When Kasumigaoka Utaha asked Eriri if she liked anyone, an indistinct face suddenly floated into Eriri's mind and refused to leave.
"Impossible, impossible…" Eriri pressed her temples. She told herself the person was only a close friend — nothing deeper than that.
"But why does he keep popping into your head?" Utaha asked with a faint, teasing smile.
"Maybe I just have too few male friends," Eriri muttered, trying to dismiss the thought.
"Ever since that idiot Tomoya Aki betrayed me, he's the only boy I hang out with who actually understands my weirdness," she admitted with a half-bitter grin. "So I guess it makes sense I'd think about him."
Eriri forced a smile and downed the rest of her drink in a single sweep. Kasumigaoka watched her for a beat, saw through the act, and didn't press further. Instead she only offered an amused remark.
"Sawamura-san, you're a lot like the heroine in Kasumi Shiko's novel — guarded and not forthcoming," Utaha observed gently.
"Where? Where is that resemblance?" Eriri blinked, cheeks warming.
After the meal, Utaha settled the bill and left. Eriri bought a small box of dorayaki from a nearby stand and headed back to the hospital, her step light with anticipation. The idea that Lucien would soon be discharged made her heart lift — a feeling equal parts childhood giddiness and the nervous excitement she used to have when a friend invited her over to play a new game.
When she arrived at the ward she found Lucien standing in the corridor, one hand on the rail, looking out at the city. The late sun gilded his profile; the light made the thinness of his face almost beautiful rather than fragile. For the first time since she'd known him, Eriri saw him standing instead of lying in bed or sitting in a wheelchair.
She paused. He was taller than she remembered — about 1.78 meters — and though the illness had left him lean, his silhouette held a quiet dignity. Seeing him upright struck her unexpectedly; for a moment she felt both proud and oddly breathless.
"Eriri — you're here," he said, turning toward her with a soft smile.
They exchanged that same small, conspiratorial smile they always used when neither wanted to speak plainly. Eriri, shorter by about a head, suddenly found herself looking up at him. It made her a little self-conscious.
"Here," she said, handing over the dorayaki. "For you."
"Thanks." He accepted the box gratefully. "Come in — sit."
Inside the ward he poured her a glass of water and guided her to a chair. He looked steadier now; she could see the improvement in his complexion and posture. Her relief was immediate and warm.
"Where's your mother?" Lucien asked after a moment.
"She's at the airport, picking up my father. He arrives tonight," Eriri replied. "You haven't seen him in ages."
They sampled the dorayaki together. Eriri nibbled delicately; Lucien ate with the easy appetite of someone who'd been deprived for a while. Watching him, she felt something like relief bloom — a small, domestic happiness that came from seeing a friend recover.
"You ate already?" Lucien teased when he saw her reach for another.
"I had crab earlier," she said breezily. "Seafood's filling, but not enough, apparently."
The banter warmed them both. Then Lucien said, "Eriri, I wanted to ask — would you mind helping me with something? I'm looking for a place to rent near the school. I don't know the area well."
"I'll ask my mother," Eriri offered without hesitation.
That night Lucien's father, Adam Blackthorn, arrived at the hospital. The whole family — Lucien, his mother Eve, and Adam — celebrated the news of his discharge the next evening with a quiet, elegant dinner. Lucien told them about the adaptation deal and his plans: he wanted a bigger place near school so he could balance his studies and drawing more comfortably. His parents were supportive; after the months they'd gone through, they cherished any sign of normalcy.
Two days later Lucien was officially discharged. He checked out of the temporary room he'd rented and stored his luggage at a hotel while he finalized living arrangements. His mother had already spoken to his homeroom teacher, and the recommendation was to wait until the next semester for a full return to school — he still needed a little time to get back to full strength.
Adam had to leave the following Saturday for work overseas; Margaret saw him off at the airport. That morning Lucien sat in the hotel, finishing page layouts, when his phone buzzed. It was a call from Eriri.
"Lucien, good news," she chirped. "My mother found the house you wanted: a single-family place, close to school, and the price is reasonable."
"Really? Where is it?" he asked, eager.
"My mother says it's within a ten-minute walk to school. She can take you to see it now, if you're free."
"I'm free. I'll be right there."
Eriri hung up and turned to her mother in the kitchen. "Why did you tell him to come over?" she asked, bewildered.
Sayuri Sawamura — wearing an apron and arranging little snacks — smiled and patted Eriri's head. "He's just been discharged. We haven't celebrated him yet. It's only proper to invite him as a guest."
Eriri pouted, then hurried to change; she wanted to look presentable. Ten minutes later Lucien stood at the door of the Sawamura house.
The Sawamura residence sat in an upscale villa community in Chiyoda Ward — an area known for quiet streets and well-kept homes. Lucien glanced at the elegant façade and felt, for an instant, a strange practical thought: if all went well, perhaps he'd one day afford something like this. Short-lived, fanciful daydreams — then he rang the bell.
Eriri opened the door looking like a little princess in a neat outfit. "Lucien! Come in."
Sayuri greeted him warmly. "Sit a while in the living room. We'll see the house shortly."
Lucien handed over a small gift: a box of British dark truffle chocolates he'd bought on the way. Eriri squealed with pleasure at the sight. "Cadbury!" she declared, unwrapping a piece immediately. Sayuri raised an amused eyebrow at her daughter's manners.
"You might at least pour some tea for our guest," she scolded gently.
Eriri sniffed dramatically and went to fetch tea and fruit. The three of them settled in and talked in an easy, domestic rhythm: Lucien answered questions about his health, Sayuri expressed relief at his improvement, and they all discussed the upcoming move and the animation adaptation that had lifted Lucien's spirits. Sayuri praised his talent — she had heard that a notable director was involved — and Lucien blushed a little at the praise.
After a while Eriri pressed, "Mom, when are we going to see the house?"
"Soon," Sayuri said with a smile. "It's not far. We'll walk."
They left the Sawamura home and walked through the neighborhood. They passed a steep slope known locally as Detective Hill — a winding, 300-meter incline named for the small private detective agency at its base. Lucien learned, with amusement, that it was a little local landmark from one of Eriri's childhood stories: it was where Tomoya Aki had passed when delivering newspapers in a tale called The Girl Who Came to Town. Eriri's voice grew animated as she recounted small memories, and Lucien found himself listening more attentively than he expected.
Soon they arrived in front of a two-story house set close to the road. It was modest for the area but neat and solid. Sayuri pointed and said, "This is the place."
Eriri blinked. "Isn't that Tomoya's house?"
Sayuri nodded. "Yes. His parents were transferred to Hokkaido some time ago, and he went with them. They agreed to rent it out while they were away."
Lucien's brow lifted; the coincidence made his chest tighten in a strange way he couldn't explain. He had heard stories that this neighborhood meant something to Eriri — childhood friends, small adventures — but he'd expected a more anonymous listing.
"How much is the rent?" Eriri asked, practical as ever.
Sayuri looked at Lucien. "It's a friendly price: 120,000 yen a month. For a single-family house so close to school and facilities, that's very reasonable."
Lucien did some quick mental arithmetic. In this part of Chiyoda, single-family homes usually rented for far more; 120,000 was indeed a bargain.
Sayuri unlocked the door with a key she'd been given and led them inside. The interior was clean, well-kept, and ready to move into after a light clean. There were modern appliances and sensible layouts — a living room that caught good light in the afternoon, a small kitchen, and a compact study area perfect for drawing.
Lucien walked through the rooms slowly, imagining his desk by the window and canvases stacked neatly. He felt a surge of excitement and relief. "I'll take it," he said before he could think it over too carefully.
Eriri's face went bright with pleasure as well. Sayuri beamed, pleased to have helped.
Lucien laughed, a little embarrassed by his own prompt decision. But it felt right. For the first time in months, plans felt sturdy and possible: a steady place to work, people who cared for him, and the next step toward getting back into a rhythm of life.
Outside, the late sun warmed the street. Eriri walked at his side, her small hand brushing against his sleeve, and for a moment the world felt gentle and perfectly ordinary.
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