A night steeped in Remorse

 As soon as the door clicks shut, Yuna rushes forward and shoves Hiroki against the wall. Her lips find his in a frantic, desperate kiss. Her fingers clutches his shirt tighter and tighter, as if trying to block out the rest of the world.

 Hiroki freezed, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Then, with a burst of will, he pushes her away.

 "Yuna, don't—"

 But before he can finish, she grabs him again, pulls him in. Her mouth devours his, her kisses deep, erratic, almost bruising. He tastes the bitterness of alcohol, the metallic tang of something he can't name.

 Gripping her shoulders firmly, Hiroki yanks himself back, breathing hard.

 "Yuna, stop it. You're not thinking straight!"

 She stumbles a step back. Her eyes are hazy, distant. A bitter smile flickers across her lips.

 "Hiroki…" Her voice trembles. "Didn't you say you liked me? Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

 She doesn't wait for an answer. Slowly, she straightens her back and begins unbuttoning her shirt, one button at a time. Pale skin comes into view, lit by the dim light. Hiroki presses himself against the wall, fists clenches tight.

 His mind screams at him to stop this—stop her, stop himself—but his body refuses to move.

 "Come here," she whispers. "I'll let you touch me."

 Her voice is soft, sweet—and terrifying. She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Hiroki stares, stunned, as everything he has tried so hard to suppress is suddenly right in front of him.

 She steps closer and gently takes his chin, pulling him into another kiss. This one is deeper, more deliberate. Something inside Hiroki snaps. Their mouths move in frantic hunger, tongues tangle in a kiss that taste of longing and guilt.

 Clothes are left scattered across the floor. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the room fills with the sound of ragged breathing.

 Hiroki lets himself be carried by the moment. He moves lower, hands and lips exploring her fragile body with care that gradually turn to hunger. Yuna writhes beneath him, her body responding with raw, aching need. He can feel her surrender, inch by inch, as she clings to the bedsheets, to him, to anything that can anchor her.

 Reaching over, Hiroki grabs his wallet from the nightstand and pulls out a small foil packet. Sweat trickles down his neck, and his hands tremble slightly—but he does not forget to be careful.

 Yuna watches him through half-lidded eyes, breathing unevenly.

 "You… you had that ready?" she murmurs.

 "I always do," he replies softly, his fingers brushing through her hair to calm her.

 "When you go out...?" she asks, biting her nail.

 "Yeah," he admits, almost ashamed. "But those were just... meaningless."

 He leans closer, voice low, "I only love you. Yuna."

 Before her thoughts can wander too far, Hiroki moves slowly, carefully, letting her adjust to the rhythm. Each movement is deliberate, restrained, full of longing and quiet desperation.

 Her arms wrap around him tightly, as if trying to fill the void inside her with his warmth. Their bodies move as one—seeking comfort, not passion; trying to remember what it means to feel something, anything.

 But then, as their breathing quickens, as the tension reaches its peak—Yuna whispered a name.

 "Ryusei..."

 Again. And again.

 Like a mantra.

 The last thread of restraint tears. Hiroki unraveled, caught in the cruel harmony of pleasure and grief.

 He paused, a tremor running through his entire body. He touched her face with a trembling hand, his breath hot against her skin.

 Just hold her, he told himself. Just this once. Then let go.

 But even as he repeated that promise in his head, his chest ached. His heart sank into a dark place he didn't know existed.

 Because she was here.

 With him.

 And yet, she wasn't.

 And that—was the cruelest part of all.

….

 Hiroki jolts awake.

 The first thing he feels is a dull ache pulsing at his temples—the lingering aftertaste of last night's alcohol.

 The second thing… is emptiness. The bed beside him is cold, the sheets wrinkled and rumpled as if someone slipped out quietly before dawn. No warmth remains. No trace of her, save for the faint impression of her presence.

 He sits up, still groggy, the scent of last night's regrets clinging to the air. The room smells of alcohol and faded intimacy. The echo of hurried breaths, trembling touches, and her voice—calling a name that isn't his—still rings in his ears.

 She is gone. Her warmth has vanished, but the ghost of her lingers. His clothes are neatly folded on the bedside table. A half‑empty glass of water sits nearby, and faint shoe prints mark the wooden floor.

 She woke up. She hesitated. And in the end—she chose to leave.

 A bitter laugh escapes his lips. He rubs his eyes, leans back against the cold wall, and breathes deeply.

 It was his fault. He had taken advantage of her when she was at her most vulnerable. He hadn't stopped her. He hadn't stopped himself.

 But blame doesn't change anything now.

 What is he supposed to do? He is still lost in this foreign city, far from home. First things first—get back to Osaka. As for the future... maybe it will be a future without Yuna.

 No drivers have seen her leave. No one remembers picking her up. She must have caught a random taxi. Hiroki gives up asking. He sinks into the backseat of a cab, too exhausted to think, and drifts off to sleep.

 His dreams torture him. Memories of the night before come in flashes—touches that once felt euphoric now turn to pain. What once brought pleasure now feels like punishment.

 He wakes up drenched in sweat, back aching from the long ride. His phone buzzes. One unread message—from Ikeda Yuna:

  "Are you back in Osaka yet? I'm at your place. Let's talk. I'm not going anywhere."

 His heart skips. He tells the driver to hurry. Fifteen minutes later, the car screeches to a stop outside his apartment building. The iron staircase groans under his weight as he runs—first in a slow climb, then desperate strides.

 She hasn't left. She stays. A faint light flickers in the depths of his broken world. He stifles the smile tugging at his lips, hating how foolishly hopeful he still is.

 He slows his pace when he sees her. She opens the door. They step inside.

 A soft rock song by HiMrs6 plays in the background—Jun's haunting voice floats in the air. Yuna has played it for comfort, but now she turns off the speaker, and silence swallows the room.

 She turns to him, her face composed, grounded in the harshness of reality.

 "Last night…" Her voice trembles. She inhales deeply, fingers twisted nervously at her waist. "I was drunk. I lost control… I forced myself on you. I'm sorry. If you want compensation, I'll do whatever you ask. But for now… can we just pretend it didn't happen?"

 The look on Hiroki's face shatters.

 Yuna knows her words are unfair, even cruel. She bites her lip—a habit born of anxiety. Her eyes well up, and she looks away.

 "I got here a couple hours before you. I've packed my things. I'll leave behind everything you gave me… I only kept the essentials. I don't want to bother you anymore. I don't want anyone else to get hurt. I'm leaving. I'm going to start over."

 Her voice breaks. Tears roll down her cheeks.

 "I really am sorry…"

 Hiroki steps toward her. He wants to reach out, to hold her and say everything would be okay—but she looks fragile, like a single word might shatter her.

 He takes a shaky breath.

 "It wasn't just you. I was there too. We were both drunk… But if you're really set on leaving, then what's your plan?"

 "I can manage…" she murmurs.

 "What about your job? You've been away for almost a month. Your phone, your bag, everything is still at the place you shared with Ryusei. And where do you plan to live?"

 His voice rises, blocking her path as if he can physically stop her from leaving.

 "You don't have to go right away. Stay a little longer."

 "I've already caused you enough trouble. I'll get my things later. I'll ask my parents to help."

 "Your parents?" His eyes lock onto hers. "How are you going to explain what happened with Ryusei? You think they'll just understand? They'll resent you for losing their golden son‑in‑law. You know how your family is."

 She clenches her jaw, blood blooming on her bitten lip. But the pain in her chest is far worse.

 "I was thinking of going to Nara…" Her voice quivers. "I know someone there. It's cheaper to live…"

 Her lips keep moving, but Hiroki can't hear her anymore. He gently takes her hand and gives it a soft squeeze, a silent plea.

 "Yuna, you have to take responsibility. What happened last night—it's not something we can just erase. Maybe I'm being selfish, but staying is what's best for you right now."

 "I can't be your burden anymore… You've done too much for me already…"

 "Don't—Yuna, wait…"

 She pulls her hand free and turns toward the bedroom, where her suitcase waits, packed and ready.

He stands there, watching her with eyes full of pain.

 He doesn't want her to go. He can't let her go.

 When she reaches the door, he rushes forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He holds her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder.

 "Please… Yuna. Stay."

His breath fans against her hair, voice cracking with emotion.

"You're all I need. Just stay here. With me. That's enough."

"Hiroki… I can't. I want to start over," she whispers.

"Then start over—with me. Please."

He buries his face in her hair, trying to hide the tears trailing down his cheeks.

"I've loved you for ten years… Ten years, Yuna…"

She freezes.

How can she leave someone who has loved her that deeply, that long?

Her tears fall, soaking into her palms.

And then—she doesn't take another step. She chooses to stay. With him.