#dnangel

He frowned, trying to remember whether he'd ordered anything recently.

Nothing came to mind, but he'd check the package later.

For now, he took his time with his coffee. It was the only breakfast he planned on having anyway.

The ticking of the clock echoed through the quiet apartment.

6:30 a.m.

Yesterday, he'd slept for nearly eighteen hours straight.

He'd only woken up long enough to buy something from the convenience store, check for any work notifications, eat, then crawl back into bed.

He couldn't deny it.

After so many sleepless nights, the long rest had done wonders for him.

Unfortunately, it had also given him far too much time to realize he'd spent the entire night hugging his pillow.

Satoshi let out a quiet sigh.

For five years, he'd managed to lock away every thought of the younger Harada sister. However yesterday, she'd shattered that wall so effortlessly that it almost wounded his pride.

After moving to Tokyo, women had continued to flock around him.

There had been countless invitations to dinner, confessions, and even Fujiwara-san's occasional jokes about marrying his daughter off to him.

None of them had ever meant anything.

Spending his entire childhood suppressing his emotions to keep his alter ego from taking advantage of them had undoubtedly played a part.

By the time Dark disappeared...

Love had become something he'd simply learned to live without.

But... Harada Risa was honestly another reason.

Satoshi had spent years convincing himself that whatever he'd felt back then had merely been childish affection.

Two teenagers who happened to cross paths over the same piece of artwork.

Nothing more.

That explanation should have been enough.

So why...

Why did her face always find its way into his thoughts whenever he hadn't slept for two days?

Why was she the first person he thought of whenever Fujiwara-san casually asked about his nonexistent love life?

   Is she happy now?

   Did she finally find the happiness she deserved?

   Can she still find it... without remembering Dark?

Whenever he spoke to Daisuke and they found themselves reminiscing about middle school or high school.

There was always a part of him that wanted to ask about the younger Harada sister.

He never did.

And yesterday certainly hadn't helped. The pillow still carried the faint scent of her, and somehow, Satoshi had spent nearly eighteen hours sleeping with it in his arms.

He'd never hugged a pillow to sleep before, yet yesterday he'd clung to it as though he couldn't bring himself to let go.

Because deep down, he knew what he really wanted.

It wasn't only the lingering scent she'd left behind. He wanted to hear her voice again. To see her sitting on his sofa. To know she was there.

He wanted...

Her.

The realization made him close his eyes for a brief moment.

Who was he to ask for something like that?

Satoshi exhaled slowly before taking another sip of his coffee. The warmth lingered only briefly before he finished the rest in one gulp.

Meeting Harada Risa again after five years had completely thrown his mind into disarray.

So he needed a distraction.

Work would do. He'd bury himself in reports, cold cases, paperwork... Anything that would keep his thoughts occupied.

After grabbing his bag, he headed downstairs and stopped by the apartment lobby.

He might as well check the delivery box before leaving.

He opened it, and his eyes widened. Inside, neatly folded in a paper bag and wrapped in clear laundry plastic, was his familiar navy overcoat.

Satoshi instinctively checked the notification on his phone again.

Twenty minutes ago.

He stared at the screen for a moment before quietly putting his phone away.

Of course.

Harada clearly hadn't wanted to meet him in person. That was probably why she'd left the coat in the delivery box instead.

Even if he'd somehow left his apartment twenty minutes earlier… Nothing would've changed. At most, they would've exchanged an awkward greeting, followed immediately by another goodbye.

Silently, Satoshi closed the delivery box.

He'd pick up the coat after work.

--------

Fujiwara's POV

It has been two weeks since the Hiwatari kid had finally taken some time off. And ever since he'd returned to work, the unusual blue-haired detective had somehow finished the entire backlog of headquarters reports in just two days.

Two days.

When Fujiwara had first been told about the pile of paperwork, everyone had estimated it'd take nearly a month to clear.

Naturally, Hiwatari had proven them all wrong.

Then, as if that weren't enough, the kid had requested permission to reopen three cold cases.

Three.

While still handling his regular workload of murders, kidnappings, and arson investigations.

At this rate, he'd probably start wandering into other divisions, stealing their cases too, and leaving every department squeaky clean before anyone realized what had happened.

Fujiwara chuckled to himself.

The kid was unbelievable.

The tall, broad-shouldered director made his way over to Division One's section of the office.

Sure enough… There was Hiwatari.

Fast asleep at his desk, his head resting on his folded arms amid piles of reports and case files.

Beside him sat his familiar black mug, the coffee inside long gone cold. Fujiwara had no idea how long it had been sitting there untouched, but judging by the thin layer of oil floating on the surface... probably far too long.

He lightly tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk.

"...Mm." With a groan, the young detective slowly lifted his head.

"Hiwatari."

Satoshi pushed himself upright, his eyes still heavy with sleep. The annoyed look he gave Fujiwara, however, was perfectly clear.

"Director. If you need the report for tomorrow's meeting, it's already on your desk."

Fujiwara crossed his arms over his broad chest and sighed. "Go home."

"And the meeting isn't tomorrow," Fujiwara added, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. "The meeting is today. It's currently one-thirty in the morning."

The office had already gone quiet. Most of the lights had been switched off, leaving only a handful of desks illuminated. At this hour, the only people still around were the night-shift officers.

The director himself.

And somehow… The team leader of Division One.

"If you leave now," Fujiwara continued, "you can still get four or five hours of sleep before the meeting."

Hiwatari leaned farther back in his chair. His usually neat blue hair was sticking up in every direction. His tie hung crooked around his neck.

With his ring finger, he absentmindedly pushed his glasses back into place. "No need, sir. I was planning to finish the report for one of the cold cases. It's the—"

Fujiwara immediately raised a hand. "No."

The boy blinked.

"No. I know how this goes. You explain yourself, and somehow I end up approving another hundred pages of paperwork."

The dark-haired director took another step closer. "Hiwatari... did something happen?"

He clearly saw the young detective flinch.

It was only for a split second—so subtle that most people probably wouldn't have noticed. But Fujiwara did.

Hiwatari didn't answer. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the documents scattered across his desk, silently staring at the pages.

To anyone else, it might've looked like he was reading. But his eyes hadn't moved from the same spot on the page.

Honestly… How the kid's brain still worked after going days without proper sleep was beyond him. Fujiwara would've forgotten his own name by now.

Yet there Hiwatari was, clearly thinking about something. Just not the reports in front of him.

"...Nothing, sir."

Fujiwara frowned. Then, without warning—

Smack!

His palm landed squarely on Hiwatari's shoulder. The force nearly knocked the boy sideways.

"You think I'd believe that?" His booming voice echoed across the Division One section.

A few officers from the night shift looked over before immediately returning to their work. Watching Director Fujiwara bully—no, play with—their genius team leader had become a normal part of their worklife.

Hiwatari straightened himself with a sigh and adjusted his glasses once again.

This time, Fujiwara didn't smack him.

Instead, he rested a heavy hand firmly on the young man's shoulder.

Five years had passed since the boy first joined the force.

He'd grown taller.

Broader.

He'd even put on a bit of muscle, making him even more popular in the marriage department. Thank God the kid refused to show his face in the media. Otherwise, headquarters would've needed a separate hotline just for his admirers.

Fujiwara still remembered the scrawny teenager who'd first walked into headquarters looking like a strong gust of wind might blow him away.

"I don't know what's bothering you," Fujiwara said, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "But go home… Get some rest. Those eye bags of yours are starting to look criminal."

He laughed loudly. "I'm afraid people are going to report me for overworking you."

Fujiwara's smile softened.

He knew exactly how brilliant Hiwatari was. Commissioner Hiwatari had personally recommended his own son all those years ago. And over the last five years, Fujiwara had watched the young detective solve one impossible case after another.

He'd seen that frighteningly calm mind piece together answers no one else could find.

He'd watched the boy earn promotion after promotion.

But sometimes… People forgot.

Hiwatari was only twenty.

Looking at him now, with his messy hair, exhausted eyes, and distant expression...

Fujiwara couldn't help seeing something beyond the prodigy everyone admired.

Just a lonely kid.

"Understood?" he said a little louder before finally lifting his heavy hand from the young detective's shoulder. "Go home. That's an order."

Hiwatari looked seconds away from rolling his eyes. Instead, he let out a long sigh. "...Yes, sir."

"That's better." Fujiwara grinned before ruffling the boy's already messy blue hair.

Honestly, he kind of missed the long-haired version. Though Fujiwara had to admit, the shorter hair suited him too—and it was certainly more practical for police work.

Then again, there wasn't much variety when it came to hairstyles around here. About eighty-five percent of the male officers seemed to have some version of the exact same short haircut.

The other fifteen percent...

Well. They were bald.

"Ahhh..." Fujiwara sighed dramatically. "If only you'd accepted Misaki! She'd take good care of you!"

He turned back toward the boy with a grin. "Are you sure you don't want to marry my daughter? I'd be heartbroken to lose my precious little girl..."

He paused. "...But for you, Hiwatari-boy, I'd allow it!"

Hiwatari slowly turned his head toward him. The glare he gave Fujiwara would've been far more intimidating if his hair weren't sticking up in every direction.

Fujiwara burst into laughter. "Alright, alright! I'm going home to my lovely wife and happy family."

He waved as he headed toward the exit. "You'd better go home too. See you in the morning."

As he reached the doorway, Fujiwara glanced back one last time.

Hiwatari was still sitting exactly where Fujiwara had left him. His left elbow rested on the armrest, his hand supporting the side of his head as he quietly stared at the pile of documents covering his desk.

The older man couldn't tell whether the boy was still thinking about work or if his mind had drifted somewhere else entirely.

Fujiwara let out another quiet sigh.

Whether that stubborn kid would actually pack up and go home...

Well, tomorrow morning would give him the answer.

—-----

Director Fujiwara walked into the office wearing a freshly pressed shirt and one of his tailored suits.

Well, with a body as big as his, everything had to be tailored anyway.

It was only six in the morning—still an hour and a half before the monthly headquarters meeting—but he always liked arriving early to go over the materials one last time.

"Good morning!" he called loudly as he stepped into the room.

His subordinates immediately stood and greeted him back.

Fujiwara's eyes naturally drifted toward the desk belonging to Division One's team leader.

And, well… The kid was already there.

The director walked straight over to the young detective.

Hiwatari looked up from the mountain of documents covering his desk. A thin stream of steam still rose from the familiar black mug of coffee resting beside him.

His short blue hair had been neatly styled with soft volume, the slightly tousled fringe falling naturally over his forehead. His necktie sat perfectly beneath his collar. His glasses framed his lightly tan face as neatly as ever.

But...

Those ridiculous eye bags were still there.

Fujiwara let out a sigh. "So, did you go home?"

Hiwatari stood up from his chair. His shirt and trousers were as crisp as if he'd just put them on.

"Yes, sir. I did."

The two of them looked at each other for a brief moment. Almost as if he could already tell what the boy was thinking, Fujiwara asked another question. "...Did you sleep?"

Silence.

Hiwatari could have lied. But both of them knew there was no point.

You simply didn't lie in front of Director Fujiwara.

The man had spent over thirty years conducting interrogations. On top of that, he was frighteningly good at reading facial expressions and body language.

Even Hiwatari Satoshi—with that unreadable poker face of his—had never been able to completely hide a lie from the older man.

Fujiwara sighed again. This time, there was no teasing in his voice. "Satoshi... You can't keep treating your body like this. It's slowly eating you alive."

Hiwatari's blue eyes widened ever so slightly.

The director rarely called him by his first name. But whenever he did… For just a brief moment, something in Hiwatari's expression changed. Fujiwara couldn't quite place it, but the boy suddenly looked strangely uncomfortable.

Fujiwara watched him quietly, but decided not to push. Still, his fatherly instincts had already taken over. There was no stopping him now.

Hiwatari slowly lifted his gaze until their eyes met. After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke. “I know… I just need some time, Director."

Fujiwara blinked.

Then his eyes widened.

It was almost as shocking as hearing a career criminal suddenly confess to every crime they'd ever committed.

"Oh?" A grin slowly spread across his face. "So there is something bothering you!"

The director burst into laughter. "Finally found yourself a woman? Is that why you've been acting so out of your mind lately?" He waved a dismissive hand, fully expecting Hiwatari to deny it immediately.

Instead… The boy looked away.

Fujiwara's smile slowly disappeared as his mouth fell slightly open. "Oh..."

His voice came out much quieter this time. "You really did find yourself a woman?"

That was apparently enough.

Hiwatari let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Whatever little emotion had managed to escape moments ago vanished completely behind his usual expressionless face.

He adjusted his glasses before calmly reaching for his coffee. "That's none of your concern, Director. And I added another ten pages to today's meeting report. It's already on your desk."

With that, he sat back down, took another sip of his now slightly cooled black coffee, and returned his attention to the mountain of paperwork in front of him.

Fujiwara resisted the urge to smack his own forehead.

Getting Hiwatari Satoshi to open up was already a rare occurrence.

And when it finally happened, apparently Fujiwara couldn't keep his mouth shut long enough to take advantage of it.

He sighed.

Well… Maybe he'd get another chance in five years.

--------

The monthly meeting of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's Criminal Investigation Bureau.

Quite a mouthful.

But despite its long name, it was one of the most important days of the month for everyone in the bureau—especially for Director Fujiwara.

All five divisions under the Criminal Investigation Bureau would present the progress they'd made over the past month, including updates on ongoing investigations, recently closed cases, and any major issues that still needed attention.

The meetings usually lasted three to four hours.

Among the officers, however, they had a much simpler nickname.

The Circle of Hell.

Not because of the workload.

But because this was the day the higher-ups grilled every division about long-running cases, delayed investigations, budgets, and even criticism from the media.

Fujiwara himself wasn't innocent either. If he saw a lack of progress, he wouldn't hesitate to push his own people.

The other team leaders weren't much different. Everyone wanted their division to look the best.

Sometimes they'd ask painfully specific questions during another team's presentation—not because they genuinely wanted an answer, but because they wanted to point out every weakness they could find.

That was simply how things worked.

After thirty years in the police force, Fujiwara knew there were plenty of traditions that deserved to disappear.

Changing them, however... was much easier said than done.

He walked toward his assigned seat at the side of the conference room, his chair facing all of the team leaders who were seated in the front row.

Behind each team leader sat the rest of their division.

Once everyone had taken their seats...

The meeting began.

Fujiwara already knew most of the reports by heart. He'd read every single one beforehand. Still, seeing each division present one after another made it much easier to compare their performance.

As expected, Hiwatari presented first.

The twenty-year-old prodigy stood before a room full of team leaders nearly twice his age.

When Fujiwara had promoted him last year, convincing everyone to accept the decision had been no easy task. Even now, he could still see traces of that resistance. Some folded their arms. Others frowned openly. A few watched Hiwatari with unconcealed irritation.

But none of it mattered.

By the time the presentation ended, there was almost nothing left to criticize.

Hiwatari had only been a team leader for just under a year. Yet under his leadership, Division One had increased its arrest rate by nearly thirty percent.

He'd solved four cold cases.

Report submission delays had dropped by an astonishing seventy percent.

Even the ongoing investigations under his supervision were meticulously organized. The risks had been identified, backup plans were already in place, and somehow, Hiwatari had managed to cover almost every question before anyone could even ask.

Fujiwara glanced around the room again.

The expressions hadn't changed. If anything, they looked even more displeased.

However, no one raised a hand.

No one challenged him.

Fujiwara knew that look well.

It wasn't dissatisfaction… It was envy.

Hiwatari Satoshi had accomplished all of that at just twenty years old.

The other team leaders were talented detectives. But no matter how hard they worked, they simply couldn't replicate what the young prodigy consistently achieved.

After asking a few follow-up questions—which Hiwatari answered effortlessly—Fujiwara dismissed him.

The young detective returned to his seat without the slightest change in expression. To Hiwatari, it probably was just another report, nothing worth making a fuss about.

The meeting moved on to Division Two, and Fujiwara turned his attention to the next presentation, jotting down a few notes about the questions he'd ask later.

Every so often, however, his gaze wandered around the room, unconsciously observing everyone's reactions.

Then… Something caught his eye.

Hiwatari had stopped writing.

His pen hovered above the notebook.

His eyes narrowed at first... then widened. His lips parted almost imperceptibly.

The boy was staring at the presentation screen.

Division Two had successfully dismantled part of an illegal drug distribution network that had been under investigation for nearly six months. Two suspects had already been arrested, and one of the organization's operating bases had finally been identified.

An apartment building in Tokyo.

"Our team has already neutralized the members involved," the Division Two leader continued. "We're currently securing the apartment, evacuating the residents, and coordinating with the media before—"

Screech.

The sharp sound of a chair scraping across the floor interrupted the presentation.

Every head in the room turned, only to find Hiwatari already standing. His shadow partially covered the projected slide.

"Hiwatari?" Fujiwara called.

The young detective immediately turned toward him.

"I apologize." He bowed. "Director, please excuse me."

His voice sounded no different from usual—calm, controlled, almost unnervingly so.

But Fujiwara had known him for five years. He could hear the slight uncertainty underneath it.

Fujiwara blinked.

It wasn't like Hiwatari to interrupt a meeting. Especially this one.

Still, he nodded calmly. "Alright. Report back to me once you're finished."

"Yes, sir."

Without another word, Hiwatari left the room. His notebook and pen remained on the table.

The conference room immediately filled with confused whispers.

Nobody left the monthly headquarters meeting halfway through.

Nobody.

And Hiwatari Satoshi might've been the last person Fujiwara expected to do it.

After a brief silence, the Division Two leader cautiously asked, "...Should we wait?"

Fujiwara cleared his throat.

"No, continue. Whatever it is, he'll report back when he's finished."

--------

Nearly four hours later, the meeting finally came to an end.

People gathered their documents and slowly filed out of the conference room.

Hiwatari still hadn't returned.

Nor had Fujiwara received any report from him.

Curious, the director walked over to the young detective's seat. His notebook still lay open.

Fujiwara picked it up.

There wasn't much written yet. Hiwatari had presented first, and Division Two had only just begun when he'd suddenly left the room.

Still, whatever he'd managed to write was as neat and detailed as usual.

Fujiwara turned to the last page.

   Division Two.

The notes continued normally. Until they suddenly didn't.

The writing ended halfway through the address of the apartment building that had been identified as one of the organization's bases.

Fujiwara slowly raised an eyebrow.

His eyes lingered on the unfinished address for another moment. Then his mind drifted back to the expression Hiwatari had made during the presentation.

It had only lasted for a split second. But after working with the young detective for five years, Fujiwara knew that even the slightest change on that usually unreadable face was never without reason.

The director quietly closed the notebook.

Whatever had happened...

He'd get his answer once Hiwatari came back. And Hiwatari-boy had better prepare himself. Because this time, the one getting interrogated... was him.

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰! 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳! 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘍𝘶𝘫𝘪𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘢-𝘴𝘢𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘟𝘋 (𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 “𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸” 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 “𝘐 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥” 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘬𝘺𝘬!!) 𝘕𝘰𝘸… 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨? 👀 𝘕𝘦𝘹𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘒-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 😂 𝘚𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶!

"Sorry for the trouble," she said as she slipped it over her shoulders. It fell just above her knees, and the sleeves were so long they completely covered her hands—even her fingertips.

Hiwatari stepped out of the bedroom wearing a long gray overcoat. "Don't worry about it."

Risa tried not to make it obvious, but her eyes drifted toward him.

Hiwatari-kun dressed so well.

She couldn't imagine any of her university friends dressing like this. Most of them wore oversized sweaters and weird checkered pants. Well, some of them were incredibly fashionable, but most of them were so skinny it almost looked unhealthy.

Hiwatari-kun looked much more mature than her classmates. Even though they were supposed to be the same age.

Was it the glasses? The calmness? The aura?

Hmm… Must be the aura.

"What?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and realized Hiwatari-kun had caught her staring.

Risa quickly shook her head. "N-No! I'm fine!" She forced a smile, and Hiwatari-kun simply looked back at her.

For a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to say something. Instead, he quietly walked toward the kitchen counter.

Risa heard the soft jingle of keys before he returned. "Let's go. I'll drive."

"You have a car, Hiwatari-kun?"

"...Yeah?"

The final note in his voice lingered awkwardly between them.

Once again, Risa was reminded that the man standing before her was no longer the Hiwatari Satoshi she had known in middle and high school.

He was already living and working in Tokyo, supporting himself in a luxurious apartment with a view of Tokyo Tower from the living room.

Not to mention… He owned a car.

She knew Hiwatari-kun had always been that kind of person. She'd heard rumors that he'd already graduated from university before transferring into their middle school. She'd never known whether they were true, but apparently even Saehara's father was somewhat afraid of him.

That was Hiwatari-kun.

Mysterious… Hard to understand.

Yet somehow, he always seemed capable of taking care of himself and making the right decisions.

The complete opposite of her.

Hiwatari-kun opened the apartment door, and Risa quickly followed behind him. Quickly slipping onto her kitten heels, they headed down to the underground parking garage.

After walking for a short while, he stopped in front of an expensive-looking black sedan.

It was a freaking Lexus.

Risa blinked before slowly turning toward the man beside her. "...You're rich."

Hiwatari raised an eyebrow. But for a split second, Risa could have sworn she saw the corner of his lips lift ever so slightly.

Without saying a word, he walked around to her side and opened the passenger door.

Risa immediately blushed. "You don't have to do that... But thank you."

She climbed into the passenger seat, and Hiwatari-kun waited until she was seated properly before quietly closing the door.

Risa brought her arms up to touch her warm cheeks. Only then did she realize she was practically wrapped inside Hiwatari-kun's overcoat.

And it smelled like him.

Ahhhhh…

Her fingers immediately found the ends of her hair, absentmindedly playing with them as she tried to calm her pounding heart.

Hiwatari opened the driver's side door and climbed into the car.

Risa immediately sat up straight, stared ahead, and quietly cleared her throat.

A moment later, the low hum of the engine filled the quiet car.

"Can you tell me your address?" Hiwatari-kun asked.

Risa quickly gave him the address, and he entered it into the GPS.

"Around thirty minutes if there's no traffic," he said while fastening his seatbelt.

A strange pang tugged at Risa's chest.

It had been five years since she'd last seen or spoken to him.

Yet now that he was here… She felt strangely at ease.

Come to think of it, they'd been pretty close in high school. But their relationship had become stranded after that night...

Then Hiwatari-kun left Azumano.

She couldn't deny that there was now a huge gap between them.

One neither of them seemed willing to bring up.

Maybe ever.

But for now… Risa was simply happy to have met him again.

Still, they only had thirty minutes.

After that… Who knew? Would they ever meet again?

Hiwatari started the car, and silence settled comfortably between them.

"Thank you," she finally said.

Hiwatari-kun kept his eyes on the road. "For what?"

Risa turned toward him, quietly studying his profile.

His light blue hair was shorter now, styled with a soft texture that left his forehead exposed.

But if you looked closely… His face hadn't really changed all that much.

Or had it?

His eyelashes were still so long they almost brushed against his glasses.

"For everything. You saved me last night, brought me somewhere safe, let me take a shower, even cooked for me. You also called the restaurant to ask about my coat... and now you're driving me home."

She smiled softly. "So... thank you." 

Risa continued looking at him.

Hiwatari-kun had been helping her—saving her—ever since middle school.

Many girls liked him because of his face. Then they got rejected and called him cold.

But Hiwatari-kun had never been like that.

Risa knew.

Because she'd spent so much time watching him throughout high school.

She'd seen how annoyed he got with Saehara, yet he never pushed him away. Even with Daisuke-kun, Hiwatari-kun would always give him advice about his paintings. Even when he was exhausted, he never complained.

Even when he himself was hurting...

He never stopped trying to help Risa remember.

Five years had passed. Yet in the end, Risa still couldn't remember the person she'd once held dearest.

But she remembered the warmth of Hiwatari-kun's embrace.

How tightly he had held her.

And, how could she ever forget the day they kissed?

Now that she remembered it...

All it brought was a sharp pain in her chest.

It wasn't embarrassment, or awkwardness. Not even nervousness.

It simply… Hurt.

Because Risa knew Hiwatari-kun had once had feelings for her.

And she'd used those feelings for her own sake.

It hurt so much that somewhere along the way, she'd begun to lose the ability to love someone herself.

During the past five years, Risa had dated all kinds of boys.

Boys her age, older than her, younger than her.

They went on dates, watched movies, had romantic dinners—everything couples were supposed to do.

Yet, there was always something missing.

Was it because of the memories she'd lost?

Because she'd been dreaming about someone else?

Someone she couldn't even remember?

   "You know... sometimes I feel like you're not really looking at me."

   "Risa... I can tell you don't love me. Well, I'm okay with just a physical relationship, though."

   "Are you even serious about us? No wonder everyone says you're a playgirl."

Risa closed her eyes.

Not because she wanted to forget those words.

No… She wanted to relive them.

So she wouldn't forget that she was no longer the fifteen-year-old Risa Harada she used to be.

There was something wrong with her.

Something she couldn't fix.

Something she didn't even know how to fix.

And she'd already decided...

She would never drag Hiwatari-kun into this again.

Not again.

She realized Hiwatari-kun was still looking ahead and somehow… He looked pleased.

Almost as though the corners of his lips had lifted ever so slightly.

Risa found herself smiling too.

She was relieved.

Relieved that Hiwatari-kun was still the same Hiwatari-kun she'd always known.

Thirty minutes later, they arrived in front of her apartment.

As soon as she opened the passenger door, Hiwatari-kun got out as well.

"Ah, you don't have to go that far, Hiwatari-kun!" She waved both hands in front of her, but the oversized sleeves of his coat flapped helplessly from side to side.

"Really... You've already done so much." She smiled warmly. "I really appreciate it."

"Okay." He simply stood there, watching as Risa walked toward the apartment entrance.

"Harada."

She turned around just before stepping inside.

The cold wind drifted between them, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's great to see you."

Hiwatari-kun had finally said it.

Risa could clearly see the smile on his face.

A faint blush crept onto her cheeks.

"Me too, Hiwatari-kun."

Then… They simply stood there.

Maybe they were both waiting for the other to say something.

Or perhaps, they just wanted to linger in that final moment a little longer.

Risa took a deep breath before giving him one last wave.

Then she stepped inside.

After the automatic door slid shut, she glanced back one last time.

Hiwatari-kun was still standing there.

Looking straight at her.

Only then did she release the breath she'd been holding before hurrying upstairs.

Digging through her purse, she unlocked the door.

With practiced hands, she slipped off her shoes before running straight to her bed and throwing herself face-first onto it.

It would probably take her a while to process everything that had happened today.

But when she looked down, she realized she was still wearing the oversized navy overcoat.

Slowly, she lifted one sleeve to her face and took a deep breath.

It smells like him...

Risa closed her eyes.

Almost immediately, her thoughts carried her back to the old chapel in Azumano.

The abandoned chapel they'd visited together.

Twice.

She could still feel his embrace.

His warmth.

The way he'd held her so tightly, as though he was afraid she'd disappear somewhere far away.

Her fingertips brushed lightly across her lips.

That familiar ache in her chest returned once more.

   "I hope you can find happiness, Harada."

The bittersweet smile he'd shown her during the farewell party resurfaced in her mind.

Risa slowly curled herself into the oversized coat.

"Sorry, Hiwatari-kun..."

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I don't think I'll be able to do that."

Surrounded by the warmth of the navy overcoat...

She slowly drifted off to sleep.

-------

*Satoshi’s POV

He kept looking at the apartment entrance long after she had disappeared inside.

He was conflicted.

It had been five years since they last met, and Satoshi had thought he'd moved on.

No.

Who was he kidding?

Every time he received a message from Daisuke, somewhere in the back of his mind, he found himself wondering what the brunette girl was doing.

Was she doing well?

Had she finally found her happiness?

Satoshi had never asked directly.

But since Daisuke had never brought it up, he knew the younger Harada sister had never regained her memories.

The memories of Dark.

He tightened his fist, and a long sigh escaped him, disappearing into the cold air as white mist.

Eventually, he got back into the car and drove home.

When Satoshi returned to his apartment, he stood quietly in the hallway for almost a minute.

The silence had always been there.

It should have felt familiar.

So why… Did it suddenly feel so foreign?

Absentmindedly, he checked his work phone.

Nothing. No calls.

Fujiwara-san was strict about letting his subordinates rest on their days off.

But Satoshi needed something to do.

Anything… Anything to distract himself.

Brushing his hair away from his forehead, he removed his glasses.

His eyesight was still perfectly fine, just as it had been when he was fifteen.

But he'd worn glasses for so long that he could barely remember what he looked like without them.

Besides, they made him look older.

Slowly, Satoshi walked into the bathroom.

Then stopped.

The black silk pajamas had been neatly folded on top of the washing machine.

His fingertips brushed against the cool fabric.

Then, all at once, a ridiculous urge washed over him.

To bring it closer.

To smell it.

Satoshi quietly closed his eyes.

No...

He'd known all along.

Or perhaps he simply hadn't wanted to admit it.

Nothing had changed.

He was still hopelessly in love with her.

Satoshi quietly shook his head before tossing the silk pajamas into the washing machine.

The towel followed. Then yesterday's clothes.

He pressed the start button.

Afterward, he returned to his bedroom and dropped onto the bed.

Only then did he remember that he'd slept for barely two hours the previous night.

For obvious reasons.

His light blue hair spread across the gray pillow as another sigh escaped him.

Maybe a short nap would help. He still had tomorrow off anyway.

What a bother.

Rolling onto his side, his eyes slowly widened.

Smoke.

And...

Her scent.

Oh, right.

She had slept here last night.

Without thinking, his hand reached toward the empty side of the bed.

As though it might still be warm.

It wasn't.

Slowly, he pulled the pillow closer and buried his face against it.

The faint trace of her scent lingered there.

His heartbeat quickened before he even realized it.

His thoughts drifted back to that day.

The first time he'd kissed her.

It hadn't been because of desire.

No, it had been far more complicated than that.

She'd looked at him with so much hope.

Then… The moment she'd realized the person standing in front of her wasn't the one she'd been searching for.

Her eyes had widened in realization. 

And it hurt.

It hurt watching her search for someone.

Someone Satoshi himself had sealed away.

Someone whose memories had been stolen from Harada because of him.

It hurt watching her wander the streets at night...

Waiting.

Searching.

For someone she couldn't even remember.

But more than anything...

It hurt seeing her cry.

Sometimes, Satoshi found himself wondering—

Why can't she just move on?

The thought barely crossed his mind before he let out a bitter smile.

Because he was a hypocrite.

He'd never managed to move on either.

Satoshi hugged the pillow a little tighter, trying to remember what it had felt like to hold her.

Instead...

The image of the woman he'd met today quietly surfaced in his mind.

Her hair had grown much longer now. Longer than it had ever been when they were fifteen.

He couldn't stop remembering the curve of her neck.

Her pale shoulder.

Her collarbone.

And the brief glimpse of skin beneath the loose collar of his oversized shirt.

The pillow carrying the faint trace of her scent certainly wasn't helping.

"...Fuck."

The word escaped in barely more than a whisper.

At that moment...

Satoshi realized he wasn't going to be getting any sleep tonight.

𝘈/𝘕: 𝘏𝘪 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬! 𝘉𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯… 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 X𝘋 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮….. 𝘍𝘶𝘫𝘪𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘢-𝘴𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘗𝘖𝘝~ :𝘱 𝘚𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶!

| ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ➪