CHAPTER 20
Kiyomi didn't remember when he started running.
One moment the whispers were behind him, crawling across the pavement like insects. The next, the campus gates were already shrinking into the distance, dissolving into a gray blur beneath the pale morning sky.
His lungs burned with every ragged breath.
(They were filming.)
The thought clawed at the back of his mind like a hook. He forced himself not to turn around, terrified he would see a forest of raised phones chasing him, recording the slow collapse of his dignity.
So he ran.
He threw himself onto the train. When it screeched to a stop in the Eastern District, he ran again.
By the time he reached his street, the familiar rows of houses felt strangely distant, as if he were watching his own life through a fogged window. His hands trembled so badly the keys rattled against the lock when he tried to open the door.
After a few frantic attempts, it finally clicked.
"Kiyomi?"
His mother's voice drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the soft clink of ceramic. The warm, salty scent of miso soup filled the hallway.
"You're home early—"
Kiyomi didn't answer.
He couldn't.
He rushed down the hallway and slipped into his room, shutting the door behind him. The latch clicked softly. Then he collapsed onto the bed, burying his face deep into the pillows.
He wanted to disappear.
To sink into the fabric and vanish, the way the soap had.
Soon the cotton beneath his eyes grew damp and heavy.
Not long after, the door creaked open.
His mother stepped inside quietly.
The first thing she noticed was the trembling shape on the bed.
"Kiyomi… what happened?"
She stepped closer. Her eyes moved over him carefully, pausing when she noticed the damp stains on his trousers.
But she didn't gasp.
She didn't recoil.
Instead, she sat beside the bed, her shadow falling softly across him.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
Kiyomi lifted his head slightly. His eyes were red and unfocused, the lashes still wet with tears.
(Mom…)
She reached out, placing a warm hand on the back of his head. Her fingers slipped gently through his hair, brushing it with slow, steady strokes.
"Did someone do this to you?" she asked quietly, her gaze sharp despite her calm tone.
"No…" Kiyomi whispered into the sheets.
"Then who did?"
"I did…"
She studied him for a moment.
Then her voice softened even more.
"Is it okay if I help you?"
"Yes…"
The answer broke something loose inside him.
The words tumbled out between uneven breaths. He told her about the soap he had accidentally slipped into himself the night before. He told her how it had melted at the worst possible moment, how it had betrayed him in the middle of the campus lobby.
He told her about the crowd.
About the phones.
About the suffocating weight of all those eyes.
When he finished, the room fell quiet.
Instead of anger or disappointment, his mother leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
"Kiyomi," she said gently, her hand still moving through his hair. "Accidents happen."
He blinked at her, his breath catching.
"Everyone makes mistakes when they're young," she continued softly. "It doesn't mean the world ends."
"But everyone saw…" Kiyomi whispered.
His mother sighed quietly and wiped away a tear at the corner of his eye with her thumb.
"People forget things faster than you think," she said with calm certainty. "By next week they'll already be talking about something else. You'll just be a memory in their gossip."
Kiyomi didn't look convinced, but the tight knot in his chest loosened a little.
She smiled faintly.
"Right now it feels like the end of the world," she said. "But someday you'll laugh about it."
Then she nudged his shoulder lightly, her voice shifting into a familiar, practical tone.
"But first, you should change those clothes before you catch a cold."
Kiyomi nodded and retreated into the privacy of his room. After he finished changing—discarding the damp, heavy clothes that still carried that faint, stubborn scent—he felt a small piece of himself return. Not completely, but enough to breathe again.
When he went downstairs, the living room welcomed him with warmth. The air smelled of home—soy sauce, rice, and the gentle steam rising from freshly prepared dishes.
His mother had already set lunch on the kotatsu.
They sat side by side beneath the low table, their legs tucked under the warm blanket. The closeness grounded him in a way nothing else could.
For a while, the university didn't exist.
They talked.
They laughed.
His mother brought up old stories—memories from when Kiyomi was smaller. Back then he had always been petite, but it hadn't felt strange. He had simply been another boy among many, easy to overlook in a sea of classmates.
Not an outlier.
Not someone people whispered about.
Just Kiyomi.
The quiet peace of the moment ended when the television flickered to a new program.
A news segment began playing—promoting an upcoming drama series.
And then she appeared.
Inori.
His childhood friend filled the screen, radiant under the studio lights. The girl he once knew had grown into something polished and luminous, her smile confident as she answered the host's questions.
"Look, Kiyomi," his mother said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed at the television. "Inori-chan is going to be the main character in her next drama."
Kiyomi stared.
On the screen, Inori moved through the interview effortlessly, every gesture graceful, every word smooth. The cameras loved her.
"Mom…" he said quietly. "Do you think I could meet her again?"
His mother tilted her head slightly.
"You're still friends, aren't you?"
"I think so…" Kiyomi murmured.
He looked down at his bowl.
The miso soup suddenly tasted a little bitter.
(The last time we talked on LONE was during summer in our second year of high school.)
He lifted his eyes again, watching Inori smile brightly on the screen.
And suddenly, the memories began to rise—one after another—like a dam breaking inside his chest.
It was that very summer, the last night before she vanished from his daily life.
The two of them had been walking in the park nearby. Back then, they were the exact same height, two small figures moving through the shadows. Under the dim streetlights, someone might have easily mistaken them for twins.
"Do you have a new Pikamon you want to show me again?" Kiyomi asked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He was already bracing himself, expecting some rare catch he could tease her about.
Inori didn't answer. Instead, she kept walking forward, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. It wasn't worry that filled Kiyomi's heart in that moment, but a restless curiosity. He stayed by her side, humming a soft tune to fill the silence.
Inori giggled, the sound light and airy.
"What is it?" Kiyomi whispered to her every few steps.
"Should I tell you?" Inori teased back, her voice dancing.
When they reached the pond at the center of the neighborhood park, she suddenly stopped. Kiyomi overshot her by three steps before he realized she was no longer beside him. He turned, and they stood opposite each other, the dark water reflecting the world between them.
The moonlight was piercingly bright that night, casting a silver halo around her. Her smile was sweet, visible even in the shadows. It was quiet—the kind of silence that feels heavy. The only sounds were the rhythm of their breathing and the rhythmic chirping of insects in the grass.
Then, she suddenly stepped forward until they were only a breath apart.
"Kiyomi~" she whispered.
Kiyomi swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs.
(Is she?)
"The thing is..." she started, her eyes locking onto his.
(She really is!)
"I like—"
"Stop!" Kiyomi cut her off before the final word could leave her lips.
Inori tilted her head, her expression shifting into pure confusion.
"I wasn't ready... let me breathe first," Kiyomi gasped, his face heating up.
She burst into laughter immediately, the tension breaking into a thousand pieces. Kiyomi took a sharp, quick breath and exhaled, trying to steady his trembling hands.
"Okay," he said, his voice finally firm. "Now I'm ready."
"That was unfortunate," she said, sticking her tongue out playfully. "There's no second chance... tehee~"
They spent a few more hours together, wandering under the stars, before finally heading home. Before he fell asleep, his heart still light from the night, he sent her a message on LONE.
Kiyomi: That was fun. See you tomorrow...
But tomorrow never came.
By the time he woke up the next day, the news hit him like a physical blow. His mother told him simply that Inori had already moved out.
In a panic, he started calling her. He didn't go to school that day. He spent hours paced in his room, the phone pressed to his ear, listening to the endless ringing that never turned into a voice.
When he finally looked back at their chat, his heart sank. Inori hadn't even read the message.
Years later, it remained exactly the same. One grey checkmark. She still hadn't read it.
The sun eventually began to set, bleeding orange and violet light across his bedroom floor. Kiyomi had already returned to the sanctuary of his bed, seeking the familiar comfort of his blankets.
He pulled up the university's online portal, the blue light of the screen reflecting in his tired eyes.
(Yes! I got an A in all subjects~ I'm gonna brag to Takumi...)
He took a quick screenshot of his grades and fired it off to Takumi, a small, genuine smile finally touching his lips.
Then, his thumb hovered over his contacts again.
(Hmmm... I'm gonna send one to Miyu as well... Technically, he's my senior...)
He pressed sent.
He expected a simple "Good job" or perhaps a teasing comment.
The reply came back in less than a minute.
Ding.
Miyu: I heard from Takumi what happened today...
Miyu: I just want to let you know that I am your friend...
Miyu: Always!
Miyu: Also...
Miyu: I like you!