Chapter 21: Quiet Moments, Gentle Bonds || Shizukana Hitotoki, Yasashii Kizuna

  Nakashima Residence, Ichigaya, Shinjuku-ku → October 28th, 2022

  “A paper crane, a sleepy raccoon, and the warmth of shared history”

  Before Miyu and Shunsuke could even step into the garden, Kuro darted ahead of them, bounding straight toward Shunsuke. The little raccoon leapt up, eyes wide and gleaming.

  Shunsuke bent down, scooping him into his arms. “I’m here now, Kuro,” he whispered softly. The raccoon chirped in contentment, nestling against his chest.

  Together, Miyu and Shunsuke rounded the corner into the garden, where the others had already gathered. Shunsuke’s gaze landed on Hina and Ryuichi, seated side by side. On Ryuichi’s lap sat a small girl, no more than three years old, giggling as he played with her. The sight made Shunsuke pause, surprise flickering across his face.

  Miyu, standing beside him, suddenly broke into a run. “Yuka!” she cried, throwing herself into the arms of her older sister.

  Shunsuke’s lips curved into a smile at the reunion. He set Kuro gently back on the ground, the raccoon scurrying off into the grass, before he turned and walked toward Miyu’s parents, his steps measured but warm.

  Shunsuke bowed deeply before them, every movement deliberate and full of respect.

  “Thank you for the celebration,” he said, his voice warm yet formal. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t congratulate you in person on your birthday, Yuu-san.”

  Yuu’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, firm and reassuring. “Everything is alright,” he said quietly.

  Shunsuke straightened, nodding. The simple kindness in those words made his chest tighten.

  Then Meilin spoke, her tone gentle but perceptive. “Yuki told us there was some trouble when you and Miyu picked her up from school.”

  Shunsuke’s expression dimmed, his eyes momentarily downcast. “Yes,” he admitted softly. “Someone took a photo of Miyu, Yuki, Kuro, and me—and posted it online. They even tagged my public account.” He drew a slow breath, as if each word carried its own weight. “My modeling agency has been very supportive. They’re doing everything they can to contain it.”

  His gaze shifted to where Miyu stood with her sister, laughter lighting her features, her smile free of the storm he carried. The sight both soothed and pained him.

  “But Miyu’s agency…” His voice faltered, then steadied, quieter. “They scolded her. Gaslighted her. And now… they want to terminate her contract.”

  “Do you both need help?” Meilin asked gently. “I have contacts.”

  Shunsuke smiled, shaking his head. “Miyu wants to handle it herself,” he said, his gaze drifting toward her. “I don’t want to pressure her with my help.” He paused, then added softly, “I already offered to take over her tuition and Yuki’s expenses. I just want her to feel safe—to know she’s cared for.”

  Meilin’s expression softened, pride and worry mingling in her eyes.

  Just then, Miyu and Yuka walked toward them, hand in hand, Miyu’s face glowing with happiness.

  “Shunsuke, this is my sister Yuka,” she said brightly. “Yuka, this is Shunsuke—my boyfriend.”

  Shunsuke extended his hand, smiling warmly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Yuka. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Yuka returned the handshake with a gentle laugh. “And I’ve heard quite a bit about you, too. I’m sorry for what I did to Ryuichi,” she said sheepishly.

  Shunsuke nodded lightly. “Don’t mind it. Ryuichi’s over it—and it seems he doesn’t mind that you’re here,” he said with a faint smile.

  Yuka chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “He actually invited me, believe it or not.”

  Before Shunsuke could reply, a little girl came running up to Yuka, tugging gently at her dress.

  Yuka knelt down, her voice softening instantly. “What’s the matter, Hikari?” she asked, patting the child’s head with a tender smile. Then she looked up teasingly at Ryuichi. “Was Uncle Ryu being mean to you again?”

  Ryuichi raised his hands in mock innocence from across the garden. “I swear I didn’t do anything this time!”

  Shunsuke couldn’t help but smile at the exchange, though his eyes lingered on the child. She couldn’t have been older than five—bright brown eyes and a soft halo of dark blond hair that caught the afternoon light.

  He’d heard the whispers back at the university: that Yuka had a daughter whose father she refused to name. Until now, it had been nothing but rumor. But seeing the little girl in person… the resemblance was undeniable. The shape of her eyes, the color of her hair—it all mirrored Ryuichi a little too closely.

  Dark blond hair wasn’t something you saw often in Tokyo. Not unless it came from someone like Ryuichi.

  Miyu watched her sister carefully, her expression soft but thoughtful. Then her gaze met Shunsuke’s for a brief moment—just long enough for them both to realize they were thinking the same thing.

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  “How’s university going, Yuka?” Miyu asked lightly, her tone casual but curious.

  Yuka smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Everything’s been good so far,” she replied in her usual gentle voice.

  Miyu nodded, then glanced at the little girl still playing by Yuka’s side. “And Hikari? Where is she while you’re at university?” she asked, the question sounding innocent enough—but her tone held the quiet concern of an older sister.

  Yuka chuckled softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Just ask if I have a boyfriend, Sister,” she teased gently. “Hikari stays with a friend of mine when I have classes. Nothing romantic—just someone helping out.”

  Miyu smiled faintly. “Alright,” she said, though a shadow of doubt flickered briefly in her eyes before she let it go.

  Shunsuke walked over to Ryuichi, grinning as he pulled his younger brother into a hug.

  “Not here…” Ryuichi groaned, trying to wriggle free. “Shun, stop it.”

  Shunsuke laughed and released him, still amused. “What’s wrong? Did I mess up your clothes?” he teased. “Or did I ruin your Ice Prince image?”

  Ryuichi shot him a sidelong glance. “You just wanted to mess with me,” he muttered.

  “Of course I did,” Shunsuke said, a playful sparkle in his eyes as he sat down beside him. For a moment, the air between them was light—then Shunsuke’s expression shifted, his tone softening. “Tell me something… did you have your hands in making Hikari?”

  Ryuichi sighed, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground before lifting again toward the little girl. “Yuka denies it,” he said quietly. “I can’t force her to admit anything.” His voice trembled just slightly, the weight of uncertainty heavy behind it. “But…” He paused, watching Hikari laugh as she chased Kuro across the grass. “It feels… familiar, when she runs to me like that.”

  Shunsuke followed his gaze, saying nothing—just letting the silence speak for them both.

  Hina reached for Ryuichi’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  Shunsuke let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to open an old wound.”

  Ryuichi shook his head. “It’s fine,” he murmured. “I never expected to have children anyway.”

  Shunsuke’s expression softened. “So… it hasn’t gotten any better?”

  Ryuichi gave a faint nod, his eyes distant. “Not really.”

  Another sigh escaped Shunsuke. “I’m sorry, Ryu.”

  But Ryuichi just shook his head again, a hint of a smile flickering across his lips. “No need to be. You saved my life back then.”

  Hina leaned against Ryuichi’s shoulder, her voice a quiet promise. “We’ll find another way, Ryu.”

  He looked down at her and nodded, his thumb brushing over her hand. “Yeah,” he said softly. “We will.”

  Kuro suddenly jumped onto Shunsuke’s lap, curling up tightly against him.

  Shunsuke looked down at his little fluffy companion, his voice soft. “What’s wrong, Kuro?”

  The raccoon chirped anxiously, his tiny paws pressing against Shunsuke’s leg.

  “It’s too loud here?” Shunsuke guessed gently.

  He scooped Kuro into his arms, holding him close. “Alright, I’ll ask Miyu if there’s a quiet room where you can rest for a bit,” he murmured, kissing the top of Kuro’s head.

  Kuro chirped softly, as if to thank his human.

  Shunsuke stood and made his way over to Miyu, who was still talking with her family. “Miyu,” he said quietly, careful not to interrupt too abruptly, “Kuro’s a little anxious. It’s too loud for him here. Is there somewhere I can let him rest?”

  Miyu smiled, her expression tender as she reached out to gently pat Kuro’s head. “Come with me—I’ll show you my room. Kuro can stay there. And if you want,” she added softly, “you can stay with him. I can see you’re a bit overwhelmed, too.”

  Shunsuke hesitated, looking away for a moment before nodding. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  Miyu shook her head. “No need to apologize.”

  He smiled faintly, a hint of relief in his eyes, and followed her through the hallway toward her bedroom, Kuro nestled securely against his chest.

  “I hope your parents won’t be disappointed if I stay in your room with Kuro for a while,” Shunsuke said softly, a hint of unease in his voice.

  Miyu shook her head, smiling. “Not at all. My mother already noticed that you were a bit overwhelmed,” she said gently. “They understand, Shunsuke. There’s no need to worry.”

  He nodded, glancing down at Kuro, who had begun to relax in his arms, his breathing slow and even.

  Miyu slid open the shōji door to her bedroom and gestured for him to step inside. The room was small and neat—just a futon bed, a low desk, and a modest closet. One wall was decorated with photos of Miyu and Yuki, moments filled with laughter and warmth, alongside a few family pictures.

  But what made Shunsuke pause was the other wall: it was covered with photos of him. Candid shots from their time together—at his apartment, walking through the city, sitting by the window with Kuro. His lips curved into a soft smile, touched by the quiet affection behind it.

  “You both can lie down for a bit,” Miyu said kindly, moving to the closet. She pulled out a soft-looking blanket and spread it over the futon. “It’s not a cashmere blanket, Kuro,” she teased, her voice light, “but I hope it’s fluffy enough for our little emperor.”

  Shunsuke chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “He’ll survive it,” he replied, his eyes warm as he watched her.

  Kuro let out a soft chirp as Miyu spread the blanket on the floor. The raccoon wriggled from Shunsuke’s arms, toddled over to the blanket, and curled up in its folds with another pleased chirp.

  “Looks like he’s content with the blanket,” Shunsuke said playfully, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  Miyu nodded, then leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Rest for a bit,” she murmured. “When you feel better, come back out to the garden.”

  Shunsuke nodded, his voice low. “I will. Thank you, Miyu.”

  She smiled softly before slipping out, closing the shōji doors behind her.

  Silence settled over the room, broken only by Kuro’s quiet breathing. Shunsuke sank down onto the futon, stretching out and letting his eyes drift shut. His mind, finally, began to quiet—resting in the small, safe world Miyu had made for him.

  Kuro chirped softly, nuzzled into the folds of the blanket. Shunsuke’s gaze lingered on the little raccoon for a moment, warm and protective, before drifting across the room.

  His eyes landed on Miyu’s desk, where a single paper crane rested. A small, quiet smile tugged at his lips. He remembered folding it long ago, giving it to a girl whose name he had never known. And now, here it was—still keeping its place in her room.

  He stepped closer, picking it up delicately in his hand, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world. The memory of that distant, long-ago connection warmed him.

  After a moment, he set it back down, leaving it undisturbed. Kuro’s gentle snores in the corner reminded him of the present, of the safety and quiet of this room, and he let himself relax a little, standing there in the soft stillness.