—You made me so ashamed today... I can't believe you're the daughter of one of Japan's top figure skaters.

On the verge of tears, Hana struggled to breathe properly.

—But I finished second, she squeaked in a small voice. That's... pretty good for a first competition, isn't it?

—No, you're kidding me, laughed Ha-Yoon Hoshino, looking at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time. You're not just settling for this place, are you? After all those hours of private lessons we paid for with the best trainers in the country? We're in the throes of delirium.

In her hands, the silver medal that had made her smile now had the weight of defeat, heavy and bitter.

—I can't believe you'd think that, continued her mother in a harsh tone. You've made so many mistakes in your program, it's hard to believe.

In an unexpected attempt to get some support from her father, the little girl timidly turned her gaze to his, but to no avail. She came up against an icy wall of disappointment so palpable that her throat knotted even tighter than she thought possible. Breathing in became painful.

—What a waste, Yuki Hoshino said simply before pinching the bridge of his nose.

—We're very disappointed in you, added Ha-Yoon. There's really nothing to be proud of in your performance, Hana.

Her eyes blurred with tears, but that didn't stop her from seeing the emotions distorting her parents' features. Disgust. Anger. Disappointment. The eight-year-old girl couldn't tell which of these emotions was predominant, but what she did know was that she was solely responsible for all this.

—I thought she was finally mature enough to take competitions seriously, Ha-Yoon mumbled in Korean - her mother tongue - as if her daughter couldn't understand her. We had to sacrifice so much for her, and this is how she grant us ?

The adult began nervously biting her thumbnail, her lip trembling with rage. She began pacing up and down the family room, torn between laughter bordering on hysteria and the irresistible urge to start screaming. Yet her voice remained perfectly controlled when she addressed Hana again, which made her even more frightening.

—Compared to that girl, you'd think she'd never put on skates in your life.

Every word that burst from her mother's mouth resonated within Hana with unheard violence, redoubling her silent sobs. Hot tears began to roll down her cheeks.

But with her eyes brimming with dull anger, the adult remained stoic despite her cries, as if they were only confirmation of her obvious weakness.

—This girl didn't even have to try hard for victory, hissed her mother, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. I hope you realize that, Hana.

At her side, her husband remained much more moderate in his comments, but it was no less violent for Hana. Sitting on the sofa opposite her, he simply nodded in agreement to his wife's every word, without hiding from the disappointment his child had caused him. His hands were so clenched on the armrests that his knuckles had turned white.

Hana didn't dare reply, her head bowed over the powder-pink fabric of her competition dress. The little girl curled up even more than she already was on the huge couch, praying for this ordeal to end as soon as possible. She longed to disappear, for the ground to crack open beneath her feet and swallow her and her shame into the hollowest depths of this earth.

—I knew we shouldn't have brooded over Hana so much, sighed Ha-Yoon, pausing in front of the living-room window. We should have stood firm against your mother's advice and enrolled her immediately in one of those training programs Russia offers, she continued, casting a murderous glance in her husband's direction. At least all our efforts would have paid off in the end.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Hana could hardly breathe.

—My darling, Yuki called out to her for the first time since the beginning. I think you're overacting a little.

—Overreacting? She repeated, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Do you hear yourself talk? Didn't you take a good look at what happened on the ice? We all saw it! The difference in level between Sofia Ivanov and Hana was obvious.

—Of course, but you know as well as I do that their training programs cross more than what's acceptable.

The matriarch remained silent for a moment, not so foolish as to deny the obvious.

—True, she finally replied. But I want us to hire a better coach who can instill discipline and perseverance in this young girl.

—I agree with you on that point. An acquaintance of mine could put me in touch with some very good Russian coaches. I'll see if I can hire Oksana Aksakova, who is said to work miracles. I'll contact her tomorrow.

—I've heard that she doesn't accept to supervise children. And I doubt she'll agree to move to Japan for... that.

—I'll be sure to make her an offer she can't refuse. O promise you, Ha-Yoon

Yuki's eyes slid furiously to his daughter, whom he stared at harshly through the lens of his glasses.

—I think this unfortunate experience has taught her a great lesson.

Satisfied with this answer, the adult nodded before leaving the family room without the slightest glance at her daughter. As the sound of her quick footsteps faded away, silence took its rightful place. 

In his turn, and because he had nothing more to say, his father rose from the sofa in which he had settled. He absent-mindedly dusted off the few folds of clothing before finally turning his attention back to Hana. The latter, sensing that she was being watched, slowly raised her head and once again came face to face with her father's gray prism - the one she had inherited.

Why was he staring at her like that? He seemed pensive. Was he thinking of a little word of encouragement to say ? Her childlike naïveté swelled in her heart, like the wind bulging the sails of a ship, and an ounce of innocent hope sprang up in the pit of her stomach.

But reality caught up with her with nameless brutality as she saw the muscle in his jaw contract in disgust.

—Stop crying over nothing.

He couldn't bear to see her like this, and the opportunity to let her know never escaped him. The torrent of tears and uncontrollable hiccups that shook her small figure annoyed him to no end, perhaps even more than the reason she was crying. If there was one thing, he couldn't accept...

—I didn't raise you to be weak, Hana, he said, looking away, unable to bear the sight of her tears. Stop making a spectacle of yourself and don't let it happen again.

And without further ado, he left the living room.

A shrill scream tore Hana's ears. It took her a moment to realize it was her own, and another to realize it was only a dream. Or rather, a nightmare.

As she did every time this memory came back to haunt her, the young woman woke up with a start, her throat in knots and her heart racing in her chest. Her heretical breathing prevented her from catching her breath, and her trembling hands gripped the sheets so tightly it was painful.

Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, but it was a shiver of intense cold that ran through her entire body. This made her realize that she wasn't feeling the usual unpleasant contact of her T-shirt sticking to her skin. Gradually, the hazy cloud enveloping her mind dissipated, enough to realize that she wasn't wearing anything.

What had happened to her clothes?

A wave of panic gripped her gut as she sat up abruptly, realizing as her gaze wandered through the darkness that she didn't recognize the outline of her furniture.

This wasn't her bedroom. Hana wasn't at home, yet outside it was pitch black. How could this be?

The events of the previous day came rushing back to her, intensifying her dizziness so much that she had to clutch her head in her hands to keep from giving up her guts. A strange sound crossed her trembling lips. A sob, she realized with horror.

And as if that weren't enough, her thoughts returned violently to her grandmother, telling her that she must have noticed that she'd slept over. A new wave of terror swept over everything else, and the young woman frantically grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find and pulled it over her body. Except that, just as she was about to jump out of bed in search of her underwear, a firm grip came down on her arm and a cry of surprise escaped her.

—Hey, what are you doing? Growled a husky voice she recognized at once.

—I need to go home.

—What ?

Now fully awake, Keisuke watched his partner with confusion. Her scream had woken him from his slumber, and the agitation that had followed had woken him from his rest. But now that he was scrutinizing her more carefully, finally noticing the irregular heaving of her chest, the totally disoriented look sticked to her features and the unusual brightness of her eyes, the situation suddenly became clearer to him.

She must have had a bad dream. Or at least, something terrifying enough to put her in such a state.

Without further thought, the young man pulled the fragile body against him and began to stroke her hair slowly, whispering a few phrases he hoped would soothe her.

It wasn't unusual for his little sister to come to his bedroom in the middle of the night and in the same state. Her nightmares were recurrent, and Rina's tears breakouts were quite intense. Over time, the dark-haired boy had gotten used to them. He knew how to deal with them and had developed several methods to calm her down.

He hoped one of them would have the same effect on Hana.

—It's okay, you just fell asleep earlier, he told her calmly. You had a bad trip because of the joint, he supposed. It happens.

—I need to go home, the young woman repeated, trying in vain to free herself from his grip.

Keisuke's eyebrows furrowed. This was the second time Hana had repeated this since he'd woken up. She seemed to be fixating.

—Hana, it's three o'clock, he tried to reason her. You won't get any transport at that time.

—But my grandmother...

—Isn't at your place, he interrupted, his voice as calm as ever. She's on a business trip, remember? She won't be back until morning.

—Oh, yeah. I remember now.

Her shoulders relaxed gently, and a sigh of relief passed through her. Cautiously, Keisuke ran his hands over her cheeks, cupping her face. The dampness he felt on her thumbs confirmed his suspicions, but he pretended not to have noticed.

—Hana, he called to get her attention. Look at me. Everything's fine, you hear me?

In reply, the brunette nodded weakly.

—Try to get some rest, advised the young man, discreetly wiping away the last rebellious tears rolling down her cheeks. I'll wake you up so you can catch the first bus, okay?

—Okay.

Without uttering another sentence, Hana lay back down beside the boy, curling up against his shoulder and inhaling his scent at the top of her lungs. Feeling safe at last, and with the softness of the caress against her hair, the last of her strength left her, and exhaustion took over again. She drifted off to sleep.

─── ∗∙⋅❀⋅∙∗ ───

The smell of hot coffee wafted up Keisuke's nose as he poured himself a cup, his gaze lost in the darkness of the liquid. His mind kept replaying the events of the previous night and, now that he had a clear mind, hypothesis after hypothesis poured into his head.

He'd never seen Hana in such distress, and it didn't take a mind reader to know that she hadn't simply had a bad trip, as he'd suggested. Something else had happened. Something striking enough to disorientate her completely, even within minutes following her waking up. Was it something to do with...?

Keisuke sighed, shaking his head to stop himself thinking his sentence any further. It was none of his business. Besides, only the day before, he'd made the same remark to the young woman. He wasn't the type to go back on his words, so as much as it itched his curiosity, the dark-haired boy forced himself to think of another subject.

He wanted to smoke.

Keisuke placed the coffee pot back on the worktop, next to the bowl of fruit from which he picked a tangerine. This room was just a small living-kitchen room that nobody really used, being located upstairs. But since he went there every morning, the housemaids regularly replenished the coffee and tangerine supplies, two foodstuffs that seemed to form the basis of his diet. Their little attentions turned out right for him. He no longer had to go downstairs to the huge dining room, which further minimized chance encounters with his father when the latter decided to spend a few days in the family residence.

The conflicting relationship between the two men was not public knowledge, but it was no secret to the staff at their service.

His gaze shifted to the clock on the oven, confirming that he had plenty of time to smoke one or two of his usual morning cigarettes before going to wake Hana. The boy rummaged in the pocket of his jogs - the only item of clothing he'd put on before leaving the room, unwilling to risk making noise and waking up the young woman who shared his bed. He took out his pack of cigarettes and extracted one, slipped it over his lips, then with the same hand that already held the orange-peeled fruit, he grabbed his cup of black coffee.

In a few strides, the young man found himself facing the bay window, which he slid aside. A light summer breeze rushed through the opening, caressing the bare skin of his shoulders and arms with its warm breath. A shiver ran through him because of the difference in temperature between his body and the outside, but before he could set foot on the small terrace, footsteps warned him that someone had just entered.

Hana stood a few meters away from him, her complexion much more pallid than usual. Huge purplish rings highlighted her eyes, slightly puffy and red with irritation from how much she rubbed them. Her dark hair cascaded down her back like a curtain, encircling her figure, which looked frailer than ever. She was wearing - still wearing - his T-shirt, which she'd put on during the night, tucked into her skirt, and the silver ring she'd stolen from him the day before still glittered on her thumb. The brunette didn't seem aware that she was presenting herself with so many of his belongings, but he refrained from commenting.

She seemed just as fragile as the day he'd met her at the bus stop.

—Hi, Keisuke said, turning his back to the window.

-Hey, Hana's weak voice replied.

With shuffling steps, the brunette moved into the room and pulled herself up onto one of the bar's highchairs. Each of her limbs was achingly sore, making the task less straightforward than it would normally have been. This did nothing to improve her gloomy mood. A mood which did not escape the young man's eye, who sensed that his company would not be too much to ask for his partner. So he put away his fag and moved to stand opposite the young woman on the other side of the bar.

—Would you like something to drink? Keisuke offered, pulling a cup from the cupboard. How about coffee?

She hated coffee.

—Thanks, she retorted mechanically.

The boy slipped her a cup of the still steaming patenting, then turned his attention back to his own cup and took a long sip. She watched him, wondering how he managed to swallow the bitter mixture without flinching. It was beyond her comprehension.

—Sugar? Asked the dark-haired boy, noticing that she hadn't touched her coffee. I never use it, but there must be some somewhere.

After all, he'd just remembered that she only liked things he found excessively sweet, and coffee was no exception. It would probably have been better if he'd suggested something else.

—Yes, please, the young woman nodded gratefully.

He really didn't find her very talkative this morning. Her rosy lips definitely seemed to have agreed that only the bare minimum should separate them.

Maybe the Lean wasn't working out well for her, after all.

—Here, he huffed, passing her the sugar bowl.

As he'd suspected, Hana didn't add anything, and the silence fell again.

Keisuke raised his cup to his lips again, stopping himself from commenting on the three spoonful of sugar she'd just added to her cup. What a sacrilege. If he'd known, he'd have offered her one of those bland mixtures of dead leaves in hot water, more commonly known as tea. And when he saw her wince after her first sip, the young man blamed it on the ton of sugar that was undoubtedly spoiling the flavor of her coffee.

—Aren't you going out to smoke?

Ah, finally, her tongue was loosening. Or perhaps she simply wanted to escape from her thoughts? Whatever the reason was, Keisuke looked up at the young woman who was already watching him through her dark long lashes. He noticed her nails tapping frantically on the wood of the counter, which indirectly answered his question.

—You can go if you want, she continued gently. I can see you miss it, so don't force yourself to stay and keep me company.

—It's too cold outside, shrugged the young man, before starting to peel his tangerine. Besides, I'm not addicted. I can skip it.

Hana raised an eyebrow, doubtful.

—You almost always have a cigarette between your fingers, and you now expect me to believe you?

Fair enough.

—I just like to keep my hands busy, Keisuke replied simply, placing a piece of fruit on his tongue.

—If you say so.

—And I can prove it to you whenever you want, he added with a hint of sarcasm.

His retort, though not of great interest, had the desired effect. She had lowered her head and some strands of hair were hiding part of her face, but not the shadow of the smile he had wrung from her. At least she was thinking about something else now.

When Keisuke finished chewing the last piece of fruit, a couple of minutes later, he realized how late it was and decided it was time to get moving. The young man cleared the work surface and, while stretching, turned on his heels to leave the room. As he did so, he felt Hana's curious gaze burn the back of his neck, and the sound of her voice was not long in coming.

—Where are you off to?

—I have to get dressed, I'm not sure I can go out like this, replied the dark-haired man quickly, glancing over his shoulder. I'll walk you home, I've got an errand to run, he told her briefly.

—Oh. Okay.

—Put your cup in the sink when you're done. See you.

—Akaashi?

In the doorway, the boy froze. Slowly, he pivoted to face her again, waiting patiently for her to speak again. She opened her mouth once, twice, but no sound came out. It was as if she was hesitating about what to say, and the words raced through her head, not letting any get their way through. In her eyes, he could see the battle being waged between all her thoughts to determine which would be spoken aloud. A battle that dragged on for long seconds, increasingly unbearable as time went by.

Was she going to talk again about what had happened that night? Or about their relationship, perhaps? Was she going to mention a subject concerning him, or make a simple remark that would have nothing to do with it all? What was she going to say? So many possibilities and no certainties, enough to keep him on his toes until the last second.

And then, without warning, the charcoal gaze on him suddenly became resolute, a sign that one of her thoughts had just won the deliberation. But of all the things she seemed about to say, only a few words escaped her lips in a tiny, barely perceptible murmur, but one he had no trouble catching.

—Thank you.

Keisuke remained silent. What could he say to that? He didn't know. So he didn't say anything, contenting himself with a discreet nod before turning his back for good. However, despite his lack of outward reaction, it wasn't for that reason that this little response had no effect on him. In his mind, thoughts raced everywhere, searching for the best way to interpret her thank-you. Once again, he found himself realizing that Hana Hoshino had taken possession of his thoughts, but, most importantly...

For the first time ever, smoking had completely slipped his mind.