welcome,

Hiragi and Tsubaki are there, too, and you’ve managed to cajole them into a rowdy game of cards at the picnic table, illuminated only by the ring of flashlights you brought with you—and one lantern Hajime had stowed away on the rooftop for emergencies. 

Loud laughter cuts through the night air, hushed only when Hiragi nearly bursts a blood vessel hissing to remind you that you aren’t supposed to be there and an increase in volume means you’re more apt to get caught. Not that you care, really, because time with your friends is worth whatever abysmal scolding your parents would bother to give you. 

“I’m serious,” You hum, arm wrapping around Hajime’s. He’s sitting beside you on the picnic table bench, your cheek pressed against his shoulder and his hand resting lazily on your leg under the table, while you switch topics after losing yet another round of cards. “You all have made this town worth something.”

The late hour and lack of sleep is drawing a sappiness out of you that normal doesn’t show itself so boldly. Hajime chuckles at you, soft and adoring, before pressing his lips to the crown of your head for a quick kiss. Tsubaki squeals at the sight.

“You’re bein’ dramatic,” Hiragi signs, thumbing through his cards like he has a hand that might actually win. You’ve long since gotten out, but the other three are holding on—though Hajime is just barely. “I think it might be time for you to go to bed.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Tsubaki smiles, painted lips stretching wide. He has all but given up searching through the cards in his hands, turning his attention on you while you lavish the three of them in praise. “You’re too cute.” 

“I agree,” Hajime chimes in, analyzing his cards carefully. Usually, he’s more carefree and less strategic, but you think he’s starting to get competitive after losing to Hiragi twice times in a row. “I think you’re too cute, too.” 

“I love you, Haji.” You grin, pressing three quick kisses to his shoulder. You turn towards the other two, and your smile doesn’t falter in the slightest. Hiragi, despite this attitude, is wearing his own soft look as he watches you and Hajime. Tsubaki, of course, has never once wavered in his belief that you and Hajime are the cutest couple ever! “And I love you guys, too.”

“Aw!” Tsubaki tosses his cards down onto the table, a wordless forfeit. “I love you!”

Happiness flushes your cheeks, and you can't imagine a life in which you aren’t best friends with the three boys sitting around the table beside you. 

“Yeah,” Hiragi hums, focusing on his cards when he realizes how serious Umemiya is now taking the game. “We all love you.”

“Some love you more than others,” Hajime teases, and you can see his mirth shining in his bright blue eyes as he darts a quick look towards you. Red tints the high points of his cheeks, and you realize that it’s certainly not as bitter cold outside as it had been in previous weeks. Spring is just around the corner, which means your new life beyond high school is quickly approaching, too. 

“I’m going to miss you all.” You sigh, and just as your tiredness had given way to sappy declarations of love, a somber pout slips onto your lips just as easily. With every day, you’re reminded of just why it’s so difficult for you to reconcile with the idea that you’ll be leaving not only Hajime, but your best friends, behind. 

“We’ll be here when you get back.” Hajime doesn’t miss a beat, and he further tries to settle your nerves by squeezing your leg underneath the table. There’s something placating in his voice, like he knows just how deep the doubts run in your mind, and you realize he probably does, because sometimes it feels like he knows you better than you know yourself. “I promise you. We won’t even have any fun without you.”

You’re still pouting, but save for dropping out of college, what else could you do? Leaving Makochi had always been the plan, but really, do you even still want to go?

A few more turns in the card game pass in silence, save for Hiragi’s grumbling when he realizes that Hajime is starting to get the upperhand. Tsubaki is on his phone, a few texts from his vice captains lighting up the screen as his nails tap rhythmically against the glass. You shiver, and the movement is small enough to go unnoticed.

Of course, your boyfriend notices everything when it comes to you. 

“Here, take my jacket.” He’s already shrugging out of his Furin jacket before you even say anything. He’s wearing a long sleeve underneath it, and you don’t think he’ll get cold easily, which is the only reason you don’t immediately shoot down the idea. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, just to be polite, but you’re already pulling on the heavy uniform jacket by the time the question leaves your mouth. It smells like him and warms you to the core instantly, and if he didn’t need it to represent himself as the head of Bofurin you probably would have long since stolen it. 

“Positive.” He laughs quickly, tugging the lapels of the coat tighter around you, straightening them up while jostling you teasingly. And suddenly, you don’t even remember that you were sad a few moments prior. “Besides, I can’t call myself the protector of the town if I let my girl freeze, can I?”

His grin stretches wide and toothy, blue eyes shining in the minimal light.

And it’s at this moment you know you’ll be in love with him forever.

CURRENT DAY

Green is the color reserved for Furin High. 

Other schools in the area tailor their uniforms in shades of blue or black, or even grey. There’s an all-girls school not too far away that neatly has burgundy woven into their skirts. 

But there’s only one school around that wears their blazers in emerald threads. 

It’s not hard to recognize a Furin student. Most have unconventional hairstyles, or wear shirts aunties would categorize as delinquent fashion. You, on the other hand, know all too well that a Furin student never goes far without their green uniform. 

A handful of Furin boys trickle into Pothos towards the tail end of your shift. All of them are dressed in their blazers, with two gold bands around the left bicep. Your eyes track their movement inside, trying to remember all the good times you had with your Furin boys and not the image of Umemiya walking away from you, broad shoulders draped in green. 

You don’t think you do a good job being subtle, because Kotoha is elbowing you back to life, reminding you that you’re supposed to be drying mugs and not getting lost in bittersweet and achingly painful memories.

“Have you talked with anyone since you’ve been back?” She asks, always perceptive as hell. You don’t ask who she means, because she caught you watching the Furin boys with what’s probably the most pathetic look on your face. 

She’s talking about Hiragi. About Tsubaki, and the underclassmen you befriended by default, too. But you really hope she’s not talking about Umemiya, though you don’t think you could get that lucky. 

“No,” You shake your head, lips pressed into thin lines. Your hands are busy with the mugs, but you’re on the final few, and then you won’t have a task to dive into to avoid the questions you know she’ll have for you. Kotoha was never one to let observations go unnoticed and leave others to suffer without some self-reflection. “I guess I just… don’t have the words. It’s been so long.” 

“You’re scared.” She fires back, voice flat. You look at her from the corner of your eye, and are wholly unsurprised to find she’s leaning casually against the counter, a teasing grin curving the corners of her lips the same way it did when she was fifteen and just as much a shit-stirrer. And somehow, you don’t mind it—don’t mind her.

“Everything is different, and I can’t handle it.” The confession has your shoulders feeling lighter. You haven’t talked to your parents since Motoki’s fourth birthday a handful of months back, and you were never close with them to begin with. As soon as you left for college, they packed up and took off on a series of foreign travels. You’re used to your support system being… unconventional, to say the least. “Have you talked to him about… this?”

There’s no need to clarify who he is.

And this being your employment at her cafe. You realize you’re asking her more than just that, though. You selfishly want to know how much Kotoha has told her brother without having to confront him yourself.

“No, but I won’t lie to him if he asks.” Kotoha tells you, and her tone is gentler than you think you deserve. You’re well aware that you’re being a coward, but when you left Makochi six years ago, you were hurting badly. You just hope that she can see how you’re making an effort—for Motoki. 

“Fair.” You nod, setting the final mug down. Wiping your hands on your apron, you mimic Kotoha’s position against the counter. Adjusting to working for her had been easy; you just wished the guilt gnawing away at you would subside. After Umemiya broke up with you, every text anyone sent you went unanswered, including hers. 

“When’s the last time you talked to anybody?” Her question is one of simple curiosity, and she’s doing you such a big favor by employing you with shifts that work with Motoki’s schedule that you feel like you owe her an honest answer. Lying won’t do any good, either. 

“Since before the break up.” You admit. The words taste bitter on your tongue, build a vice that constricts your breathing, but you say them anyway. “I just… shut everyone out. I don’t think anyone would want to hear from me now.” 

“I think you’re delusional.” Kotoha doesn’t sugar coat her words, and you’ve always respected her for it. She catches you off guard with her bluntness, and for a moment you stay quiet. “You were close with everybody because of who you are. Not because you were dating Umemiya.”

Her words are supposed to make you see sense, but all they really do is twist the knife of guilt that much deeper. You were an awful friend, and you know living back in Makochi will make you face the consequences. 

“You’re right,” You nod, because she is. Still, you stand up straight and get ready to leave, fleeing from the conversation the very same way you’d skirted away to college without ever really addressing the break up. “I better go see what that table wants.”

You don’t give Kotoha time to say anything. You simply step around her and out from behind the counter. Your feet carry you towards the booth full of Furin boys, all laughing and shoving at each other’s shoulders, clearly enjoying an inside joke or two. They quiet when they see you approach, though, and by the time you’re at the side of the booth you’ve pulled your notepad from your apron pocket.

“What can I get you boys?”

You smile at them, like the sight of their uniforms doesn’t remind you of nights you thought you’d have forever.

By day three of Motoki being in Makochi’s kindergarten, you’ve gotten adjusted to the routine. 

Kotoha is the main reason for it, to be honest. She lets you schedule your shifts about his drop off and pick up times, or even lets you pop out to pick him up so he can hang out at Pothos Cafe while you finish working. 

Today, luckily, you don’t have anywhere to go. Which is good, because you’re still drowning in boxes that need to be unpacked even a week later. There’s furniture that needs to be built and clothes folded and organized, but you just haven’t found the time. Entertaining Motoki is a full time job, and after he goes to bed you all but crash facedown into your mattress. 

Pickup at Motoki’s school has you all too aware of just how young you are compared to other parents. You try not to think too hard about it, but the other moms all waiting patiently for their children, coffees in hand and cliques already formed, have you itching for your son to come out. 

Finally, you see Motoki’s teacher, Ms. Asuno, lead her class out the front door. Older elementary kids race around, and suddenly it’s a crowd of students and parents reuniting after a long day of crafts and math. You wave to his teacher, and she smiles before sending Motoki out of line and in your direction. 

Like every time you pick him up, Motoki comes sprinting towards you. And like every time, you squat down so you can catch him in your arms, squeezing tight and lifting him into the air. You know you won’t always be able to pick him up so easily, but you’ll love him like you could forever. 

“Mama,” Motoki’s excited voice rambles in your ear, and it soothes your nerves that he might be struggling at his new school. But he’s always been resilient; you couldn’t have asked for a better son. “Look what I made. Ms. Asuno said the colors were pretty!” 

Motoki scrambles out of your arms and you’re forced to put him down or risk dropping him with all his squirming. He has his backpack halfway unzipped to show his latest drawing when you hear your name called from someone you will spend the rest of your life trying to forget. 

You still, and you’re so grateful Motoki’s distracted by finding his specific coloring that he doesn’t notice your reaction. 

But standing in front of you is Hajime Umemiya. 

Honestly, you’re a little surprised it’s taken this long to run into him. You’ve been in Makochi for a week, been working for Kotoha for three days, and you’ve managed to avoid him. He’s smiling, softly. There’s a shine to his eyes that’s unendingly familiar, but because you know him so well you see the hesitance there. See the way he’s not entirely lit up by his happiness like he usually is. 

Or maybe this is how he is, now. It has been six years since the break up, when you told him you never wanted to see him again and cried for weeks 

“Hi,” Your voice sounds meek, but you don’t know how to make it any stronger. No matter how many times you imagined what it would be like to talk to Umemiya again, or what you would say, none of it prepares you for running into him. 

He looks good. White hair styled with gel the same way he had it in high school, a simple t-shirt stretched across his broad chest—finally upgrading from the free shirts business give away as promotional items. He looks bigger now. Sturdier. And that’s not something you thought possible from a man like Umemiya; one who held the whole town on his shoulders at fifteen and made this place safe. 

“Hi to you,” He replies, an ease to him that you wish you could steal for yourself. It’s not fair that you feel like your fingertips are going numb, and he’s smiling like you ended on good terms. 

It’s then that you realize where you are. In the elementary school pickup crowd, one that’s slowly starting to thicken the longer you stick around as more classes are released. Motoki has noticed you, too, the eighth drawing of a dinosaur this week clutched in his little hands while he watches the conversation. His eyes are wide and he’s trying to decide what to think of Umemiya, you know, and you try to shape your lips into an unsuccessful smile so as not to tank his opinion of him.

Because as much as you’re bitter about the way things ended, Umemiya is too good. 

“What are you doing here?” You have to ask. You don’t think that he’s a parent, too, because the gossip would’ve been spread to you of all people the moment you stepped foot back in town. Motoki shuffles closer to you, and though he’s using both hands to hold his drawing, he leans his body against your leg and watches Umemiya closely. 

“Picking up Izumi for the orphanage.” He explains casually, and you realize that you should’ve been able to guess that if your nervous system was currently fighting against the freeze or flee response to seeing him again.  “She’s in second grade here.”

“Oh. Um, this is Motoki.” You hate how awkward you sound, but there’s no way around the introduction. A year ago, you had never imagined that you’d be in this position, introducing the boy you devote your life to and the man you thought you’d spend forever with. “My son.” 

Umemiya’s smile widens, warms, and he kneels down so that he’s eye level with Motoki. You think you feel something crack in your chest at the sight. 

“Hey, little man. My name is Hajime Umemiya.” He holds out his hand to shake, but Motoki just presses closer to you. He’s not ignoring Umemiya, you know, but he’s always been quiet. Umemiya takes it in stride, though, retracting his hand while still kneeling down. “I’m an old friend of your mom.”

You wince, but neither of them are paying attention to you. 

“He’s Kotoha’s brother, baby.” You interject, fixing the way his bangs lay on his forehead as a way to both soothe him and busy your hands. Motoki, for all his shyness, has started to adore Kotoha over the past few days. 

Predictably, your son stands a little taller at the mention of his new best friend. 

“Hi.” Motoki’s voice is quiet, barely audible over the sound of dozens of children leaving school, but he talks and you hear him. Then, in a move that surprises you, he holds up his paper and shows Umemiya what’s decorated on it. “I drew a dinosaur.”

“Whoa! Are you a professional artist?” Umemiya’s excitement is as instantaneous as it is genuine. He’s always been amazing with kids, and you knew that much from watching him grow up with the children at the orphanage. “Can I hire you to draw me a dinosaur?”

Motoki doesn’t respond, but you see the way he’s smiling and his cheeks are flushed with pride. He presses his face into your leg to hide and Umemiya chuckles as he stands. You watch Umemiya closely, something about his reaction not sitting right with you. Something about the way he didn’t even falter when you introduced Motoki as your son. 

“You don’t seem surprised.” You accuse. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“To be honest, Auntie Sano told me the other day.” Umemiya confesses, and you let loose a sigh. 

“Of course she did,” Nothing travels faster than a bit of juicy gossip, and you should’ve known from the moment that you ran into Sano and Hayakawa that the whole town would know in a matter of days. “What else did you hear?”

“Not much. Just that you’ve moved back to town.” He shrugs, and you still know him well enough to hear the forced casualness in his words. He moves on before you could question it, bouncing from confession to question without giving you a moment to process. “It’s true? You’re staying.”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in lying, and you have nowhere else to go but Makochi for the foreseeable future. Conversation lulls, and Umemiya glances over his shoulder towards the school as another class comes outside. 

“Oh, there’s Izumi now.” He turns back to face you, blinding you with a smile you never thought you’d see again. And the hope in his eyes is brutal to be on the receiving end of. “I’ll see you around, alright?”

“Alright.” There’s so much more you want to say, like that you’re working for Kotoha or that you really can’t see him around if you want your heart to stay glued together, but you grimace and nod instead of saying what you want. 

You don’t miss a beat, taking Motoki’s bag from him and swinging it over your own shoulder. Taking his hand in yours, you start on the path towards your apartment. There may be boxes littered everywhere and you’re operating with only two sets of plates, forks, and knives, but at least it’s your space. And you feel proud of it regardless. 

“Mama?” Motoki calls out, swinging your conjoined hands while his free one clutches his drawing tight to his little body. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“I liked your friend.” There’s no hesitation to his voice, which has you faltering. Never has your son been one to warm up to strangers so quickly. Not that you’ve really had a support system for him to interact with, honestly. 

“Umemiya?” It’s pointless to ask, but the name falls past your lips like it never stopped. 

“Mhm! U’miya” He butchers the name, and you find yourself smiling nonetheless. Soon enough, he’ll lose his baby voice, and you’ll be wishing for times like this again. “He liked my drawing.” 

“Yeah,” You agree, voice light if not a touch too forced. “He’s really nice.” 

You want to be surprised that Motoki warmed up to Umemiya so quickly, but you can’t. 

After all, how quickly did you fall in love with Hajime?

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Your smile stretches and your steps slow as a gaggle of neighborhood aunties call out from the patio seats in front of one of the town’s few diners, the Lucky Corner. Hajime stops walking beside you as he turns to greet the old ladies, all of which have tea cups and pastries. There’s books scattered on the table, probably a book club meeting, but you have a feeling they’re more interested in the gossip being shared than any literary discussion. 

“Thank you, aunties!” Hajime replies cheerfully, waving with the hand that isn’t clasped in yours. You mimic the action, subconsciously tucking yourself closer to him out of habit rather than any embarrassment. Instinctively, he squeezes your hand. 

“What’re you sweethearts up to today?” One of them asks, her eyes practically hearts as she watches you and Hajime. 

“I had to get groceries,” You tell them, gesturing to the canvas bag hooked over your boyfriend’s shoulder. A loaf of bread sticks out of the top, and Hajime looks like he’s fallen straight out of a hallmark movie. “He insisted on coming. And he won’t let me carry anything.”

“He’s being a gentleman,” One of the aunties, Memi Akibo, points out. She’s the owner of the diner they’re all sitting in front of, and you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen her taking a break from running her diner. “Umemiya, while you’re here, do you mind changing the lightbulb in the backroom? I’d do it myself, but I think I’ve passed the age where I can climb ladders.” 

“Of course,” Hajime agrees, always the town protector. Your boyfriend presses a kiss to your temple before following Memi inside the diner, taking the bag of groceries with him—just to keep you from having a chance to hold it. 

The remaining aunties watch him go with smiles more knowing than your own adoring one. And as soon as the door shuts behind him, they’re turning to face you expectantly. You’re pretty sure you can predict exactly what they’re going to say, but you wait for them to start the conversation regardless. 

“You better hold onto that one tight, dear.” One says, her words followed by a chorus of agreements from her counterparts. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, certainly, with a local celebrity for a boyfriend like you have. 

“Yes, ma’am,” You chuckle at her words, nodding, because you know far better than anyone just how good of a boyfriend Hajime is. Sometimes, you’re still in disbelief that he not only reciprocated your feelings, but that he asked you out, back when you were both first years. Now the end of your third year is trickling to an end, and you can’t imagine yourself being in love with anyone but him. 

“We’re serious,” Another auntie nods, eyes a dramatic wide that has another laugh bubbling out of you. “You and him are two of the best things this town has ever produced.” 

Your face flushes at the compliment, though you keep your protests silent. Hajime was the one to unite Furin High to protect the town. You just followed after him, first aid kit in tow while he executed his vision. Somehow, you got just as much credit as him for things changing. 

Though, it probably has something to do with the fact that Hajime always tells everyone that he wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without you. Dramatic as he is lovable.

“Thank you,” You settle on saying, face a little flushed. It’s not that you hate the praise, but being the talk of the town stirs up anxiety in your chest. In small towns like Makochi, gossip spreads just as fast as talk of achievements. 

“Now, what are you doing after high school?” One auntie asks, shifting to a conversation that buzzes just as uncomfortably under your skin. Post graduation plans had been decided long ago, but now that the date creeps up closer and closer you’re starting to second guess yourself. 

“I’m going to college in Osaka, actually.” You explain with a smile, because that’s far easier than explaining your doubts and worries. You haven’t even brought it up with Hajime, yet. And you’re excited to travel, to get out of Makochi and see other parts of the country you wouldn’t otherwise be able to. But you also can’t shake the knowledge of who you’ll be leaving behind.

“That’s so wonderful!”

“Oh, you’ll have so much fun.”

“Is Umemiya going with you?” 

That question makes you pause. You had been expecting it, it being a natural conclusion to the topic of post grad plans. There’s nothing wrong with them being curious, if a bit nosy, either. But this is the part that makes your stomach twist. 

“No, he’s staying here.” Your voice is noticeably quieter now, as it always is whenever the unavoidable physical separation between you and Hajime is brought up. You try your hardest to not let it show, but really, how else are you supposed to act when discussing the inevitable long distance relationship you’re about to enter with the man you haven’t gone a day without seeing since you were fifteen? “He’s going to work full time at the orphanage. The job has been lined up for a few months.” 

There’s a look that flashes across the faces of all the aunties, one that you were expecting. It borders on pity, tinged with confusion. Honestly, you wouldn’t doubt that they probably can’t imagine you actually living so far away from Hajime. 

The look is gone as soon as it arrives, and you’re grateful that they don’t get the chance to make more nosy conversation when Hajime comes back outside with Memi on his heels. 

He’s smiling, bright and wide and irrevocably him, but you must be making a face in response to talking about leaving, because his brows knit tightly together the moment he sees you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice laced with characteristic concern. Hajime closes the distance between the two of you, but you wave his concern off before he gets close, a false smile plastered across your lips. 

“Nothing,” You assure him, lying. You’re pretty sure he knows it, too, but equally confident that he won’t call you out with an audience. Suddenly, you’re grateful for the nosy aunties watching your interaction like hawks. “We were talking about my college and your job.”

His concerned frown lingers for a beat longer, and it’s all the confirmation that you need that you’ve been found out.

“Alright,” He settles on mumbling, and just like that he’s stepping back to smile and wave to the ladies on the Lucky Corner patio, Memi back in their midst. He’s waving while his other hand wraps around yours again, like there’s no other place it belongs. 

And really, there isn’t.

Which is why it’s getting hard to stomach the fact that you’re supposed to be leaving him in only a handful of months.

CURRENT DAY, SIX YEARS LATER

You’ve been back in Makochi for a little over two days, and you’re honestly a bit surprised that it took so long for the gossip to spread. 

“Mama, look at the kitty!”

“I see it, baby.” You coo, the hand not wrapped around your son’s smoothing the dark hair down on his forehead. He’s pointing towards one of the shop cats, and his childlike loudmouth earns the two of you more than your fair share of stares. 

You avoid looking at the aunties that dot the various shops around the streets, because you know what they’re going to start whispering about any moment and the longer you can put off acknowledging them, the better. 

You’re on your way back from the park, tugging your tired son along with you. Motoki is four, and is handling the move way better than you are. He’s always been an easy child, as much as any child could be, and you’re so incredibly grateful for him. He has your eyes, mouth, and personality, but the nose and hair coloring belong undeniably to his father. 

Not that the man is around enough for it to matter, anyways. 

“I’m thinking about making a grilled cheese when we get—”

Your suggestions for lunch are interrupted by the call of your name. You freeze, pulling Motoki to a stop beside you when two aunties step in your path on the sidewalk. You remember them from when you lived here as a teenager, and you’re fairly certain they’re two of nastier gossips Makochi has to offer. 

“Hello, aunties,” You offer politely, giving them a small smile despite the fact that this is the exact type of interaction that kept you from moving back no matter how hard things got in Osaka. Motoki, always a shy boy, tucks himself halfway behind your leg. 

“We thought that was you,” The taller of the pair—you think her name is Granny Hayakawa, or something similar—smiles sweetly at you before turning her attention to Motoki. You let go of his hand to cradle the side of his head, silently encouraging him to acknowledge the two women blocking your path home. “Is this your son?” 

“This is Motoki,” You affirm, thumb brushing soothingly over his cheek once. It just causes him to tuck in closer, and something tightens in your chest. Shy might be an understatement; Motoki doesn’t warm up to anyone quickly. 

“How sweet,” The second auntie, Granny Sano, coos. “Are you back in town for good?”

“We just moved back,” 

“His father came with you, I assume?” Granny Hayakawa asks, her eyes flashing with nosy intrigue. Your heart jumps at the mention of Motoki’s father, but you guess that’s just going to be the new normal now that you’ve brought Motoki to your home town all on your own. 

“No, it’s just us.” You try your hardest to keep your smile present in your voice and on your lips, but it’s a monumental task when Motoki wraps his arms around your leg and squeezes close at the mention of his father. 

“Oh?” Granny Sano questions with just one syllable. “And why is that?”

None of your business, you want to say. But the words don’t come out, and not just because you want to be a good role model for Motoki. 

“Oh, I thought that was you.” 

A new voice joins the conversation, one much more familiar despite the fact that you haven’t heard it in years.

Kotoha Tachibana.

You freeze, because the last time you spoke to her, you were crying and her brother had broken your heart. It wasn’t her fault, and it was beyond unfair that you cut her out of your life for the sake of simplicity. 

But you turn to face her anyways, because you owe her that much and she’s never done anything wrong. Except, she’s not looking at you, but instead she’s sending an unimpressed stare to Sano and Hayakawa. Suddenly, you’re remembering all the stories Hajime had told you about how vicious she had been when she first came to the orphanage. You remember that this woman gave you more hell for your teenage antics than your own parents ever bothered to, despite being two years younger. 

“I hope you aren’t harassing her,” Kotoha’s tone sounds much gentler than you know she means. Her arms are full of two paper grocery bags, with a canvas one tucked over her shoulder and just as full. You think she must still work at Pothos Cafe, and hate the twinge of sadness you get at not knowing about her life anymore. 

“We were just making conversation,” Granny Hayakawa defends, though her tone is much more annoyed than it had been before Kotoha’s arrival. Clearly, she’s used to being talked to with respect. And you know Kotoha would be more than willing to give it to her—if she earned it. 

“Well, some things aren’t any of our business.” Kotoha shrugs, groceries shifting awkwardly in her arms. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too wide. She twists away from the sputtering aunties to smile at you, and you’re not entirely sure you deserve it. “Help me carry this back to the cafe?”

So she does still work there.

“Of course.” You assure her, because it’s really the least you can do after she got you out of having to talk about Motoki’s father, and take a grocery bag from her arms, leaving her with the canvas tote and one other. Motoki watches you help Kotoha with wide eyes, and you think he recognizes her as someone trustworthy, because between one heart beat and the next his grip on your leg loosens. He’s quiet and shy, but that just means he sees everything. “Have a good afternoon, aunties.”

You nod to Sano and Hayakawa despite not wanting to, because you’re trying to raise your son to be polite and know leading by example is the best way. Kotoha mimics your action before taking the first step away, and you’re quick to follow. With your arms full, Motoki fists the hem of your shirt to make sure he never strays far. 

The first dozen or so feet of the journey back to Pothos are silent. You’re still reeling from almost having to answer the inevitable question of where Motoki’s father is and why he isn’t with you, and not quite sure how to thank Kotoha for intervening without seeming pathetic. 

Ultimately, you decide there’s nothing to do but just say the words. 

“Thank you, by the way.” You glance at her from the corner of your eye, not missing the way her lips curve upwards at your hesitant start to the conversation. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She says, and you know she means it. She hasn’t changed much in six years, but she’s taller now, somehow even more sure of herself than she had been before. You aren’t entirely sure why she hasn’t run for president yet. “You’ll be the gossip of the week no matter what I do. What’s his name?”

She’s right, and you know you’ll just have to suck it up. 

“Tell her your name, baby.” Taking this as an opportunity to encourage your son to be more confident talking to people, you nod your chin assuringly.

“M-Motoki.” He stammers, but he says it, which is a big improvement that tugs at your heartstrings. 

“Well, Motoki, my name is Kotoha.” Kotoha smiles at your son, so bright and wide, he flushes a bit under the attention. But you see the way he smiles when he looks to the side, pressing so close to you he almost trips on your feet. 

“He’s quiet.” You explain to Kotoha, but she waves you off. She doesn’t need you to explain anything, you realize, because growing up in the orphanage exposed her to all sorts of personalities. 

“Quiet is good.” She tells you, and something loosens in your chest. “Do you have a job here yet?”

Her tone is casual enough despite the way you know she’s subtly digging for information. And Kotoha has always been good to you—like a sister—so you don’t mind divulging some details you wouldn’t dare share with the others. 

“Not yet,” You shake your head, honest, adjusting the grocery bag in your arms. You haven’t had a moment away from Motoki to apply for jobs since your return, but his enrollment in the local elementary school was recently finalized. Your time was about to free up for a job, which was good, because you’re quickly burning through the funds you had scraped together for the move. “I was planning on going to Keisei Street to see if they were hiring waitresses.” 

“The hours there might not be stable for a new hire like you.” Kotoha warns, though it’s nothing you haven’t already considered being a problem. The majority of Keisei Street’s business happens at night, which would mean you’d have to spend a fortune on babysitters for Motoki. 

All things you’ve already considered. 

“I’ll make something work.” You shrug, eyes focusing on a street sign further down the path. It’s easier than meeting Kotoha’s pointed look; the woman never was one to be easily convinced by false confidence. Luckily, your attention is pulled down when Motoki tugs on the bottom hem of your shirt. 

“Mama, can I help?” He asks, all sweet voice and wide eyes. That is why you’re willing to move back to Makochi, or work some late shift waitressing job, or suffer through gossip being passed around that all has your name attached to it. 

“Here,” Kotoha swings the canvas tote off her arm and hands it to your son, who carefully pulls it high on his little shoulder. He’s doing his best, but you’re grateful you can see Pothos just a little further down the path. “You’re such a gentleman, Motoki. Your mama raised you well.”

“Thank you, ‘Toha.” Motoki’s tiny kid voice stumbles over the syllables in Kotoha’s name, but it’s so adorable you can’t get yourself to correct him. And by the smile on her face, she doesn’t seem to mind the new nickname. 

“You’re welcome.” Kotoha tells him, and one of your hands shifts off the grocery bag to smooth over the hair on his head. You feel her watching the movement, and when you lift your curious gaze to her, she’s already studying your face intently. Her brows are knitted together, but she looks more determined than pouty. “What if you worked with me at Pothos?” 

Her tone is casual but you’re pretty sure she’s being genuine with her offer. You almost stumble over your feet in disbelief. 

“I’m serious,” She says, and you don’t doubt it, but you don’t want to get your hopes up in case she doesn’t have the power to actually offer you the job. “I own the place, officially. The previous owners signed it over to me last year. Right now, I only have a few high schoolers that work on the weekends. But weekdays and nights it’s just me. And since I own the place, Motoki can come hang out after school while you work.”

It sounds almost too good to be true. And you would be concerned that it was, if the offer came from anyone but Kotoha. You’re in no place to turn down a job. 

“Are you serious?” 

“I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t.” Kotoha shakes her head, pulling open the door to Pothos. It’s as same as you remember it, with plants and soft lighting and booths tucked against the walls. It was practically a second home for you in high school, and the nostalgia hits like a gut punch as soon as you cross into the cafe. 

“I…” You trail off, hating how you know she can hear how choked up you are. “Thank you.” 

“It’ll be nice to have help.” Kotoha shrugs one shoulder, setting the paper bag in her arms on the counter, so you copy her actions, too. The more you think about it, the less strange it seems that she owns the place. Pothos wouldn’t be the same with Kotoha behind the counter. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah,” You settle on saying, because ‘I wish I felt like that, too’ seems like it would put a damper on the conversation, and you can’t do that right after she offers you a job.

Because right now, being in Makochi feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop.