The call came when Airi was alone in the café, helping Yui close for the night.
The number was unknown, but something—curiosity, maybe—compelled her to answer.
"Hello?"
A pause.
Then a smooth, unfamiliar voice replied:"Airi Fujimoto?"
"Yes?"
"This is Masaki Tsukishima. I'm Ren's brother."
Her breath hitched.
"…Is something wrong?"
"No, no," Masaki said, voice lacquered with polite interest. "I just thought it was time we got to know each other. Since you're so close to Ren these days."
She instinctively stepped outside the café. Away from Yui. Away from noise.
"Why would that matter?"
He chuckled. "Because I've seen this pattern before. Ren gets close to someone. They play therapist. Then when the storm hits, they're left cleaning up wreckage they never caused."
Airi's jaw clenched. "You don't know me."
"And you clearly don't know him."
Something in his tone—so calm, so cutting—made her skin crawl.
"I'm not calling to threaten you," Masaki continued, still infuriatingly casual. "I'm just saying… be careful. People like Ren have gravity. They pull you in, but eventually they crash."
Before she could respond, the line went dead.
Yui stepped out seconds later.
"Airi?"
She didn't answer right away.
Just stared at her phone like it had said something poisonous.
Then: "Have you ever felt someone try to make you doubt everything you thought was true?"
Yui blinked. "You okay?"
"I don't know."
That night, Airi didn't call Ren.
She told herself it was to give him space.
But really, she needed space of her own.
To figure out whether the voice in her head—Masaki's voice—meant anything at all.
Meanwhile, Ren was at his apartment, pacing.
His sketchbook lay open, unfinished lines on the page. None of them right.
He'd felt something shift. Some crack in the rhythm they'd built over the last few days.
It wasn't obvious.
Just a silence in Airi's usual reply time. The lack of her goodnight message. A pause in the pulse of "us."
He picked up his phone twice.
Put it down both times.
And in the end, just stared out the window, wondering if peace always came with an expiration date.
The next morning, Airi showed up at his place.
No warning. No message.
She looked calm.
But Ren knew her well enough to see the tightness in her shoulders.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She hesitated.
"I got a call. From Masaki."
The silence was immediate.
Cold.
Heavy.
"What did he say?" Ren asked.
"That I should be careful. That you have patterns. That people like you destroy the ones who get too close."
Ren closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"I didn't believe him," she said quickly. "But… I need to ask. Not because I doubt you—but because I need to understand."
He opened his eyes again. Slowly.
"Ask."
They sat together on the floor, backs against the couch.
No distractions. No comfort buffers.
Just questions.
And answers.
"Have you hurt someone before?" Airi asked quietly.
Ren nodded. "Emotionally. Yes."
"Did you mean to?"
"No. But I didn't know how to stay. I disappeared. I didn't explain. I made them feel like it was their fault."
"And now?"
"Now I know it wasn't fair. That being lost isn't an excuse to break others."
He turned to her.
"I'm not perfect, Airi. And I won't pretend to be. But I want to learn how to be here. Fully. For real."
She let that sit in the air.
Then leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I don't need perfect," she whispered. "I just need present."
Ren exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding his breath for days.
And when he pulled her close, it wasn't for comfort.
It was for anchoring.
Later that week, the rainy season deepened.
Everything felt like it was being washed and rewoven at once.
Ren started therapy sessions.
He came back from the first one exhausted, but lighter.
"I talked about things I hadn't said out loud in years," he told Airi.
She brushed the hair from his forehead. "And how did that feel?"
"Like letting air into a room I didn't know was suffocating."
They began leaving notes for each other.
Little slips of paper.
Sometimes hidden in books.
Sometimes under pillows.
You make tea better than any café.I dreamt of us dancing in the rain last night.Your silence is never scary. It feels like home.
The small things started meaning more than the grand ones.
Because this wasn't about drama.
It was about realness.
But Masaki hadn't vanished.
Not entirely.
He showed up one afternoon at the art center, uninvited.
Ren was alone, organizing supplies before a class.
Masaki leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
"You know, I thought you'd be more mad."
Ren didn't look up. "I don't owe you rage."
"No. But I expected at least a punch."
"You only show up when you want to break something," Ren said. "This time, I'm not giving you the parts."
Masaki stepped closer.
"You think this new girl's gonna fix you?"
"No," Ren said quietly. "I think I'm going to fix myself. And she's going to love me through it. Or not. That's her choice. Not yours."
Masaki blinked.
He hadn't expected that.
"You're not the only broken one in this family, you know."
"I know," Ren said. "But I'm the only one doing something about it."
That night, Ren told Airi about the visit.
He didn't want to hide anything.
She listened.
Then said: "You know what I've realized?"
"What?"
"The people who try to warn you about someone being dangerous are often the ones who were too scared to stay and do the work themselves."
Ren nodded.
And just like that, the fear of losing her evaporated.
Because he hadn't hidden.
And she hadn't left.
But the world wasn't finished testing them.
Later that week, as they walked through the shopping arcade after dinner, Ren's phone buzzed.
A message.
From an unknown number.
> You think therapy can erase who you are?> Some ghosts don't care about your recovery.
Airi saw the screen.
She took his hand firmly.
"Let's stop running," she said.
"Together."