It had been about half an hour since Yuma finally made it home after lingering on the rooftop for so long. The sky had already darkened enough to tease the night, the sun nowhere in sight. As he approached the front door, faint chatter drifted through the wood.
That was odd.
His mother should've been the only one home.
For half a second, a part of him almost hoped there was a threat inside, something tangible he could deal with. But logic won out. His mom must've invited people over.
Opening the door slowly, Yuma was greeted by a familiar face.
Akame stood in the entryway, a pot in her hands, clearly helping with dinner. When she noticed him, her face lit up instantly.
"Welcome home, Yuma!" she announced brightly.
Her voice carried into the living room, immediately alerting Keisuke. After a bit of muffled movement, Keisuke popped his head out of the corner.
"Hey, Yuma!" he chirped, flashing a wide smile.
Moments later, Yuma's mother stepped out from the kitchen, standing in the connecting hall.
"Baba? Why are you so late?" she asked warmly. "Dinner's ready."
Without answering anyone, Yuma slipped off his shoes and entered the house. He lightly tapped Keisuke's outstretched hand, gave Akame a small nod, then walked straight to his mother and wrapped his arms around her.
"Sorry," he murmured softly into her hair. "I was busy."
She blinked, surprised, then returned the hug with one arm.
"This is… pleasant," she said gently, "but go sit down. Your uncle and aunt are already at the table."
Yuma knew she meant Mr. and Mrs. Furuhashi. Not blood relatives, but close enough that family felt like the right word. He headed toward the dining table, greeting them respectfully with a nod before taking the seat beside Keisuke's usual spot, directly across from Akame.
Everyone settled in, and dinner began.
Every dish was one of Yuma's favorites, made in excess. He could tell immediately that both his mom and Akame had put real effort into it. Just as he lifted his chopsticks…
The doorbell rang.
Everyone froze and glanced toward the front door.
After a brief argument that Yuma somehow won against Mr. Furuhashi, he stood up to answer it. As he approached the door, something made his steps slow.
Cold.
Not the natural chill of autumn, this was sharper, unnatural, localized.
Yuma knew two things instantly:
Fall didn't do this.
And only one person could.
With a resigned sigh, he opened the door.
Akira stood there.
Just as he'd predicted.
He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit, posture impeccable, a small, polite smile on his face. In his hand was a neatly wrapped box.
Yuma narrowed his eyes.
"Why are you here?" he asked flatly. "And how did you find my house?"
For once, Akira didn't bristle.
"I was invited by your mother," he replied calmly.
"How?" Yuma snapped. "She doesn't even know you."
"Keisuke was on the phone," Akira explained. "She told him to invite 'Yuma's friend.'"
Yuma stared at him.
Friend?
Of all people?
Out of respect for his mother, and nothing else, he stepped aside.
"What's that?" he asked, nodding toward the box.
"A gift," Akira replied lightly. "It would be rude to arrive empty-handed."
Yuma moved out of the way and let him in.
Akira removed his shoes neatly and walked down the hall, his eyes briefly scanning the house before he identified the dining room. Turning the corner, he bowed respectfully.
"Good evening," he said. "My name is Yukigami Akira. Thank you for having me."
Yuma followed behind him, scoffing quietly. He knew better; this polite act didn't erase who Akira really was. Still, if there was any place to understand him better, it was here.
Akira set the gift aside and took the empty seat next to Akame.
Dinner… went well.
Shockingly well.
Keisuke and Akira talked with ease, while Akame and her parents chatted with Yuma's mom. Yuma didn't say much, but he didn't need to. The food was good. The atmosphere was warm. Lively.
Normal.
Something he hadn't realized he'd missed.
It had been six months since a dinner like this existed.
Once the meal ended, the women began cleaning up, while Keisuke and his father drifted into casual conversation. That left Yuma and Akira alone at the table.
They didn't speak.
Instead, Yuma stood and headed to his room.
Keisuke noticed immediately. He excused himself and followed, catching up just as Yuma reached the door.
"What?" Yuma asked, sharper than intended.
"Nothing," Keisuke said quietly. "You've just been… off since the rooftop."
Yuma hesitated, then gestured him inside.
Once the door closed, Yuma sat on his bed, rubbing his face. The shift from normalcy back to reality weighed heavily on him.
"Did you know about the whole 'kill witnesses' rule?" he asked bluntly.
Keisuke pressed his lips together.
That was enough.
"I knew," Keisuke admitted. "But… I never agreed with it. Carina told me during my first week." His voice softened. "She didn't like it either, but she insisted it had to be followed. I begged her to find another way."
"…And?" Yuma asked.
Keisuke sighed.
"She wouldn't listen."
Disappointment settled in Yuma's chest until Keisuke spoke again.
"So I made a compromise."
Yuma's head snapped up.
"What… what was it?" he asked carefully, afraid to let hope rise too fast.
Keisuke met his eyes, saw the hope there, and paused, just for a second.