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It was the first rainy night of the season.
Gray clouds wept endlessly over the city, soaking the streets, rooftops, and memories alike.
Inside Harukoo's home, everything was quiet except for the soft patter of raindrops on the windows. The house felt too big. Too cold.
Maria sat on the couch, staring at the television—but it wasn't on. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers tightly clasped. Across from her, Yuki sat hunched over the coffee table, staring at her own reflection in a glass of untouched water.
It had been three months since Harukoo walked out on his eighteenth birthday.
And he had never come back.
Not once.
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Maria's Confession
"I remember when he was five," Maria whispered, almost to herself. "He used to ask me to sit with him while he watched cartoons. Just sit. Not even talk."
Yuki glanced up, surprised by her mother's voice breaking the silence.
Maria continued. "I always told him I was busy. Too many chores. Too tired. But… I wasn't. I just didn't want to look at him."
She swallowed. Her eyes glistened.
"Because when I looked at him… all I could see was my husband, gone. And I blamed him."
Yuki's voice was hoarse. "He was a kid."
"I know," Maria said, finally looking at her daughter. "But grief doesn't think straight. I poured all my love into you, thinking it would fix the hole in my heart. But I didn't realize I was making a new one."
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Yuki's Pain
"I used to hate him too," Yuki admitted. "Not because he hurt me. But because he was so quiet. So distant. I thought he didn't care about anyone."
She stared down, tears slipping quietly onto her lap.
"But now I know… he was just protecting himself."
Maria reached out slowly, hesitating before placing her hand over Yuki's.
"I want him back," Yuki whispered. "I want to tell him I was wrong. That I…"
She didn't finish.
She couldn't.
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Mika's Attempt
At school, Mika waited near the back gate, umbrella in hand, eyes scanning the crowd of students trickling out in pairs and groups. Laughter and chatter filled the air—but she wasn't listening.
She spotted him—Harukoo—walking with Silva, her hand in his. The two laughed softly, Harukoo's arm slung casually around Silva's shoulder. He was different now. Taller. Sharper. Alive in a way she'd never seen when they were children.
Mika's heart raced. Her hand tightened around the umbrella handle.
She stepped forward.
"Harukoo… can I talk to you?"
He paused. Silva gave her a look—sharp, assessing—but nodded and stepped aside.
The rain fell softly between them.
Mika took a shaky breath. "I know I messed up. And I know I didn't see you. But I do now."
Harukoo was quiet.
"I was stupid," Mika continued. "I didn't know what I had until I lost it."
"You didn't lose me," Harukoo said gently. "You gave me away."
Mika's lip trembled. "I thought Kaito saved me, but it was you. That night… you were the one who stopped those guys."
He nodded.
"I've known for a while now," Mika admitted. "And I kept hoping… maybe we could go back. Start over."
Harukoo's eyes were unreadable. Then, softly, "Mika… I'm happy now."
Those words shattered her more than any insult ever could.
"But we were childhood friends—"
He shook his head. "No. You were my childhood. But I'm not a child anymore."
He turned and walked away, joining Silva under her umbrella. They didn't even look back.
Mika stood there, soaking in the rain.
Alone.
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Later That Night: Harukoo's Phone Buzzes
He picked it up. A message from an unknown number.
> Mom: Harukoo… please come home. Even for a moment. It's your mother.
Another followed:
> Yuki: I'm sorry. I know I have no right. But I miss you. I miss us. Please, just reply… even once.
He stared at the screen.
Then slowly turned the phone face-down on his desk.
The rain kept falling outside.
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