Shun

  I stepped in tow into the drawing room behind Rachael, the faint scent of incense and old wood in the air sent this sensation of nostalgia right through me.

  These were the same halls and rooms I used to run through as a child, toppling things left and right. Causing trouble for Fujimoto and Master who was always chasing me down and forcing me to train even when I didn’t want to.

  Now that I looked back on those memories, it left me with a sensation so similar to a burrow in my chest, but something that was filled with so many happy, sad, complicated memories that I couldn’t forget.

  They were what made me who I was. Even the little things that were together with me, linked to these walls and halls, I remembered them all.

  But this melancholy that was like a constant tug at the back of my head—a piece that was missing in his house. The presence that use to hold us together like glue was no longer here.

  Unbeknownst to me, I realized I was wearing a sombre expression, until I felt a tug on the hem of my coat. Rachael, right beside me, inclined her head in my direction and extended her thumb and index finger forward, mimicking the wide smile that was plastered across her own face, telling me to smile as well.

  Seeing that, my lips instinctively rose into a thin smile.

  Fujimoto moved ahead of us without a word, sliding the door shut behind us as we stepped fully into the drawing room. The space looked untouched—too carefully maintained to feel abandoned, too lived-in to feel like a shrine.

  He crossed the room and set a tray down on the low table. Three cups. Already arranged. Tea prepared and steam escaping from the tip of the kettle.

  “I guess you were already fidgeting even before we came.” I said in a playful tone, looking at Fujimoto who gave me a side glance with a raised brow, communicating: ‘Weren’t you the same.’

  This warmth, his normalcy hit me like a tidal wave, washing over me like fresh sunlight. This wasn’t just me coming home after a long time, it was a start from right where I had left off. And Fujimoto was making the effort to make me feel like nothing had changed.

  I stopped short near the table on the tatami floor.

  The faint herbal scent rose as he poured the tea, steady and unhurried. No pause. No glance back. Just routine like he also did even when it was just us three back in the old days—Master, him and I.

  “Sit,” he said gently.

  It wasn’t a command. It never was. His words were always controlled in a way that seemed gentle and caring.

  Rachael sat beside me, smoothing her skirt as she settled—taking her scarf off and folding it beside her. I followed a second later, hands resting loosely on my knees, as I sat my coat down.

  Fujimoto slid a cup toward me, stopping it at the same spot he always used to. I gave the herbal tea a look, the same fragrance, texture, colour.

  I could no longer remember now exactly when I got hooked drinking herbal tea. Master used to enjoy drinking it, the way Fujimoto prepared it was different from regular tea and sooner or later I had started drinking the tea like a ritual. After every training session—that Master used to make as hellish as possible—I couldn’t go on without having his herbal tea after.

  Somehow it soothed my fatigue and left me feeling refreshed.

  “You still drink too fast,” he said. “Let it cool a little, or you’ll burn your tongue like you used to.” He laughed lightly, putting the kettle aside when he was down serving tea for Rachael and himself.

  Rachael blinked. “He does that?”

  “He always did,” Fujimoto replied, his tone taking a slightly amusing yet playfully miffed quality. “Especially after training. Burned his tongue more times than I can count.” He shrugged like a mother who had to deal with a kid who did every possible thing to make him worried.

  I frowned. “That was once.” Hesitating to bring the cup close to my mouth.

  “Five.” Fujimoto raised his right hand, his palm pointed in my direction, fingers standing straight like an open accusation.

  Rachael let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth. “I can imagine. But five times, that’s clumsy, even for someone like Shun.” Her laughter rang out in the room and Fujimoto joined her right away, like dissing me was their new game for time pass.

  I turned my face away, lowering my head slightly. “You don’t have to tell her every embarrassing part of my life.” I almost sighed.

  Fujimoto didn’t respond right away. He adjusted in his own seat across from us, lifting his cup.

  “She’s here,” he said simply. “So it’s fine.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

  It was familiar. It wasn’t something that felt like it was pressing against my chest, but something slow and soothing—something I had missed for a long time.

  Rachael took a careful sip, eyes widening just a little. “This is really good. Makes total sense why Shun is so hooked on only drinking herbal tea.”

  Fujimoto nodded. “It suits him. He never liked bitter things.” A smile followed. “But, with his picky nature, he still drinks bitter things, putting a brave front even when he doesn’t like something. He used to do that a lot when he was younger.”

  Rachael nodded along to his words.

  I listened quietly, feeling heat creep up my neck.

  Just then, Fujimoto looked like he had remembered another embarrassing memory from the past, but before I could stop him he continued.

  “Yes, if I remember correctly.” He said giving me a side glance, his attention on Rachael now. “When I was preparing some coffee for his Master once, he snuck behind me and ate the ground powder that I had just prepared from roasted beans,” he paused, amused. “and they were so bitter to the taste he starting crying right there.”

  There was a brief pause. A heartbeat later Rachael laughed, the room was suffused by her rich and warm laughter.

  Not restrained this time—soft at first, then brighter, the sound spilling into the room before she could stop it. She lifted a hand to her mouth, eyes crinkling as she tried to rein it in.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, still smiling. “I just— I wasn’t expecting that.”

  I looked away immediately, lowering my head as heat rushed up my neck and reach my cheeks this time—feeling like a kid again. “You didn’t have to laugh.”

  “But it’s kind of adorable,” she added without hesitation.

  “That’s worse.” I grimaced to her response, almost face palming.

  Her laughter softened, turning into a warm smile instead. “It makes sense though. You always act like you’re fine with things you clearly don’t enjoy. Like Fujimoto said, you put up a brave front, or just try to be lousy to these things.”

  I didn’t respond, but the corner of my mouth twitched despite myself.

  Fujimoto watched the exchange quietly, amusement clear in his eyes. Then he gave a small nod, as if satisfied.

  “oh, I almost forgot,” he said, rising from his seat. “Wait here.”

  He paused halfway toward the door, turning back to us.

  “I had prepared desserts earlier,” he added, sounding faintly puzzled. “With your homecoming, I’ve become such a klutz. You two, wait here, I’ll be right back.”

  Rachael blinked, then smiled. “You really didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

  Fujimoto shook his head. “It’s no trouble. I actually wanted to do this.” He gave a hearty smile.

  He slid the door open and stepped out, leaving us alone in the drawing room.

  The silence that followed felt…different.

  Lighter.

  Rachael leaned back slightly, glancing at me. “So,” she said, still smiling, “were you always this bad at hiding things?”

  I sighed quietly. “I thought I was subtle.”

  She laughed again—gentler this time. “You weren’t.”

  I huffed, lifting my cup for another sip. “I blame him.”

  “Of course you do.”

  But there was no teasing edge to it. Just ease.

  And sitting there, tea warming my hands, the room filled with familiar scents and soft laughter, I realized the conversation had shifted without me noticing.

  It wasn’t about the past anymore.

  It was just…us.

  I stared down at the tea in my hands.

  Warm. Steady.

  No questions followed. No explanations demanded. No subtle probing wrapped in politeness.

  A year away. I thought.

  And yet—nothing felt out of place.

  That realization settled quietly in my chest, easing something I hadn’t realized I was still holding onto.

  I exhaled.

  Maybe this place had never asked me to come back.

  Maybe it had just…waited, until I decided to come back on my own.

  Then, I felt it, Rachael shifted closer, the movement unhurried, natural. Her fingers brushed mine first—testing, maybe—before her hand settled over the back of my own. Warm. Certain. I felt it immediately, the way you notice a change in temperature before you understand why.

  I looked up, my eyes unrushed, but somehow, I felt my heart beating faster.

  She was already watching me, head tilted just enough, eyes softer than before. Not expectant. Just…open. A small smile curved her plum lips, the kind that wasn’t asking for anything but somehow invited everything.

  For a heartbeat, the room narrowed, I swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise for some reason.

  I could pull back. Laugh it off. Say something light and let the moment pass like all the others I’d learned to survive by avoiding.

  But somehow, with her I just couldn’t seem to be the cool-headed hunter I had moulded myself into over the years. She always had her way to push me into these situations where I wasn’t in control, yet I was.

  Or—

  The door slid open right that moment.

  “Ah. Sorry to make you wait.” Fujimoto’s voice rang out in the room.

  I blinked—feeling like I was holding my breath under water—, the spell breaking cleanly as Fujimoto stepped in, a wooden tray balanced easily in his hands. Neatly arranged skewers of dango steamed faintly, the faint sweetness cutting through the scent of tea.

  Rachael withdrew her hand smoothly, her movements like a cat, not awkward, not flustered—just enough to give us both room. She laughed under her breath. “Your timing is incredible.”

  But for some reason, she seemed slightly disappointed.

  Fujimoto beamed, setting the tray down between us. “Fresh. I remembered this time.” His eyes flicked to me. “You liked these, didn’t you?” He gave me a familial smile, his lips widened as he looked at Rachael.

  I picked one up, turning it slightly. “Yeah,” I said, and meant more than just the dango. I took a bite. Soft. Familiar. The sweetness spread slowly, grounding me.

  Rachael tried one too, eyes lighting up—I swear I saw visible stars around her. “Wow, these are so light. Neither too sweet nor sour. These are the perfect blend.”

  Fujimoto chuckled, clearly pleased, he liked it when other people praised his cooking. “Good, good.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he waved a hand. “Then, you two should stay for dinner tonight. I’ll prepare something proper. It’s been a long time since this house felt full.” His cheerfulness was almost infectious.

  I hesitated—out of habit more than doubt.

  Then I glanced at Rachael. She might have agreed to come with me, but the plan was to have her meet Fujimoto and then later escort her back to London in the evening.

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  “Fujimoto…I’m sorry,” I said quietly. My eyes flicked to Rachael, then back to him. “She can’t stay tonight. Maybe we take a rain check?”

  Fujimoto seemed disappointed, but he accepted it pretty quickly.

  But, Rachael met my eyes again, and she gave me that same quiet smile waiting without pressure.

  “I know we didn’t really talk about staying long,” she said gently, “but having dinner shouldn’t hurt, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes shone with the same kindness she’d always shown me. “Besides, I’m curious about Fujimoto’s cooking. You’ve been eating it your whole life…I want to try it too.”

  Then without any hesitation, I nodded along—if she was fine with it, then I wasn’t one to butt in. “Yeah,” I said. “We’ll stay.”

  “Then it’s decided,” Fujimoto looked between us for a moment, then rose to his feet fully.

  “Alright then,” he said. “I need to do some grocery shopping. Shun, keep Rachael company while I’m gone.”

  Rachael blinked. “Oh—if you don’t mind, why don’t I come with you?” She offered. “I insist.”

  I already felt Fujimoto’s gaze shift back to me, sharp beneath the calm.

  Fujimoto paused, considering her.

  “There’s no need,” he said mildly. “I won’t be long.”

  Rachael smiled, unfazed. “I really don’t mind. Besides,” she added lightly, “I was hoping you might tell me a few things about Shun. He’s not exactly forthcoming.”

  I let out a quiet scoff. “That’s slander.”

  She glanced back at me, amused, then returned her attention to Fujimoto.

  “And,” she added, a touch more earnest, “I’ve become curious about the food you make. It clearly left an impression.”

  Her lips curved slightly. “He’s…particular about what he likes., as you know.”

  For a moment, Fujimoto simply looked at her.

  Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re quite persistent. I like that.”

  She dipped her head, smiling. “I can be.”

  He sighed theatrically. “Very well. I suppose I’ve lost.”

  I laughed, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. “Wow. First time I’ve seen someone overpower you like that.”

  Fujimoto shot me a look over his shoulder. “Careful, Shun.”

  Rachael laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and just like that, the house felt even warmer.

  ***

  After dinner was done, we sat in the drawing room again, Fujimoto and Rachael were engaged in a heated conversation of trying to embarrass me by talking about every little detail about my past.

  At first even I objected and tried to rebut them, but I shortly understood that stopping them was impossible at this point.

  I looked at Rachael, even she was invested so much into every detail Fujimoto mentioned, from how I found an injured cat when I was a kid and cried the whole time when Fujimoto was trying to treat its wounds.

  Rachael gave a gentle response, adding a comment of ‘so cute’, as I hit my face into my hand, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but deep down I felt it, being here was more difficult than being on a battlefield.

  Then he went on to a time that even I barely remembered, when I got my shirt stuck on the monkey bars and had to dangle there while everyone laughed at me.

  “Hey, did that even happen?” I muttered, trying to save a bit of my pride. “Aren’t you making up stories at this point.”

  Fujimoto gave me a knowing look, with a raise of a brow he gave me a coy smirk and continued. “You don’t remember, huh? It happened when you were trying to impress the kids there and then tripped, then the Takahashi’s kid had to help you.”

  “I give up.” I said with an exaggerated sigh, admitting my utter defeat.

  Then, Fujimoto continued telling her every embarrassing detail of my past again, and at one point I didn’t realise that it was already close to sundown.

  The light outside encompassed the sky in hues of gold and orange as I felt warm despite the cold atmosphere. Even if it was difficult to hear just how reckless of a kid I used to be, and how embarrassing, I felt happy that I had a home to return to—and people who waited for me.

  “Hahaha,” I heard laughter come from Fujimoto’s direction as I looked back at him, then my gaze jumped from him to Rachael, her gentle smile genuinely there, her eyes not judging me, rather understanding.

  After a while, the conversation drifted into some other topics like Fujimoto’s cooking skills, which even Rachael was surprised to see.

  She had helped him prepare dinner, and Rachael was surprised—the food Fujimoto made was nothing short of five-star quality. She even asked him to share his recipes and techniques.

  Rachael’s curiosity eventually shifted the conversation. “I’ve always wondered…what a traditional Japanese house actually looked like from the inside,” she admitted softly, feeling slightly conflicted on admitting.

  Fujimoto glanced at me with a knowing smile. “Shun, why don’t you show her around?” He gave me a wink out of habit.

  I blinked, slightly caught off guard, but nodded. “Sure…I guess I can. But it’ll be pretty boring.”

  “Oy,” Fujimoto retorted. “Who calls their own house boring? I think someone’s forgotten their manners.”

  I gave him a simple smile, and he playful inclined his head as he rose from the floor and went to the main room ahead that used to be Master’s room as I led Rachael out of the drawing room.

  We started walking through the house, Rachael trailing beside me as I pointed out various rooms and explained little details along the way. The dusk light spilled through the windows, casting shadows across the polished wooden floors and sliding doors. It felt comforting, familiar…like stepping back into a world I had left behind but never truly forgotten.

  Eventually, we reached a door I hadn’t yet entered since coming home. My hand hovered over the sliding door for a moment, hesitant, the familiar nervous weight settling in my chest. With Rachael by my side, I finally slid it open.

  The room was exactly as I remembered. The desk sat neatly by the window, the chair pushed in perfectly. The tatami flooring was still soft underfoot, the curtains gently swaying from the evening breeze. Shelves and cupboards were filled with the same books, trinkets, and memories that had been there years ago. Everything…was just as it should be.

  I let out a soft, almost inaudible breath, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and relief. This room…this home…it hadn’t changed. And neither had the sense of belonging it gave me.

  ‘Fujimoto must have kept it clean despite me not being here.’ I thought, looking around the same room that I had spent my childhood in.

  “Your room looks...normal.” Rachael said from beside me.

  I gave her a look of accusation. “Then what did you think it would look like?” I asked, holding my stare as she entered the room and sat on the chair by the desk.

  “Ehm,” she pondered for a moment, her expression conveying genuine curiosity. “Something like,” she lifted a finger, like she was stating the obvious, “...a gloomy, candle-lit dungeon, full of secrets and shadows.”

  I gave her an incredulous look, part embarrassed, part teasing. “Wait—just what did you take me for?” I muttered, trying to hide the small sting behind a wry smile.

  She laughed as she fidgeted in the chair, moving left from right, her skirt swayed by her movements. I shared her expression, as I drew closer to her, our eyes met and somehow my heart started to beat faster.

  “Rachael, I…” I spoke suddenly, words tumbling out faster than I intended. “I want to tell you something…”

  She looked up at me, her eyes widening slightly—perhaps, she knew what I wanted to say. A faint blush coloured her cheeks, and for a moment, the air between us seemed to thrum with unspoken feelings.

  But before I could gather the courage to continue, Fujimoto’s voice called from outside, sharp and unmistakable.

  “Shun! Come here for a moment!”

  I cursed under my breath, frustration and relief mingling as I stole one last glance at Rachael. Her gaze lingered on me, curious, gentle…and I knew that moment would stay with me. With a reluctant sigh, I turned and headed toward the sound of Fujimoto’s voice, the words I’d almost spoken lingering unspoken in the room.

  I trailed down the hall, feeling the heat from my neck subside from a moment ago, as I looked for Fujimoto who was in Master’s room. I entered the room and he was sitting on the floor solemnly. The air felt heavy, almost reverent as I took a seat in front of him.

  He looked at me and gestured himself toward a drawer close to him. Slowly, he pulled it open and brought out a small, carefully wrapped wooden box. Placing it gently in front of me, he said, “I think it’s time you had this. Go ahead…open it.”

  Curiosity and a twinge of unease twisted in my stomach as I lifted the lid. Inside lay a single guard—the tsuba of a katana. My breath caught. The lines, the intricate craftsmanship…I knew instantly whose it had been.

  How could I forget! This belonged to Master, and the last I had seen it was during his battle with that crimson-eyed demon.

  “But I thought his katana was lost after his battle with that demon,” I murmured, brow furrowed, disbelief tinged with sorrow.

  Just by looking at this guard, it brought back the regret and the memories of that day when I had lost him. My Master. I had witnessed his battle from start till end, and it still killed me to this day how I couldn’t do anything to help him—to save him.

  How I had survived and he didn’t.

  Fujimoto shook his head slowly, his expression pained, his wrinkles stretched a bit as he gave me an expression of grief. “Gabriel went back there and said he found it. The sword…it was damaged, chipped and cracked from the battle. The only part intact was the guard. He took it and gave it to me after the funeral when we were alone.”

  His eyes seemed distant, swimming with the absence of Master’s presence—a thin smile full of unspoken emotions, conveying care, grief, love and regret all at once replaced his face. “But…I think it’s only right that you have it. You were his only disciple—his son.” The way he said it, I felt a tremor run through me. “I think he would want you to use his guard for your sword.”

  Fujimoto took a moment, his eyes mounted on the guard in my hand, then his gaze came to me, tears welling in his eyes and barely on the verge of spilling.

  “I want you to take it,” he continued, eyes gentle. “With this, it’s as if Akito-san left you a part of himself.” Then the tears finally came, unbidden, as he brought his hand forward and touched the guard placed right above my palm.

  I stared at it, hands trembling slightly. The weight of it was more than physical—it carried Master’s memory, his will, and his trust. A silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken emotions, as I realized the significance of what I now held.

  I traced the delicate lines and curves of the guard as if I could feel Master’s presence through it. A warmth spread through my chest, mingling with the ache of loss. It wasn’t just metal—it was trust, memory, and guidance all at once. For the first time since his passing, I felt a true tether to him, a quiet reminder of why I had to keep moving forward.

  I held Fujimoto’s hand and gave him a determined nod, even if I was feeling a mix of emotions that were ravaging me from the inside. This numbness that spread through me.

  The grief I have been fighting all this time felt impossible to hold back as I held Master’s guard—a piece of himself that he had left me.

  ***

  Rachael Everly

  I watched Shun disappear down the hallway after Fujimoto called for him, my heart still caught on the look he’d given me before he left. Hesitant. Heavy. Like he was standing at the edge of something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to reach.

  Maybe I already knew what he was about to say, I thought feeling heat rise up my neck as I adjusted my sweater.

  A warmth crept into my chest, followed by a quiet resolve. I didn’t shy away from it this time. I had already accepted my feelings for Shun. I wanted to be with him—and more than that, I wanted to be honest. About myself. About everything. If he was ready to speak, then I would be ready to listen.

  I didn’t want to hide away from him. I wanted to come clean about my feelings, my past.

  The door slid open some time later.

  Shun stepped back into the room, but he wasn’t the same as when he’d left. The change left me worried for him, something had happened in the time he had gone to Fujimoto.

  His shoulders were tense, his expression fractured, grief written plainly across his face. His eyes looked distant, on the verge of breaking, as if he were holding something far too fragile inside himself. In his hands, he cradled a small object with such care it was as though it might shatter if he held it too tightly.

  And then he stepped closer to me, but before he could reach me—as if all the energy from his body had disappeared—he crumbled to his knees, and I immediately rushed to him, stopping just a step away.

  I didn’t know what had happened, but Shun brought both hands forward and I finally saw the object in his hand. It was a circular object with an intricate design, tracing delicate lines across it’s surface with a gap in it’s middle.

  He kept looking at it, like it was the only thing holding him back from finally breaking. But, this was the first time I had seen him like this.

  I don’t know why but seeing him like this broke my heart, my mouth trembled as I felt tears threatening to fall for his sake.

  I watched him crumble before me.

  His shoulders trembled, chest heaving like the air itself had turned against him. He pressed a hand to his chest, fingers digging in as if he could hold himself together by force alone.

  “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, his voice so weak and resigned, swallowed in his grief. “This happiness. This warmth. This care.” He whimpered, his voice was so raw it tore away at me. “Why did Master have to leave? Why?”

  His voice cracked, barely holding as he clenched the object tighter and he brought it close to his chest. “I don’t deserve any of it. I’m not worth the trouble everyone goes through.”

  The words felt practiced. Like something he’d said to himself a thousand times in the dark. Something he had come to accept without even considering any other possibility.

  At first, I had only pitied him—this quiet, broken man carrying scars no one could see.

  But pity hadn’t made my chest ache like this. I didn’t know what to call this at first, but I had finally come to realise it, what did.

  Love had.

  I saw more than what he showed the world. I saw everything he thought made him unworthy—and fell in love with him anyway.

  I swallowed hard, fighting the tightness in my throat. I didn’t want him to hurt like this. Not ever again. Shun deserved peace. He deserved to feel whole. He deserved to feel anything without punishing himself for it.

  Before I realized I was moving again, I was standing in front of him. I took his clenched hand in mine, my grip firm, grounding, even as my fingers trembled, watching him whimper and on the verge of tears.

  “What makes you think you don’t deserve it?” I asked, my lips quivering.

  The sharpness in my voice surprised us both. Tears blurred my vision, softening the edge, but I didn’t look away.

  He looked up at me then—guilt carved deep into his face. His mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, he lifted his free hand and brushed the tears from my cheek, his touch so careful it nearly broke me.

  “Shun,” I said, my voice cracking. “I know you’ve been through hell. I know there are wounds time doesn’t touch, and I won’t pretend I understand all of them.” I squeezed his hand. “But you’re wrong about this. You’re worth every effort. Every moment.”

  He shook his head faintly, like he didn’t trust himself to speak, his body trembled visibly.

  “There are people who love you,” I continued. “Your master loved you enough to give his life for you. Fujimoto cares more than you realize.” My breath hitched. “And me…I love you too. I love you enough to want to see you happy. Enough to want you to believe that joy isn’t something you have to earn. You just need to accept it.”

  His eyes shimmered, tears gathering but not yet falling.

  “Do you really think I can?” He asked. “That I can be happy again?*

  The question was so small. So fragile.

  It hurt more than his breakdown ever could.

  “I’m scared.” His voice trembled. “Why do I get to live when others die? Master was the same—I know he loved me, he cared so much that he didn’t thing twice before laying his life on the line for protecting me.”

  I took his hand and pressed it to my chest, letting him feel my heartbeat. Steady. Real. Some clarity returned to his eyes as tears burst forth, rolling down his face like a dam had exploded.

  “I don’t just think you can,” I said. “I know you can. And you don’t have to do it alone anymore.” I held his hand tighter. “And, your master didn’t protect you so you’d punish yourself for surviving,” I whispered. “He did it because your life mattered to him. Just from the stories I’ve heard…he loved you so very much, Shun.”

  His breath hitched.

  “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself,” I said. “You’ve already carried more than anyone should.”

  Tears finally spilled down his face. I stepped closer, lowering my voice.

  “You survived,” I said. “That isn’t weakness. That’s strength.”

  He dropped his head, shoulders shaking. “I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve this,” he whispered. “But I want to try.”

  I didn’t answer right away.

  I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him—firmly, but with gentleness scrapping at the edges.

  “Shun,” I said quietly.

  He stiffened, like he was bracing for rejection.

  “You don’t have to deserve this.”

  He let out a weak, broken laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not how it works.”

  I held him tighter. “It is.” My words firm but keeping them soft and gentle how they should be.

  His breath stuttered as he tired to push the words away for a moment.

  “You don’t have to earn love,” I said with conviction.

  Silence stretched between us, heavy and fragile.

  “You don’t know the things I’ve done,” he murmured, his head drowning into my shoulder. “What kind of life I have led so far. You don’t know anything.”

  “I don’t care. Not because you’re perfect…but because you’re you.”

  He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes wide, tears trembling on his lashes.

  I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t explain. I didn’t argue. I didn’t need to.

  “You don’t have to deserve it,” I said again.

  His lips parted, then pressed together. His hands fisted in my clothes like he was afraid I’d disappear.

  I said it one last time, softer now.

  “You never did.”

  Something in him gave way.

  He collapsed against me, a sob tearing free as his body finally stopped fighting. I held him as he cried, as years of guilt and self-blame broke apart in my arms. I didn’t move. I didn’t rush him. I stayed.

  When his breathing finally slowed, I cradled his face and made him look at me.

  “That’s all I ask,” I whispered. “Just try.”

  He nodded, exhausted, vulnerable—and for the first time, not alone.

  “And I’ll be here,” I said. “Always. Because...I love you, Shun.”

  I cupped his face gently, bringing his gaze to mine. The sobs had slowed, but the tremor in his body reminded me of everything he’d been holding in. Without a word, I leaned closer, pressing my lips softly to his. It was brief, quiet—less a declaration than a promise.

  Shun froze for a moment, then melted into it, his hands clutching me as if finally allowed to let go. In that gentle, fleeting contact, all the words we hadn’t spoken, all the grief, all the love, seemed to settle between us. When we pulled back just slightly, our foreheads still touching, I whispered, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

  He nodded, fragile and trembling, but there was a light in his eyes I hadn’t seen before—hope, trust, and the first real peace since I’d met him.