it fast enough.
Kei took a slow breath.
… This one did not hurt as much.
He stayed beside her for a while longer, thumb resting over her knuckles, breathing easier than he had all night.
Because Zemu said yes.
Because she stayed.
Because, somehow, impossibly, she loved him.
And for once, Kei let himself believe it.. just a little.