Part 6 — I'm Staying Anyway
"Haruto," she said — not loud, not soft. Just normal.
She chose a neutral tone on purpose. If she sounded worried, he would shut down more. If she sounded strict, he would resist.
No reply.
Ayame leaned her shoulder lightly against the wall beside his door, folding her arms loosely. She positioned herself close — not to pressure him, but so he would know someone was staying.
"They went out," she said after a moment.
"Aka. Brother Renjiro. Kaito."
She told him this because Haruto often held emotions back when others were around. If he knew they were alone, he might relax.
Silence.
Then, from inside — quiet, controlled.
"…I heard."
His voice was restrained. That meant he was still holding anger inside rather than releasing it.
Ayame nodded slightly, even though he couldn't see her.
"It's just us now."
She was telling him: You don't have to stay guarded.
Another pause.
"You don't need to stay," Haruto said.
He said that because part of him didn't want to burden her — even while another part wanted her to remain.
Ayame slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, back resting beside the door.
She sat instead of leaving so her actions would answer him more honestly than words.
"I know."
She closed her eyes — showing she wasn't waiting for him to perform or explain anything.
"I'm staying anyway."
Inside the room, Haruto didn't respond.
But the restless shifting sounds stopped.
Because her staying removed the pressure of being alone with his anger.
Time passed.
The house breathed slowly around them.
Then—
A soft click.
The lock turned.
The door opened just enough for Haruto to step out.
He came out because the anger had burned down into exhaustion — and because Ayame hadn't tried to force him.
His face looked calm at first glance… but his shoulders were stiff, jaw tight, eyes tired — the physical signs of someone who had been clenching emotion for too long.
He didn't speak.
Talking first would mean explaining.
He wasn't ready.
He walked past Ayame and down the stairs.
She waited a few seconds before following — giving him space so he wouldn't feel chased.
Haruto collapsed onto the sofa, lying sideways, one arm over his eyes.
He covered his eyes because he didn't want to be seen vulnerable yet.
Ayame sat beside him quietly.
He didn't move at first.
Then slowly… he shifted closer… and rested his head on her lap.
He did that because anger had turned into emotional fatigue — and Ayame was the one place he never needed to defend himself.
Ayame gently placed her hand on his hair.
Her fingers moved slowly, brushing through it, smoothing tangled strands.
She chose this instead of speaking because physical comfort reaches Haruto faster than words when he's overwhelmed.
His breathing loosened.
His body relaxed before his mind did.
Then her fingers paused.
She carefully lifted his sleeve slightly.
Bruises.
Different colours meant different times — repeated strain, not one accident.
Her chest tightened — not from shock, but from confirmation. She had suspected he was pushing too hard.