Haruto’s hands slowed. He looked down at the fabric in his lap, a distant, somewhat melancholic expression settling into his dark eyes. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the wall clock.
“I think about the future,” Haruto said softly. “I like my life the way it is right now. But I suppose... someday, I’d like to have a family of my own. Officially, I mean.”
He offered a self-deprecating, slightly embarrassed smile, completely oblivious to the way the words tore at Yuna’s heart.
“Someday,” Haruto continued, his voice taking on a wistful, quiet tone, “someone will love me, and find me attractive enough to be her boyfriend. And perhaps then, we’ll get married. I’d like that. A quiet life, with someone who actually chooses me.”
The words hung in the warm air, beautiful and devastating. He was describing the exact life he was already living with Yuna, but he was placing a faceless, imaginary woman in her spot. He couldn’t even fathom that the person who desperately wanted to choose him was sitting less than three feet away.
Yuna couldn’t take it anymore. The fear of rejection was completely eclipsed by the desperate need to make him see her.
She dropped the baby socks into the basket. She looked directly into his eyes, laying her heart entirely bare.
“Why not me?” Yuna asked. Her voice was a fragile, trembling whisper, but it carried the weight of her entire world.
Haruto froze. His hands stopped moving entirely. He stared at her, his dark eyes wide with shock.
For a breathless, suspended moment, Yuna thought she had broken through. She thought he would look at her flushed cheeks and the desperate hope in her eyes, and finally understand that everything had changed.
But then, the shock on Haruto’s face melted into something infinitely worse. It melted into a gentle, pitying amusement.
He let out a soft, short laugh. It wasn’t a mean sound, but it was incredibly dismissive. He shook his head, looking at her as if she were a child who had just suggested they could fly to the moon.
“Yuna,” Haruto chuckled softly, an edge of deep, ingrained sadness coloring his tone. “Don’t joke like that.”
“I’m not joking,” she pleaded, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“You don’t love me,” Haruto said, his voice firm, speaking it as an absolute, undeniable law of the universe. He offered her a kind, devastating smile. “I’m just average Haruto. I’m safe, and I’m convenient right now. But I’m not a rich bad boy.”
He picked up a folded shirt and placed it neatly in the basket, breaking their eye contact.
“And we both know,” he finished quietly, the ghost of high school heartbreak echoing in the room, “you like rich bad boys.”
The words struck her with the force of a physical blow. The air rushed out of Yuna’s lungs.
He didn’t say it to be cruel. He said it because he believed it with every fiber of his being. He believed that the year they had spent together, the way she looked at him, the way they raised Aoi—none of it was born from romantic love. In his mind, he was permanently disqualified, locked forever in the ‘friend zone’ because he didn’t drive a sports car and he didn’t have tattoos. He thought she was just grateful for the shelter.
Yuna felt the hot sting of tears threatening to spill over, but she fiercely bit the inside of her cheek. She refused to cry. Crying would only make him feel guilty, and guilt was not what she wanted from him.
She looked at his lowered head, at the meticulous way he was folding the laundry to avoid looking at her again.
You’re wrong, Yuna thought, a sudden, fierce determination igniting in her chest, burning away the sadness. I was a stupid girl who liked a boy who hurt her. Now, I am a woman who loves a man who saved her.
She realized then that a simple confession wouldn’t work. His insecurities were too deep, his armor too thick. Telling him she loved him would just make him doubt her sincerity. If she wanted Haruto to believe her, she couldn’t just say the words. She had to show him. She had to completely dismantle the ghost of Kaito and prove that the only man she wanted—the only man she found attractive, exciting, and perfect—was the one sitting right in front of her.
“I’m going to go check on Aoi,” Yuna said softly, her voice remarkably steady.
She stood up from the table, leaving the basket of laundry behind. Haruto gave a brief nod, still not looking up.
As Yuna walked down the hallway, her heart ached, but her mind was racing. The polite, comfortable distance between them was over. The war for Haruto’s heart had officially begun, and Yuna had absolutely no intention of losing.
