We exchanged a nod in greeting then he went back to his work. I registered a few familiar faces but didn’t walk to greet them—I wasn’t here for small talk today. I was here to train, I didn’t give much to training for the part few days.
But somehow, the air was different today. Not the usual churn of hunters bragging about kills or squabbling over mission postings—no, this was sharper, like the room itself was holding its breath. Snippets of talk drifted through the hum.
“…they say he once dismantled an entire dungeon with a flick of his wrist.” One hunter said talking to an official of a guild.
“…doesn’t answer to any guild, just shows up when he feels like it.” Another voice came to my ears.
“…Gabriel Katz. Can’t believe he was here. A celebrity even among the hunter society.” When that voice caught up to me, I froze.
Gabriel Katz. Same Gabriel I knew. I hadn’t seen years. I had briefly met him on Master’s funeral. He was standing in the distance, not approaching that day. That was the last of him.
He always disappeared on his reasons and went off the grid for months on end, maybe years if he was doing some extensive research.
I slowed without meaning to. The name felt like a stone skipping across my thoughts, rippling out memories I hadn’t asked for. Gabriel. Of all people.
Before I could chase the thought further, a voice cut through the haze.
“Mr. Shun.”
I turned and found Lily Grace, the guild official who’d escorted me to the Guild-master’s office the day I first arrived in London. She looked the same—efficient, crisp in her uniform, with that measured smile that never quite gave anything away.
“Would you please come with me?” She asked. Her demeanour was eased, but I felt the rush in her voice somehow alarming.
I raised an eyebrow. “Is it urgent?”
“Something like that.”
That was all she gave me, and the way she said it told me she wasn’t going to elaborate in the middle of the hall. I glanced back at the hunters buzzing like bees, half of them too busy whispering about Gabriel Katz to notice me, then sighed and followed.
I didn’t give their whispers much thought, but it ticked at the back of my head.
The corridors of the Dexus Guild were too familiar by now. Still, walking them under Lily’s lead stirred up an edge of unease. My mind turned circles. The Guild-master Alger rarely summoned anyone directly—even when he called me when I first arrived, I was surprised. Missions, reports—those usually came through Lily or another associate. So why now?
I didn’t have anything in particular to report to him, and with the mission ahead, I don’t think he would be prone to call me. I wasn’t that important to be called by him.
No. I couldn’t tear my mind away from it. My gut told me this wasn’t about paperwork or protocol. The guild hall’s buzz, the way Lily kept her expression carefully neutral, the fact that my name and Gabriel’s had just crossed paths in the air like colliding sparks…
But, I was getting a bad feeling about this. I followed Lily into the elevator and as the doors hummed close, it didn’t take us long to reach his office.
By the time we stopped before Alger Frensby’s office, my thoughts had knotted themselves into something restless. Lily gave a small bow, then gestured toward the heavy oak door.
“He’s waiting for you inside.”
I nodded, though my chest had already tightened. The handle was cool under my palm as I pushed it open.
And then time tripped.
My eyes widened as I took a step inside, Alger sat stiff-backed on the sofa, but it was the man beside him who stole the air from the room.
He was there. Gabriel, seated as if the office belonged to him, one leg crossed over the other, silver-rimmed spectacles catching the light like they had all those years ago. Same careless posture. Same aura of brilliance, too large for the walls to contain.
His vibrant locks of mahogany hair had grown longer in the time I hadn’t seen. His chestnut eyes still burned subtlety with a sense of mysterious prestige to them
Every lesson, every sharp correction, every rare moment of pride he’d shown me when I got something right—they came crashing back all at once, hitting harder than I expected.
For a second, I was a boy again, standing beside my master while Gabriel paced in front of me, breaking down the intricacies of mana as if he were explaining the weather. A genius, arrogant enough to let you know it, yet somehow still the man my master trusted enough to hand me over to.
And now he was here.
My throat worked before my voice did. “…Gabriel.”
My voice broke for a heartbeat. Something that even Alger caught on to. I felt my chest tighten, my eyes bore heavy, looking at my quack-head mentor from all those years ago.
“Shun, I want you to meet Mr. Gabriel Katz.” Alger said, his voice steady, but not leaving the man that sat across from him. His posture firm and poised. “He asked for you—"
Before Alger could finish his sentence, Gabriel slowly rose from his seat, taking steady steps toward me, I walked closer to him, feeling the wrinkles finally catch up to him.
“Kid,” He said, his voice still as arrogant as were, but hearing it made the weight over my chest eased. “You look like shit.”
My steps slowed. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d imagined it.
The man hadn’t changed. Same careless smirk, same air of brilliance wrapped in the patience of someone who knew he was smarter than most of the room.
“Gabriel,” I said, quieter than I meant.
He walked another step with a lazy stride, his grin widening. “You’ve grown taller, and uglier, but at least your manners are the same.” He clapped a hand to my shoulder, and the weight of it pulled me back years—to lessons in mana, to long nights of drills, to my master’s watchful gaze.
Everything came back in a rush, and I drew a breath, letting the memories and feelings settle in.
For the first time in a long while, I didn’t know whether to smile or scowl. Gabriel only laughed, as if he could read the conflict on my face. “Relax, kid. Takeru told me you were in London. I had to see for myself.”
He shrugged, walking back to his seat, and I followed him. “I mean, I only found out recently, so after talking with Takeru, I just dig up some information and got to know your recent endeavours.”
His tone softened—just slightly, almost hidden beneath the arrogance. “Your master would have liked that you’re still standing.”
I was about to sit when Alger’s voice broke the silence.
“Mr. Katz,” he said, steady, though I caught the stiffness in his tone. “How do you know Hunter Shun?”
The question hung awkwardly in the air, and I felt the weight of it settle between us. Alger was the type to measure his words with precision—if he was asking that outright, then Gabriel’s presence here rattled him more than he wanted to show.
Plus, he leaned more toward the political side, so he was probably asking if he could use me later as a bridge to Gabriel for some favour.
Until now, I was just an
Gabriel leaned back, crossing one leg over the other again. His grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, eyes flicking to me as if the answer should be obvious.
“Well, we go way back,” he said. “I taught him how to use mana, once upon a time. He was greener than spring grass, but—” his gaze sharpened, “—he had a spine even then. Your master saw it. I just…helped shape it.”
The memories pressed against my chest again. “That was a long time ago,” I said quietly. “The last I saw you was the funeral.”
Gabriel’s smirk softened into something closer to a smile. “Mm. I remember. I didn’t stay long.” He adjusted his spectacles with two fingers, as though the gesture might mask the rare slip of sincerity in his voice. “Didn’t seem right to crowd the boy who’d lost more than I had. But, I did keep tabs on you through Takeru.”
I swallowed, words catching in my throat before I could force them out. “…I thought you vanished for good.”
“I do that,” he said, unapologetic. “Research, work, the occasional dungeon dismantling. You know how it is.”
Before I could reply, he tapped the arm of his chair, a spark of mischief flaring in his eyes. For a moment, I wanted to cringe like I used to in past on his behaviour, but held it. “Speaking of dungeons—Shun, I’ll be joining your little subjugation party.”
I blinked, taken aback. “Can you even do that?”
Gabriel laughed. “I told you before, didn’t I? I’m a well-sought man.” Then, without missing a beat, he tilted his head toward Alger, his chestnut eyes glinting. “Will it be alright, Alger Frensby?”
The Guild-master hesitated. Just for a moment—long enough for me to notice, long enough for Gabriel to enjoy it. Then Alger inclined his head, posture crisp.
“Having an
Gabriel gave a theatrical shrug, as if the decision carried no weight at all. “Then it’s settled.”
I exhaled, trying to ignore the knot forming in my chest. Gabriel Katz on the team. Just like old times—except nothing about this was the same anymore.
He was somehow trying to join on the dungeon subjection of an
Or it did.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, as if the whole room bent around him—like the gravity was twisting. Alger tried to look composed, but the stiffness in his jaw gave him away. For all his polish, the man wasn’t used to hunters like Gabriel walking into his office uninvited.
But, he couldn’t just wave a man like Gabriel away.
We spoke a little more, just enough to catch up. He asked about my missions, the ones already made public. I gave him the clean answers—raids, subjugations, nothing he couldn’t have read in a report if he cared enough. He nodded here and there, but his eyes told me he was measuring something else entirely.
The silence stretched, and just when I thought he might actually press further, Gabriel’s posture shifted and the air inside the room shifted like he was in full control. His voice, calm and decisive, cut the tension.
“Shun, why don’t you wait for me downstairs? I’ll join you in a jiffy.”
The way he said it left no room for argument. I almost frowned, but bit it back. He always had this way of pushing me around without actually pushing.
“I need to discuss some things with Alger here,” he added, tone firming as his gaze flicked to the Guild Master. “Can’t have you deal with everything, young hunter.”
That last part landed sharper than I liked. Young hunter. As if the years between then and now hadn’t left their marks. But I only gave him a small nod before turning on my heel.
The door shut behind me, muffling whatever conversation sparked between them. I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath longer than I thought, and headed back to the reception hall.
Hunters milled about as if nothing in the world had shifted upstairs. To them, it was just another day. For me, the weight of old memories refused to let go, clinging to every step as I found a quiet corner to wait.
***
Fifteen minutes later, the elevator door finally opened. Gabriel stepped out, and the atmosphere of the guild shifted with him.
He moved like he owned the place, shoulders squared, chin lifted, every step measured. Conversations faltered as hunters caught sight of him, their words trailing off into silence. In his presence, they seemed like pebbles scattered on the ground—each insignificant in the shadow of a boulder.
He didn’t look around, didn’t need to. The room bent to his gravity without him lifting a finger.
“Let’s go,” he said when his eyes found me, as if the past fifteen minutes had been nothing more than him stopping to tie his shoes.
We left the guild together, the late afternoon air biting a little sharper after the warmth inside. For a few steps, neither of us spoke. Then I decided to break the quiet.
“So,” I said, glancing at him, “what’s your real reason for joining this raid? You could find any dungeon you wanted—better ones, even. Why this one?”
For once, Gabriel didn’t fire back with a smirk or some smart remark. He gave me a look, like he was weighing whether to toss me the truth or keep it hidden.
“Just trying to keep a promise,” he said at last, voice softer than I expected. But then his tone edged, sharpened, like a blade being turned in hand. “When I heard about this dungeon a few weeks back, I came to check it out. The damage it has done is already excessive—almost too excessive for a normal
He let the words hang for a moment before shrugging, as if to smoothen over the weight he’d just dropped. “But that’s just my speculation. I’d rather be on the safe side.”
Gabriel’s words still lingered between us, sharp and heavy, but then he tilted his head, chestnut eyes gleaming with a different kind of mischief.
“By the way, I heard something interesting,” he said, dragging the pause just long enough to make me wary, “you got yourself a flower girl.”
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Heat crawled up my neck before I could stop it. “Tch—don’t start,” I muttered, glaring sideways at him. “That’s none of your business.”
Gabriel’s smirk spread, boyish and maddening, the kind of grin that used to drive me insane during training. “Oh, it’s definitely my business. If you’re finally letting someone tolerate that stubborn face of yours, I deserve to know. And, I had my fair share of experience with women in the past.”
“Gabriel—” I started, but he was already chuckling, waving a hand as if brushing off my protest.
“Relax, kid. I’m just teasing.” His smirk softened into something almost fond, though it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “I’ll stay in touch.”
And then, just like that, he turned and vanished into the crowd outside the guild, swallowed by the flow of hunters and pedestrians.
His laughter trailed off, swallowed by the noise of London’s streets, but the words he left behind clung sharper than I liked.
Flower girl.
I clicked my tongue, trying to shake it off, but the heat on my face lingered longer than I wanted to admit. Gabriel always had a way of dragging me back into the past, of making me act younger than I was. And now, with that parting shot, he’d pushed me straight into thoughts I’d been carefully keeping on the side-lines.
Rachael.
The image of her—hands dirtied with soil, hair tucked behind her ear as she leaned over a row of lilies—came unbidden. So did the sound of her laugh, light in a way that didn’t belong in this bloody, cursed world. She grounded me in ways I didn’t know I needed.
Before I realized it, my steps had carried me not toward training, not toward my hotel suite, but to the familiar little shop at the corner of Southbank.
***
Rachael Everly
The ground smelled like damp leaves and iron. I smoothed my palm over the small stone until the cold pressed through my glove and into the bones of my hand. It was the day I always came—the date circled in my head like a dull ache—and I said her name the way you say a prayer when you don’t know how else to start.
I laid the black roses down the way I always did, beside a fourth one that was already here when I came—my mother’s favourite flowers—, three short breaths, one for memory, one for apology, one for whatever courage it takes to walk away.
In her letter—one that I had found coincidentally when clearing her untouched room after years, I read how she gave these same flowers to my father. When others saw black roses they always have this pity or sadness tinged in their expression, but my mother was different—she believed that these roses were not a symbol of solitude, but rather, misunderstood beauty, she admired their quiet strength.
I also liked these flowers, but, I hated them too. A part of me hated to look at these flowers, reminding me of the truth—about my mother, the man behind her death, and my own inability to do anything against it.
But for some reason, there was always a black rose here when I came on her anniversary or on days I felt too overwhelmed and needed at place to run away to.
I didn’t give it much thought, but, perhaps a friend or acquaintance of my mother came to visit her.
I sighed, holding a sob back as I sat down near her gravestone, feeling the chilly atmosphere even with my coat on. I brought my legs closer and leaned against the gravestone, as if in my mother’s embrace.
I snuggled my chin into the scarf Shun had given me—I forgot to return it after we left the orphanage that day, so I wore it almost everyday since then. But I hadn’t seen him—maybe he was busy, he was a hunter so it isn’t like he can spend each day with me carelessly.
The warmth the scarf brought was unexpected. I breathed through the scarf, wrapped around my neck, as I smelled a familiar scent still clinging to its fabric.
Sitting here, the world felt too loud and too empty at once. For a moment I wished someone was with me. I wished Shun was there to stand awkwardly beside me and not know what to say. I wished for something unnecessary and human, and that wish surprised me.
“Mom,” I called out, feeling the word almost alien on my tongue—expecting like a fool to hear some reply which will never come. “I turned twenty-one this year. I celebrated with Auntie Asteria and she made me a ridiculously big cake. We couldn’t even finish it for days.” I whispered like a child clinging to some thread, a weak smile touched at my lips but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.
Then suddenly, I felt my chest ache, my breath growing heavy as I felt warmth slid down my cheeks. “Mommy, I wish you were still here. I wanted you to see me grow up. I try to act strong in front of others, but I’m not. I’m a coward, weak, too emotional. I-I...why did you had to leave me?” I said at the end, my eyes not holding the sorrow back as I wept in silence, leaning against my mother’s grave.
I stayed like that for the next twenty minutes, the tears eventually stopped, the droplets made the scarf a bit wet. I wiped the remnant tears away as I slowly stood, feeling my heart ache.
“Mom, I need to go now.” I said with quiet resolve.
With a final glance, I turned and then moved toward the exit of the graveyard. It wasn’t a big distance, but each step felt heavier than the last.
My emotions grated on me like an old wound, feeling so miserable. I always was deep down, but I didn’t want to accept defeat, knowing that the people who were the cause of my grief were out there enjoying, I couldn’t let them win.
I will live my life fully. That’s what mom would want. I thought, but it didn’t hurt any less even if I did.
Thinking about something and doing something were two completely different things.
The walk was a bit long from the graveyard to the shop, I stepped into the streets alongside other pedestrians, taking time to walk back deliberately.
I didn’t want to open the shop today, but didn’t want to sit idle either. Maybe...
Maybe...Shun was there, waiting for me by the door like he always awkwardly did. At first, it felt out of place, but now, I couldn’t seem to remember a day I wouldn’t think about him.
Maybe...
I remembered how he had looked at me when we had just stepped aside after playing with the children. His sharp eyes, that raw emotion...
I suddenly felt heat rise on my cheeks as I finally stepped into the street leading to the shop.
I told myself it was nothing, just a passing thought. But then, why did my chest feel so warm?
I shook my head feeling a little alleviated from the pessimistic thoughts as the shop finally came into view.
The doors were locked, the closed sign hung outside—Auntie Asteria was gone to deliver the order. But my heart sank for a moment, he wasn’t there. I thought as I approached , but I was wrong.
I found him there, looking inside through a window. Shun was sitting in his usual corner chair, not quite waiting for me. How did he get inside? I thought.
But he was a hunter, maybe, he had his way around with locks.
I wasn’t distressed over his entrance in the shop even if it was closed. Maybe I should’ve been upset…but instead, I was just relieved he was here.
Knowing Shun, he wasn’t the type to do something bad. He was kind and careful of others, more than he wanted to show for a fault.
He looked so unbothered, just sitting with his back straightened against the chair, as though the world outside had no place for him, and he simply melted into my little flower shop when no one else was around.
I hesitated for a second, clutching the keys in my hand, before unlocking the door and letting myself in. He glanced up, emerald eyes catching mine for the briefest moment before lowering again. Always distant, always guarded—but there was a collective change in his demeanour, he seemed more open and relaxed. And yet, today, there was something fragile about him. He didn’t wear his usual mask of indifference. Instead, he looked tired, his shoulders slumped, his hands loosely resting on his knees as if he had forgotten they belonged to him.
I wondered if he even knew how different he seemed today…or if I was the only one who noticed. He had started to change since the day I’d first met him.
His face was more lively and warm, but still stoic though.
“It’s got chilly outside, hasn’t it?” I asked softly, setting my bag on the counter.
I turned back to look at him, somewhat of a smile forming on my face. “If I hadn’t seen you, I’d have thought you were a burglar.”
“Sorry, I didn’t want to wait outside, or go somewhere else in the meantime,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. He never apologized, not in words, but it slipped through his tone like something unintentional.
I turned to him and give me something close to a real smile. “It’s fine. But, the way the temperature is dropping each day, it wouldn’t be long before it snows.”
That smile didn’t last for long as I turned, looking outside, remembering the cold of the outside, and then feeling comforted by the warmth of the inside.
“How did you even get inside?” I asked, curiosity scraping the back of my tongue. “The lock wasn’t tampered with when I came in and there aren’t that many windows you can just open and enter through?” I said, taking my coat off and unwrapping the scarf, but not taking it off.
Shun thought for a moment, probably to even out his words, the guilt was still etched across his face, and I couldn’t help but smile—he looked like a kid caught doing something stupid, unsure if he should apologize again or pretend it never happened.
He raised his head as I leaned against the counter. “Do you know that hunters have these powers called ‘skills’?” He asked, and I gave him a simple nod.
“I am aware of it. But, I only know about the most simple things regarding that.” I admitted, not going too deep into the topic.
Shun adjusted in his seat. “I have a skill that allows me to perform something similar to teleportation. So, I simply came in using that skill.”
I blinked, half-surprised, half-amused by his honesty. “That’s… actually pretty cool. But next time, just ask. I can give you a spare key.”
The atmosphere melted into something soothing, as I felt the sorrow and loss, still so fresh, ease up a little. I don’t know why, but in his presence I felt like I could be vulnerable.
I studied him for a moment longer, the way his face was half-hidden in the dim shop light, the stillness around him.
But somehow, it felt like Shun was juggling a lot of his shoulders. His face seemed odd, not in a bad way, just....just too resigned of something. Like he had been reminded of something, and just remembering about that thing had triggered that deep vulnerability.
For the first time, I thought he looked…vulnerable. And it startled me, because Shun was never supposed to look that way—not the way he had always presented himself to me.
Without saying much more, I went into the back and began to prepare tea. Not coffee, not black tea—but the herbal blend he had once offhandedly admitted he preferred. I remembered. He hadn’t thought I would.
But, when I went to the market a few days back to stock up on supplies, I saw some premium blends being sold by the usual shops I went to, and I bought them.
I don’t know why, but now, I wanted to know more about Shun. I wanted to step into his world. Be a part of the world he tried to conceal from me.
When I returned with two cups, he blinked at the steam curling up between us, and for a second, his expression softened. Just barely—the ease in his muscle was fleeting, but it was there. “You remembered,” he murmured, slow but careful.
I sat across from him and slid one cup toward his hands. “Of course I did. Last you had a face so repulsed when drinking coffee when I brewed it.”
For a while, we simply sat there, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. The herbal scent filled the air, mingling faintly with the lingering sweetness of the flowers still tucked in vases around the shop. My tea warmed my palms, but it was his presence I was more aware of than anything else.
He was the one to break the silence. “You went somewhere today.” He asked—Shun wasn’t one to ask too much of me, but whenever he did, I somehow felt being reeled into it.
It wasn’t a question. His gaze met mine, steady and unreadable, but I could feel him studying me the way he always did. He noticed things—little shifts in my expression, the tone of my voice.
And today, I didn’t want to lie. Didn’t want to hide behind that smile I also put on to push through even the worst days.
I exhaled slowly. “My mother’s grave. Today’s her anniversary.” That’s all I said, but the words didn’t fell that heavy—but the will to push them out and feeling the emptiness they felt was still appalling.
Something in him changed at that. His lips pressed together, his gaze dropping for just a moment, as though the words tugged at something buried deep inside. When he looked back up at me, I saw a flicker there—empathy, maybe, or understanding too raw to hide.
“I see,” he said quietly. Then, after a beat, “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t the empty politeness people usually offered. It felt…sincere. The weight of it lingered between us.
Somehow, I felt this knot forming inside my throat.
I smiled faintly, brushing a finger around the rim of my cup. “It’s alright. I go every year. It doesn’t hurt any less, but it feels wrong not to go.”
He nodded, as though he understood perfectly what it meant to feel this way. For a long while, he didn’t say anything more. But then his hand shifted around the cup, his knuckles pale against the porcelain, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, rougher—like he hadn’t planned to let the words out.
A piece—a part of Shun I had just seen, he had allowed me to enter that part of his world.
“Today I met an old friend—my other mentor who taught me alongside my Master.” He said, his voice felt dry, but filled with emotion all the same. “Meeting him felt soothing for some reason. I felt like he would blame me for my Master’s death, but he consoled me instead.”
The way he said it—clipped, hesitant, almost reluctant—made my chest tighten. I leaned forward just slightly, my eyes on him. He looked away, staring into his tea as though it might reveal something worth saying—something more vulnerable.
“My Master was…kind,” he continued, halting. “Too kind, for someone like me. And I couldn’t protect him.” His jaw tensed. “I thought I could—I really did thought when it mattered. But when it mattered most, I wasn’t enough. And all that’s left of him is his grave.”
I didn’t interrupt. I just listened. That seemed to be all he needed. I felt my pain felt nothing in forward of what this man was feeling.
His fear, insecurity, sorrow, anguish....I wasn’t comparing us, but, right now, Shun looked truly broken...like he had opened up a part of himself he never wanted to show anyone.
His shoulders rose and fell, a shaky breath escaping him. “People say time heals things like that. It doesn’t. It just…teaches you how to carry it without breaking every day.”
There was silence again, heavy and aching, but I didn’t shy away from it. I kept my eyes on him, letting him know without words that I was here, that he didn’t need to carry this alone.
For the first time since I met him, he looked young to me. Not mysterious, not aloof, not hardened beyond reach — but young, with the kind of wounds no one should have to bear so early. His eyes, when they lifted to mine again, were raw in a way I almost wished I hadn’t seen, because it made my heart twist.
“Shun…” My voice was quiet, careful. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But you don’t have to hold it all by yourself either.”
His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. More like a bitter acknowledgement. “That’s what he used to say when I had too much on my shoulders.”
I felt the sting of tears, and I had to blink them away. I reached out, hesitated, then let my fingers brush the edge of the table, close enough that if he wanted, he could take the gesture as comfort. He didn’t pull away.
We sat there like that, tea cooling between us, the shop wrapped in a hush that felt strangely sacred. No customers, no distractions—just two people sharing wounds neither of us had expected to bare.
In that moment, I realized something had shifted inside me. It wasn’t just sympathy anymore. It was something warmer, deeper. A pull I couldn’t ignore. Because beneath all his walls, Shun wasn’t unreachable. He was just…human—more human than anyone else. Hurt. And maybe, just maybe, he trusted me enough to show it.
And I wanted to be someone he could keep trusting.
I felt the warmth of his finger vividly, the sombreness was heavy in the air but I realized finally what I felt for Shun. Why he made me feel this way.
I hesitated, then smiled faintly. “But, that’s why you have people to share and carry it with you—the people who care about you.”
Something flickered in his expression—disbelief, maybe, or a kind of fragile hope.
“My mother left me a letter,” I said after a pause, tracing the rim of my cup, remembering the day I found it tucked away in her desk while cleaning. “She wrote it before she died. In it, she told me: ‘Don’t let your uncertainties stray you from your path. And even if you think you’re doing something wrong that feels right, you can always reach back to those who are waiting for you—those who care about you to set yourself on the right path.” I said, my words came gentle and soft, and I could visibly see Shun’s expression shift subtly.
“Don’t try to find the reason for somebody’s love.” I added at the end, feeling my chest tighten as I felt my own mind finally come to terms with what I wanted to name these feelings as.
He blinked, surprised. “Don’t try to find the reason?” He repeated, like testing the words on this tongue.
I nodded. “Because sometimes, love doesn’t make sense—it doesn’t have to. It comes in all kinds of shades: family, friends, companions, and lovers. It just is. And trying to reason with it only makes you doubt it. Sometimes, it’s enough to just accept it…and let it stay.”
He stared at me for a long moment. I could feel something shifting behind his eyes—a quiet stirring, like a storm learning how to breathe.
“I don’t know if I deserve something like that,” he murmured. Unsure of if these things could be for the better of worst.
“Maybe not,” I said, softly acknowledging. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t find it anyway.”
The faintest smile ghosted across his lips. “You always say things that sound simple but aren’t.”
“Then maybe that’s why you keep listening,” I teased lightly, feeling the weight on my chest ease as I saw him smile.
He chuckled under his breath, and for once, it wasn’t bitter. It was small, quiet, almost warm.
The sun had dipped lower by then, painting the walls in amber light. Neither of us spoke again for a while, content in the silence that followed—one that didn’t ache this time.
And as the light faded, I found myself watching him longer than I should’ve, memorizing the way his eyes softened when he wasn’t guarding them.
Maybe my mother had been right. Maybe love didn’t need a reason.
Because whatever this was between us—this quiet, wordless understanding—I didn’t want to question it anymore. I just wanted it to stay.
Shun looked down at the cup settled in front of him. He looked hesitant for a moment, but he put his thoughts into words and gave me a look full of determination. “I spoke with my brother after a long time and, I was thinking of going back home for a change.” He said, and I felt both happy and slightly meloncalic.
I was happy that he was going, but sad that I wouldn’t get to see him for the time being and that realization made these feelings more prone to affect me.
“So, I...” he paused, his voice delayed by whatever he was coming to terms with. “I was thinking if you would like to—” another pause, his gaze met mine then went to the cup and then over to me again, “if you’d like to come along with me. To meet Fujimoto, my brother?”
I blinked, caught off guard by his words. “You want me to meet your brother?”
Shun nodded once, almost too quickly, as if afraid I might refuse. “You don’t have to,” he added quickly, his voice dipping low. “I just thought—maybe you’d like to. He’d probably like you too.”
That last line made me smile, though I tried to hide it behind my cup. “Probably?” I echoed, my tone light but my heart racing far too fast for how calm I sounded.
He exhaled softly, a flicker of amusement tugging at his lips. “He has good intuition,” he said. “He’d know why I wanted you there. He did raise me like a mother would.”
“And, why did you want me there?” I asked, tilting my head. The air between us shifted, just slightly.
He hesitated, his gaze flickering down to the tea he hadn’t finished. “Because when I’m with you,” he said quietly, “things don’t feel so heavy.”
Something in me stilled at that—the realization on those words, the courage it took to say that. I wanted to speak, but my throat wouldn’t cooperate. So instead, I let the silence stretch—not to hide in it, but to feel it. The truth in his words hung between us, quiet and undeniable.
Finally, I smiled, setting my cup down. “Well,” I said softly, breaking the tension before it could swallow us both, “if your brother really has good intuition, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to test it out.”
His eyes lifted to mine, and in that look—that brief, wordless exchange—everything was said.
“Then you’ll come?” He asked, almost afraid of confirming.
I nodded. “I will.” I said, my mind rid of hesitation.
The faintest relief flickered across his face, so subtle I almost missed it. The air seemed lighter suddenly, easier to breathe.
Outside, the last rays of the sun bled into the horizon, turning the sky into shades of rose and gold. I glanced toward the window, then back at him, and for the first time, I didn’t try to look away.
Maybe my mother had been right all along. Love didn’t need a reason. Sometimes, it just asked you to stay—and sometimes, to go along.
And when Shun smiled at me across that quiet room, I realized I already had.
I had finally found that reason.