A Home Filled with Warmth
He had hesitated at first, unsure of how to respond. Meeting someone's family wasn't something he took lightly. But when Hiyori had flashed him that expectant smile, full of warmth and trust, he had found himself agreeing before he could think twice.
Now, standing in front of her family's home—a traditional yet cozy-looking house with a wooden gate and small lanterns illuminating the entrance—Kozakura took a slow breath before knocking.
The door slid open almost instantly. A woman who could only be Hiyori's mother stood there, her gentle features lighting up the moment she saw him.
"Ah, you must be Kozakura! Hiyori has told us so much about you," she greeted with a warm smile. "Come in, come in! No need to be shy."
He bowed politely. "Thank you for having me. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, what a well-mannered young man!" she gushed, stepping aside to let him in. "I swear, Hiyori always finds the nicest people."
The moment he entered, a wave of warmth enveloped him. The scent of home-cooked food filled the air—fresh rice, miso soup, something sweet baking in the oven. The house had an old-fashioned charm, with wooden floors, sliding doors, and soft cushions arranged neatly around a low table.
"Kozakura!" Hiyori's voice rang from the hallway before she appeared, beaming. "You're here!"
"I said I would be, didn't I?" he replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
"Come on, my dad's been waiting to meet you. He's been all excited since I told him you were coming." as he's quite known and loved in the town Hanamura.
That statement didn't do much to calm Kozakura's nerves, but he followed her into the dining area anyway. Seated at the table was a man with an easygoing smile, his build strong yet not intimidating. His eyes were kind—the same shade as Hiyori's.
"So you're Kozakura," Hiyori's father said, studying him with interest. "I've heard plenty about you."
Kozakura bowed deeply. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."
"Polite one, aren't you? I like that." The man chuckled, motioning for him to sit. "No need for formalities. We're just here to enjoy a good meal together."
As Kozakura settled onto the cushion beside Hiyori, her younger sibling peeked curiously from the hallway. A small boy, no older than ten, with wide, inquisitive eyes.
"Is that him?" the boy whispered to Hiyori.
She sighed. "Yes, Renji, that's him. Come say hello properly."
The boy hesitated before stepping forward. "Are you Hiyori's… friend?"
Kozakura nodded. "That's right. And you must be her little brother."
Renji's cheeks flushed slightly, but he nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer. Hiyori's mother entered then, carrying a tray filled with beautifully arranged dishes.
"I hope you're hungry, Kozakura," she said cheerfully. "I made all of Hiyori's favorites tonight. I hope you'll enjoy them too."
"I'm sure I will," he said sincerely. "Everything smells amazing."
Dinner began, and the conversation flowed easily. Hiyori's family was warm, welcoming, and effortlessly kind. They laughed, shared stories, and occasionally teased Hiyori, much to her embarrassment. Kozakura found himself relaxing despite his initial nerves.
But then, the conversation took a turn.
"So, Kozakura," Hiyori's father said, refilling his tea. "Tell us a little about yourself. Where's your family from?"
The question was innocent enough, but the air around Kozakura stiffened for just a second. He placed his teacup down, his fingers resting lightly against the ceramic.
"I… don't have much of a family," he admitted, his voice calm but measured. "I was raised in a rather difficult environment. It wasn't the kind of home that people would want to remember."
A pause stretched over the table. Hiyori's mother gave him a look of quiet understanding, while her father remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
"I left when I was old enough," Kozakura continued. "Since then, I've taken care of myself. It wasn't easy, but I learned how to manage. How to live on my own terms."
The words hung in the air for a moment before Hiyori's father finally spoke, his voice softer than before. "That must've been difficult."
"It was," Kozakura admitted. "But I don't dwell on it. I figured there's no use in holding onto something that only weighs you down."
Silence. Then, Hiyori's mother let out a breath, shaking her head slightly before reaching across the table and gently patting Kozakura's shoulder—a warm, motherly gesture. "You've done well for yourself," she said with quiet pride. "I can tell you've grown into a strong young man."
Kozakura didn't know how to respond. He had never been acknowledged like this before—not in this way. He was used to people treating his past as something shameful, something to pity. But there was no pity here. Only quiet acceptance.
Hiyori's father nodded. "You've built yourself up from nothing. That takes real strength. And from what I can see, you've become a good man despite it all."
Kozakura looked down at his plate, struggling to swallow the unexpected warmth in his chest. "I just did what I had to do."
"That's what makes it admirable," Hiyori's mother said gently. "You didn't let it define you. And I respect that."
The conversation slowly drifted to other topics, but the warmth remained. As dinner wrapped up, Kozakura realized something—this house, this family… it was nothing like the one he had grown up in. And yet, for the first time in his life, he felt what a real home could be like.
As he helped clear the dishes, Hiyori nudged him lightly. "See? They like you."
He exhaled a quiet chuckle. "I don't know why."
"Because you're you," she said simply, her eyes reflecting the golden glow of the dining room. "And that's enough."
For the first time in a long while, Kozakura felt something settle within him—something warm, steady, and unfamiliar.
Maybe, just maybe, he had found a place where he truly belonged.