The quiet hum of hospital monitors and the occasional soft footfalls of nurses filled the corridor as Akihiko stepped into the room.
Makoto looked up from his seat beside the hospital bed where his mother now lay peacefully in a regular room.
The tension in his shoulders finally seemed to ease after days of uncertainty.
Akihiko stood tall and composed, his presence calm as always, but with a gentleness in his gaze that hadn't been there before.
Makoto met his eyes with a nod, his expression unreadable at first.
"She's stable now." Makoto said, his voice low. "They said she can probably go home in a few more days."
Akihiko nodded. "That's good. She's strong."
There was a short silence between them, filled only by the faint beeping of the monitors.
Then Makoto asked, "Where's Ayaka?"
"She went home." Akihiko replied softly, almost apologetically. "She has work tomorrow, but she promised to come back and visit."
Makoto gave a small nod, staring at his mother for a long moment before turning back to Akihiko. "Can we talk outside?"
Akihiko didn't hesitate. "Of course."
The two men stepped out into the hallway.
It was late—quiet enough that their footsteps echoed faintly off the pristine floors and sterile walls.
They stopped near a window overlooking the sleeping city, the distant glow of traffic lights painting a soft, red hue across the floor.
Makoto leaned against the windowsill, arms folded.
He didn't look at Akihiko at first.
He just stared out into the night, collecting his thoughts.
"At first." he began, voice steady but tinged with something heavy, "I didn't understand why Ayaka kept holding on to you even after you left. She was hurting. We were all hurting. But she... she never let go. Not really."
Akihiko remained silent, giving him space.
"I thought I could hate you." Makoto said with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "I wanted to. I convinced myself I did. But when I finally saw you again, I heard your side of everything… I realized I never truly hated you."
He turned to look at Akihiko directly now.
"In fact, it's really hard to hate you. If someone didn't know you, they might think you're cold. Emotionless, even." He smiled a little. "But you're not. You just don't show your cards unless it matters."
Akihiko tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the words, but still said nothing.
"I tried..." Makoto continued, his voice breaking slightly, "to be the one beside her. I stayed. I was patient. I tried to get her to see me the way she sees you. To look at me with that same light in her eyes."
A long pause.
"But I failed." His tone was calm, accepting, but the ache behind the words was unmistakable. "Even after all these years… even after everything I did… I still lost."
Akihiko's expression softened.
Still, he let Makoto speak, knowing these words were not meant to be interrupted.
"I guess..." Makoto went on, "facing that truth, saying it out loud like this—it's like taking off a heavy coat you didn't know you were wearing. I feel… lighter."
He smiled, not with bitterness, but with genuine warmth.
"She's everything to me."
Akihiko's voice finally broke the silence.
It was low, like the gentle murmur of the sea at night.
"She's my world." he said, voice thick with unspoken emotion. "My peace...my home."
Makoto watched him, surprised by the rawness.
"She's the music I can't get tired of listening to." Akihiko continued, his voice trembling just slightly. "The art I could stare at for hours and still find something new. She's the oxygen I need to breathe every day."
Makoto blinked, caught off guard.
Then, slowly, a genuine smile formed on his face.
"It's my first time seeing the Ice Prince melt." he teased lightly, trying to break the tension.
Akihiko smiled faintly in return, but his eyes remained serious. "That too..." he replied quietly. "If needed, I'd melt for her."
Makoto chuckled, the sound softer than usual.
He stepped forward and extended his hand.
"You know..." he said, "if we weren't in love with the same girl, I think we could've been good friends."
Akihiko looked down at the offered hand for a second, then took it firmly.
"Please take care of her." Makoto said earnestly. "Treasure her properly. She deserves that much."
Akihiko's grip tightened slightly, his voice a vow. "I will."
They stood like that for a moment—two men, both having fought for the same heart, now standing on a quiet battlefield where only respect remained.
Makoto hesitated before speaking again. "Although… can I talk to her tomorrow?" His eyes searched for Akihiko's face. "I already know the outcome. But I promised her I'd do it properly—face-to-face. Whether she turns me down or not, I want to keep that promise."
Akihiko stared at him, then let out a soft sigh.
"I'll give you an hour." he said with a smirk. "Sort things out."
Makoto burst out laughing, light and easy this time. "And the possessive Ice Prince is back."
Akihiko raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
The tension between them had shifted now—no longer adversarial, but oddly companionable.
The pain, the rivalry, the quiet heartbreak—it had all settled into something deeper.
Something understood.
The two of them walked slowly down the hallway, talking quietly.
About Ayaka.
About life.
About the strange twist of fate that brought them together and yet kept them on opposite sides.
And though they were still rivals in love, for that moment, they were simply two men who had both loved deeply—each in their own way.
And that made all the difference.
------
The hospital garden was quiet in the early morning.
The sky was painted with soft streaks of pink and gold, and the gentle rustle of leaves was the only sound that filled the air.
A breeze passed by, cool and almost solemn, as if the world itself knew that something important was about to happen.
Ayaka walked slowly down the stone path, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her cardigan.
The sun wasn't fully out yet, but light was breaking through the trees, casting long shadows across the benches and flower beds.
She spotted him sitting on the wooden bench beneath the old camphor tree—their agreed meeting place.
Makoto stood the moment he saw her, his hands in his pockets, but his shoulders visibly tense.
His usual grin was gone.
In its place was a quiet, vulnerable expression that Ayaka rarely saw from him.
"Hey." he said softly.
"Hi." she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
They stood facing each other for a long moment.
Neither moved.
The silence between them was heavy with the weight of unspoken words.
Finally, Makoto broke it.
"Thanks for coming." he said.
Ayaka nodded. "Of course."
Makoto took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if steadying himself. "I've been trying to figure out what to say." he admitted. "How to say it without making it harder for both of us."
Ayaka looked down, her heart already aching. "You don't have to force it."
"No." he said gently. "I want to. You deserve to hear it."
He stepped closer, not too close, just enough to be heard without raising his voice.
"Ayaka… I think I've loved you for a long time. Maybe from the moment I met you. That day when you signed my book. I'm not even sure when it started, but I know it never stopped."
Ayaka's eyes shimmered, but she didn't look away.
"I tried not to fall deeper." Makoto continued. "I told myself it was my chance. That maybe, if I stayed, if I was kind and patient, if I made you laugh, you'd eventually look at me and see me the way you saw him."
His voice cracked slightly.
"I know I can't compete with history. Or with someone you've already given your heart to. But I still wanted to try. I had to."
Ayaka felt her chest tighten.
Her lips trembled, and she clenched her fists at her sides.
"I love you." Makoto said, voice raw now. "With everything I am. And if—if there's even the smallest part of you that thinks there could be an us, I'd wait. I'd wait a lifetime, Ayaka."
Tears slid down her cheeks before she could stop them.
"I'm so sorry, Makoto…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "You've been nothing but kind, and gentle, and patient. You've made me smile when I thought I couldn't. You stood by me when I was at my lowest. And I—I will always be grateful for you."
Makoto looked down, swallowing hard.
He already knew what was coming.
But hearing it still hurts.
"But…" she said, barely able to breathe, "I can't return those feelings."
Makoto's eyes turned glassy, and he looked away, blinking furiously.
"You're amazing Makoto... You really are." Ayaka said, stepping closer now. "And I hate myself for hurting you."
He shook his head, a tear finally slipping down his cheek. "Don't." he said, voice hoarse. "Don't hate yourself. I knew. Deep down, I always knew."
He laughed softly, bitterly. "You said his name in your sleep once, you know. Back when you stayed over after your fever. I didn't tell you because… well, I guess I didn't want to admit it to myself either."
Ayaka covered her mouth as more tears spilled over. "I'm so sorry…"
Makoto wiped his face quickly with the back of his hand, forcing a shaky smile. "I just wanted to hear it from you. That's all. And now that I have, I can let go."
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a small, folded piece of paper.
"This was my confession letter." he said, handing it to her. "I wrote it a long time ago but I never had the courage to give it to you. I don't need it anymore, but I want you to have it. Not to burden you… just to let you know it was real."
Ayaka took the letter, her hands trembling. "Thank you. For everything. For loving me so purely."
Makoto gave a small nod, then slowly reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
It was the gentlest of touches, one last goodbye he allowed himself.
"I'll be okay." he whispered. "Eventually."
She stepped forward and hugged him—tight, heartfelt, shaking.
And he held her back, burying his face into her shoulder as the tears he'd tried so hard to hold back finally fell freely.
They stayed like that for a moment suspended in time, wrapped in silent sorrow, until slowly, Ayaka pulled away.
Her eyes met his, red and glistening.
Then she turned.
At the end of the garden path, Akihiko stood waiting.
He wasn't wearing his usual white coat—just a simple black sweater and jeans.
But there was something in his stance, in his stillness, that made him look like he belonged in her world completely.
He was looking only at her.
And Ayaka—despite the tears still streaming down her face—smiled.
She broke into a run.
Makoto watched as she ran to him, her hair catching the wind like a trailing banner, her heart clearly on her sleeve.
Akihiko opened his arms as she reached him, and she fell into them without hesitation.
He held her close, as if he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.
Makoto stood there, unmoving.
His heart shattered but lightened at the same time.
He watched them for one long, soul-aching minute, and then, with a quiet, broken smile, he turned and walked the other way.
The tears didn't stop falling.
But the weight was finally gone.