Aira walked home with purpose, every step sharp against the pavement as she cut through the evening crowd. Her jaw was set, shoulders tense, hands clenched tight at her sides. She was furious—not just because Akio hadn’t shown up, but because a part of her had known this was going to happen.

  The memory replayed itself unbidden.

  They had waited for over an hour at the meeting spot. Aira remembered pacing in short, restless loops, checking her phone far too often, each passing minute feeding the knot tightening in her chest. Hyakki had stayed near the stone ledge, leaning back against it with practiced stillness. He hadn’t said much, but she could see the tension in him all the same—the way his arms were crossed too tightly, the way his weight shifted just slightly from foot to foot.

  She could hear her own voice, sharp and unfiltered. “Ugh! I knew this would happen! I freaking knew it!”

  Hyakki had tried to keep things reasonable, like he always did. “Maybe something came up last minute?”

  Aira had rounded on him instantly. “Okay, but three times in a row? He’s just been avoiding me recently for no reason! And he said he’d show up this time. He literally promised.”

  She remembered the way Hyakki had shifted then, the unease slipping through his composure. “It’s my fault, I don’t think he wants to meet me. I didn’t show up last time…”

  That had only made her angrier.

  “Just because someone doesn’t show up once doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give them a chance!” she’d snapped back.

  Hyakki hadn’t argued. He’d only sighed, eyes lowering slightly. “True. But didn’t you say he already had a bad impression of me? Not showing up last time definitely made it worse. So honestly… it’s kind of understandable.”

  The thought still made her chest ache.

  Back in the present, Aira stormed into the apartment complex, taking the stairs two at a time. The conversation replayed itself with every step, stoking her frustration higher and higher.

  Akio had felt distant lately—always busy, always distracted. Whenever she tried to talk to him, he either spaced out completely or cut things short, brushing her off with the same tired excuse. I’m busy. Like she wasn’t worth the effort. Like he didn’t have the energy for her anymore.

  She’d tried to be patient at first. Tried to tell herself she was overthinking it. But the days kept stacking up, each one making it harder to ignore the pattern. Avoidance. Half-answers. Empty reassurances. This meeting had mattered, and he knew that.

  By the time she reached their apartment, the frustration had solidified into something sharper. She shoved the main door open before stepping through. Inside, light spilled out the open doorway of Akio’s room.

  He was home.

  That realization snapped something taut inside her.

  Aira kicked off her shoes without slowing, heart pounding as she crossed the apartment. Anger, frustration, and hurt churned together in her chest, rising fast and hot. She marched toward his room, ready to say exactly what she’d been bottling up for days.

  “Akio!!” Aira demanded as she burst into his room. “Where were you!? We waited for you for almost an hour and you still didn’t show up—after you said you would!”

  The words came out sharp, fueled by everything she’d been holding onto since the meeting fell apart. Her eyes snapped immediately to the bed where he was lying on his side, back turned toward her, unmistakably asleep.

  So that was it. He’d ditched them to take a nap.

  Aira’s jaw tightened as she crossed the room in quick strides, irritation flaring hot in her chest. She stopped beside the bed, looking down at him, waiting for any sign he’d heard her.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Unbelievable,” she muttered, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder to turn him toward her. “Did you hear me? I swear you’ve literally just been ignoring me lately. At home, outside, every single time I try to talk to you—”

  Akio shifted just enough for his face to come into view, and the sight made her pause mid-sentence.

  He was out cold, completely unresponsive. His skin looked paler than usual, washed out beneath the room’s light. His breathing was uneven, shallow in a way that didn’t look restful at all, like his body was working just to keep going.

  Aira loosened her grip without realizing she’d tightened it, fingers slipping from his shoulder. The irritation she’d carried in with her had nowhere to go now. It dulled, blurring at the edges as something colder crept in beneath it.

  “…Akio?” she said, softer, testing the name as if it might wake him.

  He didn’t move.

  She stood there longer than she meant to, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. The anger tried to resurface—she wanted it to, wanted to demand answers, wanted to unload everything she’d been stewing in. But looking at him like this, it was hard to pretend nothing was wrong.

  Aira stepped back, planting her hands on her hips, and finally let herself look around the room.

  Nothing was dramatically out of place, but it was messier than usual. His bag lay abandoned on the floor, books spilled across the carpet like he’d dropped it without a second thought. A few pieces of unfolded clothing were draped over a chair instead of neatly put away. Papers had slipped from the desk, their corners bent, as if he’d meant to come back to them and never did.

  A slow, creeping unease settled in her chest, heavier than the anger she’d walked in with. She looked back at her brother’s sleeping form, the irritation she’d been clinging to no longer sitting quite right. As much as she wanted answers now, it was obvious she wasn’t going to get any from him like this.

  “You better have a really good explanation when you wake up,” she muttered to herself before reluctantly turning to leave the room.

  But as she did, her eyes caught on the desk.

  At first, it was just the mess: papers slightly out of order, a few tissues crumpled near the edge. She slowed, stepping closer without really thinking—and froze when she saw the color.

  Dark, dried splotches of red soaked through the tissue paper.

  Her heart gave a sharp, panicked lurch as she leaned in, eyes scanning the desk in disbelief. She whipped around, gaze snapping back to Akio. He didn’t look injured. No bandages or obvious wounds. He lay there exactly as before, which somehow made it worse.

  Is he bleeding?? What happened?

  Her gaze flicked back to the desk, looking for context when she noticed the tissue box. It was nearly empty. She remembered changing it out just a few days ago. Remembered teasing him about how quickly he went through them whenever allergy season hit.

  Slowly, she checked the waste bin beneath the desk.

  It was full. Stuffed with used tissues, all marked with the same dark red stains.

  The realization crept in slowly, then hit all at once. Whatever this was, it was clear that it had been happening for a while. And yet—this entire time—she hadn’t known, hadn’t even noticed that something was wrong.

  The anger she’d walked in with seemed to give way, collapsing under the weight of alarm and something far more painful. She felt foolish standing there now, replaying her earlier frustration in her head—every sharp word, every accusation she’d thrown at him without a second thought.

  Trying to steady herself, Aira scanned the rest of the desk, her eyes landing on a small stack of loose papers she recognized as her own writing. She stepped closer and picked one up.

  The pages were filled with neat, familiar annotations. She’d asked Akio to look over these days ago and, when he hadn’t mentioned it since, she’d assumed he’d forgotten. But now… it was clear he hadn’t. He’d worked on them anyway, even like this.

  Aira lowered the papers slowly, her hands trembling just a little. She looked back at her brother, lying there oblivious to the storm churning through her chest. After a moment, she set the papers aside and stepped closer to the bed, carefully pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. She tucked it in with more care than she meant to show—gentle and precise, as if any sudden movement might break something fragile.

  She turned away before the ache could swell any further and slipped out of his room, closing the door softly behind her.

  The moment it latched, she leaned back against it, the cool wood pressing into her spine. Aira stared down at the floor without really seeing it. The anger she’d carried earlier had dulled, sinking into something heavier, hurting in a quiet way that refused to leave.

  She’d always been the one people went to.

  Comforting Yoru when her doubts spiraled. Listening to Lev and Amari ramble until their worries loosened their grip. Sitting with Runa, grounding Kairo, even offering steady reassurance to Hyakki when he needed it. Aira prided herself on being dependable, on noticing when people were hurting and stepping in before things fell apart.

  And yet, her own brother had been silently bleeding, and she hadn’t noticed a thing.

  The thought made pressure build behind her eyes, sharp and unwelcome. With painful clarity, she realized how little she actually knew about what Akio carried on his shoulders. He never talked about his problems. He was so competent—so effortlessly composed—that it was easy to forget he was human at all. If something hurt, he endured it and moved on.

  Meanwhile, she talked. She vented, complained, demanded space for her own frustrations. She remembered the past few days too clearly now—how easily she’d snapped, how insistent she’d been on being heard, on making sure he understood how much she was hurting.

  It had never once crossed her mind that he might be hurting too. That the distance, the zoning out, the missed moments weren’t indifference—but weight. Weight he carried quietly, without complaint. He never raised his voice. Never lost his patience. Not even when she’d been unfair.

  Her throat tightened.

  “Why… didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

  The apartment offered no answer. The silence pressed in around her, and somehow that hurt more than if he’d said anything at all. That he’d chosen not to tell her. That even now, he’d put her first.

  Aira stayed there a while longer, letting the weight of it sink in. Eventually, she exhaled and pushed herself off the door. She wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. She still wanted answers. The hurt and anger were still there—just reshaped now, quieter but no less real.

  For now, though… she let him sleep.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Aira