The mornings after Ayame's arrival came too fast.
Ren woke up earlier than usual, still unsettled by the things he couldn't stop replaying—the glimpse of Ayame in the hallway, the way she had lingered in his room, her eyes reading him like a favorite book.
It wasn't just attraction. It was something deeper. Something… dangerous.
He found his mother in the kitchen, humming softly as she cooked breakfast. The scent of eggs, garlic fried rice, and miso soup made the house feel like his childhood again.
"She's still asleep," his mom said without turning around.
Ren blinked. "Huh?"
"Ayame. I knocked, but I think she's tired. Let her rest."
Ren sat at the table slowly. "She used to be like a second mom to me."
His mother smiled. "And now you're taller than her. Time really flies."
He nodded quietly, stirring his tea.
He didn't say it, but something about the way Ayame had looked at him didn't feel motherly at all.
Later that afternoon, Ren was on the couch, gaming half-heartedly, when he heard the soft creak of footsteps behind him. He paused the controller, glancing back.
Ayame.
She was barefoot now, in simple high-waisted shorts and an oversized T-shirt that draped off one shoulder. Her glasses were gone, revealing the soft curve of her eyes and the sharp line of her cheekbones. Her long black hair was loose today, flowing past her shoulders like silk.
"Oh," she said, a little startled. "Didn't know you were here."
Ren cleared his throat. "Just playing something before I go out."
"Going out?" She walked around the couch slowly and sat down beside him—close, but not touching. "Where to?"
"Study group. Group presentation's next week."
She hummed, tucking one leg under the other.
"You were always a diligent one. I remember telling your mom that you'd probably end up becoming a surgeon or something."
He chuckled. "Nah. Not a fan of blood."
"Psychologist, then?" she teased. "We tend to attract the overthinkers."
Ren looked at her sideways. "Overthinkers?"
"You analyze everything. Even now." Her gaze locked with his. "You're wondering what I'm doing sitting this close."
He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "A little."
She smiled, but didn't move. "Don't worry. I won't bite."
He didn't respond. Couldn't. His skin was buzzing with heat. His thoughts scrambled. And Ayame just sat there, calm and unreadable, like she was waiting for him to make a move he didn't understand yet.
The moment was broken by his mom's voice from upstairs. "Ren, can you help me move the laundry rack?"
He stood instantly. "Coming!"
Ayame's smile widened just a bit as she leaned back on the couch. "We'll continue this conversation later."
Later that night
Ren couldn't sleep.
He tossed and turned, replaying that brief but intense moment on the couch. The look in her eyes. The casual confidence. The deliberate closeness.
He finally got up to get water.
As he passed the guest room, he noticed a light still on through the small crack under the door.
Then—another sound.
A soft hum. Ayame again.
Something about her voice carried even in the silence of night. Like it belonged in another world.
He paused—but then forced himself to walk on.
He didn't need more confusion and didn't need to be tempted.
Except… part of him wanted it.
Ayame was already in the kitchen the next morning, brewing coffee, her sleeves rolled up and hair in a loose ponytail.
"Morning," she said without looking up.
"Morning," he replied.
She finally glanced at him, then handed him a mug. "Black, two sugars. Still how you take it?"
He froze. "You remember that?"
"I remember a lot more than you think."
She sipped her coffee, leaning casually against the counter.
He held his mug tight.
There was no mistaking it now.
Miss Fujiwara wasn't just visiting for old times' sake.
She had come with something else in mind.
And Ren… wasn't sure he had the strength to stop it.
The next morning, sunlight bled softly through the sheer curtains in the living room. Ren yawned as he shuffled in, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He didn't expect anyone else to be awake yet—not on a Saturday.
But there she was.
Ayame sat cross-legged on the couch in a navy robe, hair down in soft waves, sipping coffee like she owned the silence. A book rested in her lap, but her eyes were on the window.
She looked up as he entered. "Morning."
"Morning," Ren said, voice low and gravelly. "You're up early."
"I never sleep much in new places," she said. "Too many thoughts. And memories."
Ren moved toward the kitchen, trying not to notice how her robe dipped slightly when she shifted.
"You want breakfast or anything?" Ren asked.
"No need. I made some tea earlier. Your mom still keeps everything in the same drawers."
He smirked. "Yeah. She's a creature of habit."
Ayame smiled back. "So was your father. At least, when I knew him."
That made Ren pause.
"You knew him?" he asked carefully.
She nodded, turning a page in her book. "I used to come around back then, too. Mostly for your mom, of course. But I spoke with him often. He was quiet, but intense. You got your eyes from him."
Ren's lips parted slightly, unsure of what to say. She had a way of saying things that felt simple—yet loaded.
She closed the book. "You were a quiet boy, too. Always observing."
He chuckled softly, leaning on the counter. "I guess I still am."
"Not just observing," she said, sipping her coffee. "You see. That's different."
He looked at her, and for a second, her gaze didn't move.
It wasn't flirty. Not obvious. But it was… aware.
"I was wondering," she continued, "Do you still draw those masterpieces?"
He blinked. "You remember that?"
"You used to give your sketches as 'gifts' to everyone who visited. I still have one in a drawer somewhere—your version of a sunflower. With teeth."
He laughed in surprise. "Wow. I don't even remember that one."
"It was terrifying. But sweet." Her smile curved. ""Do you draw people nowadays?"
"Sometimes", he answered.
She didn't ask more—but her look suggested something unsaid. Something like draw me, then. Or maybe that was just in his head.
The front door opened. Ren's mom returned from her early grocery run, breaking the strange quiet like a splash of cold water. Ayame stood, smoothing her robe, sliding effortlessly back into polite guest mode.
But as she passed Ren on her way upstairs, she leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his ear.
"Don't stop seeing."
And just like that, she was gone again.
Leaving him there—wondering how much more she remembered… and what she saw now when she looked at him.