-OUTSIDE A LOW-INCOME APARTMENT COMPLEX, KITA WARD, SAPPORO-
-4:27 PM, DECEMBER 24, 2016-
The building was older than Ichika expected.
Paint chipped along the railings. Snow gathered unevenly near the entrance. The nameplate beside the door was slightly faded.
But the windows were clean.
Carefully cleaned.
Ichika stood still for a moment, gloved hands folded neatly in front of her coat.
She had dressed simply — cream sweater, long dark skirt, modest boots.
No jewelry.
No luxury.
Just herself.
Footsteps approached from the side.
"You're early," Rikuu said.
She turned.
He wasn't looking directly at her.
"I didn't want to be late."
He gave a small nod.
"…You don't have to act different."
"I'm not acting."
That made him glance at her.
She looked calm.
Not uncomfortable.
Not overwhelmed.
Just… present.
He opened the building door.
"Third floor."
-RIKUU'S APARTMENT, UNIT 3B-
-4:34 PM-
The hallway smelled faintly of old wood and detergent.
Rikuu stopped in front of a simple door.
For a second, he didn't move.
Then he knocked twice.
A gentle voice answered from inside.
"Rikuu?"
"I'm home."
He opened the door.
The apartment was small.
But warm.
A space heater hummed softly near the corner. A thin futon was neatly folded beside the wall. Medicine bottles sat organized on a low table.
And near the window—
An elderly woman sat wrapped in a blanket, knitting slowly.
Her silver hair was tied back loosely.
Her eyes were sharp despite the faint tiredness behind them.
"You're back early," she said, then noticed the figure behind him.
Her knitting paused.
"…And you brought someone."
Rikuu stepped aside stiffly.
"Grandma. This is Ichika."
Ichika bowed politely.
"Komori Ichika. It's an honor to meet you."
The grandmother blinked once.
Then smiled.
"Oh my."
She gestured gently.
"Come in, child. It's cold outside."
Ichika stepped inside.
The room felt warmer than the hallway.
Warmer than the park yesterday.
Warmer than she expected.
Not because of the heater.
Because of care.
Everything, though modest, was tidy.
Intentional.
Lived in.
She removed her shoes carefully near the entrance.
Rikuu watched her silently.
She didn't hesitate.
Didn't react.
Didn't look around with hidden shock.
She simply entered.
Like she belonged there.
The grandmother studied her closely.
"So this is the girl."
Rikuu froze slightly.
"There is no 'girl,'" he muttered.
His grandmother ignored him.
She patted the space beside her.
"Sit."
Ichika obeyed.
Up close, she could see how pale the woman's hands were.
How carefully she breathed.
"How long have you known my grandson?" the grandmother asked.
"Since spring," Ichika replied honestly.
"Ah."
Her eyes flicked briefly to Rikuu.
"He doesn't bring friends home."
"I'm not—" he started.
"Be quiet," the grandmother said calmly.
Ichika hid a small smile.
The older woman's gaze returned to her.
"You have gentle eyes," she said.
Ichika blinked softly.
"…Thank you."
"They're not afraid."
Rikuu shifted uncomfortably.
"She doesn't know enough to be afraid," he muttered.
Ichika looked at him.
"I know enough."
The grandmother noticed that exchange.
Her expression softened.
"Rikuu," she said quietly, "make tea."
He stared at her.
"…We don't have—"
"We do."
He sighed and moved toward the small kitchenette.
Ichika leaned slightly closer to the grandmother.
"I hope it's not disrespectful to visit suddenly."
"It is," the woman said plainly.
Ichika stiffened slightly.
Then the grandmother smiled.
"But I am glad you did."
Relief washed subtly over Ichika's face.
The grandmother lowered her voice.
"He carries too much alone."
Ichika's fingers tightened in her lap.
"I know."
"You cannot fix everything for him."
"I don't want to," she replied softly. "I just want to stand beside him."
The older woman watched her carefully.
As if measuring her sincerity.
As if memorizing her face.
Finally—
"…Stay," she said gently.
Ichika blinked.
"Stay?"
"With him. As long as you can."
The words were simple.
But they carried weight.
Rikuu returned with three mismatched cups of tea.
The grandmother took hers slowly.
Rikuu handed Ichika hers without meeting her eyes.
"…It's cheap," he said.
She took a sip.
"It's warm."
He glanced at her.
She meant it.
They sat there together — three generations of different worlds in one small room.
Snow tapped softly against the window.
For a brief moment—
It felt peaceful.
The grandmother leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded.
"You look happier," she murmured toward Rikuu.
He stiffened.
"I'm not."
"You are."
Ichika looked at him.
He avoided both of their gazes.
The grandmother smiled faintly.
Then, almost absentmindedly, she said—
"Winter feels less cold when someone waits for you to come home."
Neither of them spoke.
But the sentence lingered.
Quiet.
Foreshadowing.
Outside, the snow continued to fall over Sapporo.
Inside—
For the first time—
Ichika saw the entire world Rikuu was protecting.
And she did not step away.