Part 2: Where Tears Become Promises
Akari rose quietly, sliding open the closet beside her futon. She pulled out a neatly folded futon and spread it right next to her own.
"Here," she said softly, smoothing out the sheets. "Sleep here tonight, Haru."
Haruto nodded silently and settled down beside her, their futons almost touching. The moonlight slipping through the shoji windows bathed the room in a calm, silver glow.
For a while, neither spoke — just the sound of crickets and the soft creak of the old wooden floor beneath the night breeze.
Then Akari turned her head slightly toward him. "You're not sleepy anymore?"
Haruto's eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. His voice was quiet, almost lost in the dark. "I am… but I was just thinking."
"About what?" she asked gently.
He took a breath, his fingers curling slightly into the blanket. "Do you think I can… become who I really wanted to be?"
Akari blinked softly, then smiled. "Of course you can. You've already gone through more than most ever will, Haru. You're stronger than you think."
Haruto stayed quiet for a few seconds — then his breath trembled. "Strong…?" His voice cracked. "If I was strong, then why couldn't I save Enruto… four years ago?"
Akari's expression softened instantly. "Haru…"
He turned his face away, his eyes glistening. "I keep telling myself it wasn't my fault, but every time I remember that day… it feels like I betrayed him. Like I chose to live while he…" His words broke, his voice barely a whisper. "I gave myself more value than him… and I hate it."
Akari slowly sat up, leaning closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Don't say that. You didn't betray Enruto. You didn't choose to live — you survived. That's what he would've wanted."
"But if I was strong enough," Haruto said, tears sliding down his cheeks, "he wouldn't have died in the first place. He… he trusted me."
Akari reached out, brushing a tear from his cheek with her thumb. "And you still honor that trust every single day, Haru. By living, by trying, by carrying his memory with you."
He stared at her for a moment, his breathing uneven. "Aka… I just don't want to forget him."
"You won't," she whispered. "People like Enruto… they never fade from you. They live through the choices you make, through the strength you keep finding."
Haruto wiped his eyes, voice breaking again. "Then… I'll try. I'll try to be stronger… not for me, but for him."
Akari gave him a faint smile. "That's my Haru."
The room fell quiet again — except for the soft sound of his breathing as his tears slowed. Akari stayed still, watching him drift into sleep, her own eyes heavy with a quiet ache.
"Rest, Haru," she murmured. "You've carried enough for tonight."
Akari blinked her eyes open and glanced toward the small clock on the shelf. The soft ticking echoed through the quiet room.
"Twelve already?" she whispered, sighing. "It's too late… I need to sleep before morning comes."
She turned slightly on her futon, pulling the blanket higher — but then froze.
From beside her, faint murmurs broke the stillness. Haruto's head twitched slightly on his pillow, his brows drawn tight in a restless dream.
"...I gotta be strong… train… under Shizue… I'll… do it…" he mumbled, voice shaky and uneven.
Akari's chest ached softly at the sound. Even in his sleep, he was pushing himself — haunted by thoughts far too heavy for his age.
She shifted closer and brushed her fingers gently through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. His breathing trembled for a moment, and she felt a single tear slip from the corner of his eye, tracing down his cheek.
"Haru…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You're already strong. You just don't see it yet."
Haruto's body eased slightly, his expression softening as her hand moved through his hair. He unconsciously reached closer, resting against her arm — a small, instinctive gesture of comfort.
Akari smiled faintly, the exhaustion in her own eyes mixing with quiet tenderness. She leaned her head back against the wall, her fingers still idly brushing his hair.
"Sleep well, Haru…" she murmured softly. "You've carried enough for today."
Within minutes, the rhythmic breathing of both filled the room, the night slipping silently toward dawn.