Hana hadn't even asked for his name.

Her brain had retained a lot of futile stuff, like the intensity of his gaze, the perfume that impregnated his skin marked with some tattoos, or the heat of his touch, but not even for a second, she had the prospect of asking him what his name was. And it was only hours later, on the way back, that she realized it.

The loud screeching of the gravel under her shoes brought her back to reality, and as every time that she forgot that the path leading to her home was full of it, Hana cursed the one who had the wonderful idea of having gravel all around the house. It was a blessing that her grandmother's hearing was bad, otherwise she would have been caught a good hundred times already...

As silently as possible, Hana snuck up to the porch, located upstream from the property. It was not very high and placed right in front of the window of her room, on the first floor. A godsend for the young woman who had taken the habit of sneaking out, avoiding the front door like the plague.

She didn't even have to think about climbing the roof anymore. Even with her eyes closed, Hana knew perfectly where the right holds were to hoist herself onto the roof frame, using the old gutter on her side to climb. It was therefore without too much difficulty that she managed to reach her room, jumping through her window that she always made sure to block with an old book with a bottle-green cover.

A thud rang through the room as Hana's feet landed on the floor, soon followed by a muffled grunt as the pain of her scratched knees awoke from the impact. With everything that had happened, this detail, she had also forgotten.

It was sure enough to make her first experience memorable.

A sigh escaped her as she hardly dragged herself to her bathroom, determined to take care of her wounds despite the already late hour of the night. Relaying her fatigue in the back oh her mind, she also forced herself to do a quick wash up before reaching her bed, without even bothering to slip under the duvet. The next moment, sleep had already picked her up.

─── ∗∙⋅❀⋅∙∗ ───

Her night had been rather short and her sleep restless. It was with a headache coming right from hell that Hana woke up a few hours later, her limbs numb and stiff.

For long minutes, she lay on her back, staring at the chandelier on her ceiling, while the memories of the previous night went back to her mind. She didn't feel an ounce of regret or shame for any of the events that had taken place. It was quite the opposite. Hana had a great evening, and her fortuitous encounter with this stranger was definitely playing a part in it. Unconsciously, she began to smile slightly.

But her smile faded very quickly when she heard the screaming voice of her grandmother resonating from the lower floor, probably commanding her to get up. A long sigh of annoyance escaped her. She began to rub her tired eyes as she bitterly thought that even in the early morning, the old woman was already finding a way to bug her deeply.

When her parents died, Hana was placed under the authority of her paternal grandmother, Mikoto Hoshino. But cohabitation was not going well.  As far as Hana could recall, the sixty-year-old didn't get along well with her late son. Hana suspected that, now that he was no longer of this world, her grandmother was transferring her despise to her.

Despise that had now grown to be mutual.

Her grandmother spent her time tracking her, blaming her for a bunch of trivialities, and Hana felt trapped. She felt like she was being treated like a kid who couldn't think for herself, and she hated being controlled by any means. Sometimes, she even found her current situation worse than when her parents were still alive. The only difference was that her eldest didn't put as much pressure on her with figure skating.

Since the death of the Hoshino couple, almost three years ago, Hana had withdrawn from competitions and had never resumed since. She was content with her private lessons, claiming not to feel ready to take on all the pressure that represented the competitions. Her grandmother had, surprisingly, accepted her choice without ever challenging it, and this was one of the few positive things Hana could boast about since she started living under her roof.

Everything else was questionable. Hana didn't hate skating. Far from it. She did it more because she was talented rather than passionate. If at first, she forced herself not to disappoint her parents, for whom it was unthinkable that she would not follow their trail, with time, the young woman had accepted it.

Forcing herself to do what she didn't want, it had always been one of her specialties.

—Hana, shouted Mikoto – once again - from the bottom of the stairs. Enough of just sitting there, get up! Cleaning is not going to do itself alone.

Ah, yes. Saturday is for household chores. With the prospect of polishing the bathroom from top to bottom, on her knees with new wounds that adorned her skin and headache, Hana wanted to go back to sleep. But hey, she really had no choice but to help, she owed it at least on principle.

—I'm coming in two minutes, shouted the young woman while straightening in bed. Old witch, she added, dragging her feet to her closet.

On her way to her wardrobe, Hana didn't notice the handbag she had abandoned in the middle of the passage the day before and almost tripped on it. She picked up a new burst of sigh and picked up her bag, planning to take out her cell to charge it. However, her fingers met an object she didn't know, and it was with a frown that she pulled out her find to examine it more closely.

A pack of cigarettes on which a small box of matches had been taped. Hana didn't smoke. How did it end up in her stuff?

Planted in the middle of her room, Hana was sifting through the events of the day before, trying to find answers to her questions. And then, a detail suddenly popped in her mind and a hiccup of surprise almost escaped her when the connections were made in her mind.

These cigarettes, they belonged to the stranger of the bridge. She remembered it now. At one point, between two embraces, he had taken it out to smoke. Hana must have inadvertently picked it up...

With an almost timid gesture, she opened the package to peer and she found out that it was almost full. She bit her lip, even more annoyed to have deprived this boy of his property.

—Hana !

The young woman suddenly came out of her prevarications, and without further reflection, she hastily stuffed the package where she had found it and put her bag in a discreet corner of her room. She would find a better hiding spot later, for now, she had to get down as quickly as possible.

The young woman didn't even bother to charge her phone or change clothes. She simply rushed down the stairs and hurried to the dining room, where her grandmother had been waiting for a few minutes.

—You took some time, said the sixty-year-old, in a tone which bore the irritation.

—Sorry, Hana mumbled in a small voice as she sat down at the table.

—Yet you have no excuse, she continued in a hard voice, putting her disapproving gaze on her granddaughter. You didn't go to the rink yesterday. This is the third time you've been skipping your training, Hana.

The brunette didn't answer right away and took the bowl that her grandmother had prepared for her. She deliberately avoided eye contact, as if she were afraid that her interlocutor might somehow discover anything about the truth.

—I was tired, she replied in a neutral tone, her gaze concentrated on her breakfast.

—Tired of what, exactly? Mocked the grandmother, grabbing her cutlery.

—I spent the evening copying the summary that Kazuya lent me. I have to give it back to him on Thursday, before his training.

It wasn't quite a lie. Hana had borrowed the notes of her eldest, Kazuya Shirai, and she had indeed promised to return them to him as soon as possible. The only nuance is that she had made a photocopy so she wouldn't waste her the evening playing as a scribe.

—Kazuya is too kind. He should have left you to cope, it would have taught you not to daydream in class.

Hana said nothing and the two women ate in a religious silence. The atmosphere was thought-provoking, but neither seemed to notice since it wasn't different from usual. Their meal was frugal, respecting to the gram the particular diet that the skater had to follow. Her grandmother allowed her no deviation from her diet, meticulously counting every calorie and banishing from her kitchen any food she thought was bad for her figure. These restrictions were very binding, but Hana had, once again, ended up learning to deal with them in order to avoid attracting more wrath from her guardian.

A quarter of an hour later, Hana went upstairs and began the endless list of household chores that awaited her. This occupied her for a good part of the morning, so the pack of cigarettes hidden at the bottom of her purse completely came out from her head.