It was Saturday morning.
And for the first time in a long while…
Ayumi woke up without pain in her chest.
A small relief.
Like the warm air drifting in through the half-open window.
She was texting with Yuki.
Light messages, silly jokes, little things — and yet every notification felt like a caress on her skin.
"Maybe we'll see each other tonight?"
"Unless you fall into a coma after that mega apple donut of yours 😏"
Ayumi laughed.
With her mouth.
With her eyes.
With her soul.
She went down to the kitchen.
Her mother was kneading bread, apron badly tied, hair loosely pulled back.
"Bring him a slice, if that boy drops by, okay?" she said, without even looking up.
Ayumi smiled.
"I will."
There was a festive air.
Children's voices came through the open window.
Bikes racing on the pavement.
Dogs barking in the distance.
It was an ordinary morning.
And yet… it felt like a victory.
Ayumi stepped outside.
Just to breathe.
The steps in front of the house were still damp with dew.
The air smelled of laundry drying, blooming plants, and freshly baked bread.
She sat there.
On the step.
Closed her eyes.
Alive.
Finally.
Then she opened them.
And saw it.
A note.
Tucked between the railings.
Like a seed planted with care.
Like something meant to be found… but not offered.
Her heart dropped.
Her hands moved on their own.
They took the paper.
Small. Light.
She slowly looked up.
On the balcony across the way…
he wasn't there.
Only the kitten.
Gray.
Healthy.
Lying like a little sleeping prince, paws tucked neatly, eyes half-closed.
Ayumi stared at him.
And he stared back.
For a second… it felt like they knew something about each other.
She went back inside.
Up to her room.
Sat on the bed.
And opened the note.
"I don't know how to be.
But I know how to watch.
I won't ask anything of you.
I won't come looking for you.
But know that a part of me
wants you to exist.
Even if you're not mine.
Even if you never will be."—F.
Ayumi read it.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Her fingers tingled.
Her throat tightened.
She didn't know if she wanted to cry or smile.
She didn't know if it was a confession…
or a goodbye.
But one thing was certain:
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't hate.
It was something that resembled… the truth.
She folded the note.
Kept it close.
Next to her.
---Feitan…---
The job had gone well.
A private auction, full of idiots with too much money and too much confidence.
He didn't care about the paintings.
Nor the sculptures.
Only the chaos.
The noise.
The restrained blood.
The heartbeat at the center of it all.
He came home at dawn.
With the loot.
Loaded with cash.
Hands dirty.
Eyes dry.
But inside… there was a new kind of silence.
A specific absence.
The kitten ran to him the moment he closed the door.
Meowing. Rubbing against him.
Jumping up, seeking him out.
Feitan stopped.
He looked at it.
That little creature…
was alive because he hadn't been able to ignore it.
Alive, like Ayumi could have been.
If only—
No.
He shouldn't think of her.
He shouldn't want her.
And yet… he did.
Not her body.
Not possession.
Her gaze.Again.
Just that.
He couldn't stand it anymore —watching her from afar.
Reading her without replying.
Hearing her laugh without existing.
That night…
he decided.
He went down the stairs.
Opened the door.
And saw her.
Ayumi was coming back.
On her bike.
Behind Yuki.
Her hair loose.
Her face glowing.
Beautiful.
Like something that had never belonged to him.
The boy walked her to the steps.
They exchanged a quiet, knowing smile.
And Feitan couldn't hold back anymore.
He didn't want to.
He walked.
Not running.
Not hiding.
Exposed.
Present.
Ayumi saw him.
And for an instant — just one —
her face changed.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Memory.
She stopped.
Feitan spoke.
"I need to talk to you. Not in front of him."
The voice was the same.
Sharp.
Worn.
Yuki looked at him.
Confused. Annoyed.
But Ayumi did something Feitan didn't expect:
She took his arm.
And led him away.
Behind the house.
In silence.
Ayumi…
The touch of her arm was real.
Alive.
Strangely warm under the black fabric.
Him.
Really.
Not in her mind.
Not in a dream.
In front of her.
Breathing.
Looking.
There.
She led him behind the house, without a word.
To the small clearing in the back, where no one could see them.
Where no one would ever understand them.
She turned.
Looked at him.
Her face hadn't changed.
But something in her eyes had.
A silent hunger.
But also hesitation.
And for the first time, Ayumi saw him for what he truly was:
Not a monster.
Not a man.
A body full of memory, unsure whether it wanted to be saved… or forgotten.
"Speak," she said.
And waited.
He said nothing.
For what felt like forever.
Ayumi said nothing.
Didn't step back.
Didn't tremble.
Not anymore.
Feitan inhaled.
As if speaking meant tearing off his own skin.
Then he did.
"I don't want your forgiveness."
His voice was rough.
Low.
Fractured by something nameless.
"I don't want your body. I don't want your love."
He stepped forward.
"I want your eyes."
Ayumi's eyes widened.
But she didn't flee.
Feitan continued.
"I want you to look at me… and for me to exist."
His hands were clenched at his sides.
"You made me real. And I… don't know what to do with that."
His breath caught in his chest.
Then, softer — like a child afraid of saying too much:
"I don't know who I am."
Ayumi listened to every word.
Every wound hidden behind those broken phrases.
And she understood.
That he wasn't someone to save.
But he was still alive.
And that — was already a revolution.
Feitan stood there.
Breathless.
Ayumi stepped forward.
Eyes shining, but steady.
"You… taught me not to be afraid anymore."
Feitan stared at her.
As if he didn't understand.
She smiled, just a little.
Softly.
With all the pain she had overcome inside it.
"You showed me what it means to survive. And that even in the darkest dark… there's always someone who can choose."
A pause.
Then:
"Thank you."
Feitan swallowed hard.
For the first time, he didn't know where to look.
Didn't know where to be.
He raised a hand.
Uncertain.
Stiff.
Brought it close to her face.
Then quickly pulled it back.
For him…
it was like falling from a skyscraper.
Ayumi closed her eyes.
Not out of fear.
To feel.
Then… with both hands, she took his.
Held it in hers.
Held it there.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Feitan's heart beat in the deepest part of his body —the part he had buried long ago.
And Ayumi…
understood that she wasn't healing him. She was healing herself. With him.
In the silence that followed, no one said goodbye.
No one said "stay."
But no one left.
And sometimes, staying even just one second longer…
can change everything.