It wasn't before the early hours of the next morning that Keisuke left the Hoshino mansion to return home.

It had stopped raining, but the cold persisted. Even sheltered in his pockets, his fingertips felt frozen, a fact which, despite the urge he felt, strongly dissuaded him from taking out a cigarette to keep himself company. His only dream now was to get home as quickly as possible and make himself a nice cup of coffee in his kitchen, hoping that no one would cross his path. He wasn't in the mood to meet anyone.

When he pushed open the main door, he was greeted by complete silence. It was so early in the morning that no maids were yet wandering the corridors, which suited him just fine: Keisuke didn't need any special assistance to put his jacket away, he knew the way to his kitchen quite well without someone accompanying him, and above all, he didn't need anyone to tell his father what time he returned home. Even if he didn't care, he wouldn't mind not being spied on so early in the morning.

As silent as his shadow, the young man quickly made his way upstairs to the dining room. As if luck was by his side, he passed only by a cleaning lady in the corridor. She paused in her task to greet him with a slight bow, but she didn't linger to chat, letting him slip away as quickly as he had appeared. And once again, to his delight, the dark-haired man was pleased to discover that not a soul was to be found in the kitchen.

However, the roar of the coffee machine had undoubtedly alerted the whole household of his presence here, and now he wouldn't even have been surprised to see some of the household staff rushing in to make sure he wasn't missing anything. He'd been so absent of late that, at the slightest opportunity, the housemaids couldn't help but take care of him.

In fact, the fruit basket full of freshly supplied tangerines, displayed prominently on the counter, could testify to this. He was the only one in the house to willingly eat them, and this had not escaped the vigilance of the cooks, who always made sure they had some in reserve, just for him. 

It didn't fail. With his coffee in hand, Keisuke wasted no time in picking one of the fruits as he passed the basket before heading for the bay window. For a few seconds, he hesitated to open it for a smoke, but thinking of the cold that would await him there once more, the boy resigned himself. Instead, he sat down on the nearest sofa, put his pack of cigarettes and his cup on the glass coffee table, and began peeling the tangerine while yawning. He was so focused on his task that he didn't immediately notice that someone was watching him from the doorway. He hadn't heard anyone approaching.

—I knew I heard the coffee machine.

Recognizing the voice, the young man froze completely. His eyes darted towards the entrance, and his heart missed a beat with difficulty. He didn't expect to see her here, which almost made him forget how to breathe properly.

His mother stood there, looking even more fragile than he remembered. Despite the distance between them, the drawn lines of her face and the obvious pallor of her complexion hit him hard. Sleep was sorely lacking, he could see, and an enormous sense of guilt gripped him at the idea that he might be the cause of it.

—Did I wake you up? He exclaimed in a barely audible voice.

In his mouth, the words tasted like ashes. The thought of him being guilty of stealing her rest was enough to turn his stomach upside down. His mother's health was concerning enough without him getting involved in any ways.

—No, Honoka breathed with a smile that was meant to be soothing. I already was.

A wave of relief washed over the young man, but it was brief. The next moment, a new wave of sorrow washed over him as he saw the difficulty with which his mother was moving, holding on as best she could with her arms, which were as weak as the rest of her body. Without even realizing it, Keisuke had jumped up to support her.

—Wait, exclaimed the boy. You're going to get tired, Mom.

Despite the thick robe she was wearing, Keisuke couldn't ignore the fact that she had lost weight again, perhaps even more than ever. The bones of her phalanges protruded, as did those of her arms, which he could feel beneath his fingers. He feared he might crush them to dust if he squeezed a little too hard.

At this distance, the angular features of her face looked even more hollow, and her eyes even darker. He could barely make out the pupils. The disease had given her no respite, aging her gorgeous face by at least a good fifteen years.

—Thank you, sweetheart.

The softness with which she expressed herself only increased the lump painfully lodged in his throat. The tenderness in her eyes moved him to tears. How could she still find the strength to show him so much love? How could she smile like that, when she herself seemed so close to collapsing on the cold kitchen floor? Despite the illness eating away every part of her body, his mother was still the loving, gracious woman he had always known.

—Come and sit down, the boy said calmly, directing her to the sofa he'd been sitting on a moment earlier. Are you cold? He inquired.

Honoka didn't reply immediately. Her gaze had grown sadder as it settled on the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Keisuke knew she didn't like seeing him smoke. He knew she felt responsible for it, even though she shouldn't. When she smelled the smoke on his clothes, she always felt guilty, which in return made his heart ache. The pain in her eyes took his breath away. But the worst was when she apologized. She apologized that he'd fallen into this vicious circle, as if she'd caused it. God knows she didn't, but no matter how many times he said it, she never seemed to believe it.

Honoka suffered so much from illness, but she suffered even more to know that her healthy son was rotting his lungs with such nonsense. Her children were far more valuable to her than any ailment she suffered.

After what seemed like an eternity, his mother raised her head and their eyes met. The sense of sorrow he had glimpsed earlier had completely disappeared, giving way to so much gentleness that it only increased the crushing pain of guilt he felt in his heart.

—Don't worry about me, Honoka reassured him, smiling gently. I'm not made of sugar, after all.

But that wasn't enough to silence the anguish on Keisuke's face. He couldn't hide it. Not from her. Not from his mother, who seemed to be closer to death than she cared to admit. Seeing her pretend to be fine so as not to worry him was even worse. She didn't have to use up what little energy she had left to pretend.

—Come and sit down too, the adult offered gently, patting the empty seat beside her. You were having breakfast before I disturbed you, weren't you?

—You're not disturbing me, replied the dark-haired boy immediately, before carefully sitting down beside his mother. I'm glad to see you.

The moments he spent with her were so few that the young man had learned to cherish them with all his being. They were moments as rare as they were precious. He couldn't even remember the last time they'd been together like this, just the two of them, far from the stifling and agonizing four walls of the hospital.

—The school called to say they didn't see you on Friday, his mother told him, giving him a side eye. I told them you were sick. They accepted the excuse. Your father doesn't know, and I don't intend to tell him.

Guilt surfaced again, like a tidal wave. He didn't show it, however, managing once again to mask his innermost emotions.

—You don't have to lie for me. I'm old enough to make my own choices.

She sighed heavily.

—You know your father wouldn't approve of you talking like that... and don't tell me you don't care 'bout what he thinks, she anticipated as she saw him open his mouth to retort. Even if you don't like it, he's still the man who raised you. I don't want to see you in constant conflict.

Raised was a big word for his taste. But as much as the words displeased him, the young man remained surprisingly silent.

—I was worried about where you spent the night, but now that I see you, I'm reassured because I understand.

Honoka's enigmatic smile showed not the slightest hint of reproach, and Keisuke was so taken aback by her amusement at his absence that he almost forgot to feel guilty for having caused her any trouble. She was up to something, and what happened next only confirmed his suspicions.

—Tell me, Keisuke, commented his mother in an exaggeratedly honeyed tone. When will I get to meet the girl you love ?

Keisuke blinked, flabbergasted both by the question and by his mother's increasingly hilarious expression. She was obviously holding back her laughter at his bewildered expression.

—My what? He managed to say. I don't have a girlfriend, if that's what you mean.

—Don't put words in my mouth.

The boy raised an eyebrow, which only accentuated his mother's amusement.

—Come on, she scolded him in a falsely vexed voice. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Last time I checked, you don't leave two cups on the counter, let alone one with lip balm on it. Not to mention the fact that the housemaids reported that you've brought a gorgeous young girl in here. Several times. The list of evidence goes on and on. Shall I continue?

Keisuke opened his mouth to reply in the negative, but was beaten to it by his mother who - obviously - wanted to continue. Nothing could stop her.

—You know, even Rina talked about it. It's been a long time since she spoke with so many stars in her eyes, and this must be the first time it happened with a subject that doesn't concern you directly.

The dark-haired boy closed his mouth, having nothing to retort. His mother's confession resonated deep within him, and he found his little sister's gesture so touching that he closed his eyes on her betrayal.

—To be honest, that's what tipped me off, she continued in a more serious tone. The fact that you'd leave Rina alone with someone she doesn't know, even though you're so protective of your sister... I thought this girl was different from your other acquaintances... but maybe I'm wrong?

Unable to meet his mother's gaze, Keisuke looked away. He'd suspected for some time that his father wasn't the only one who'd realized he'd been collecting one-night stands. However, hearing his mother's half-hearted admission that she knew made him uneasy. He didn't want to tarnish her image of him and disappoint her, but lying to her by denying the facts wasn't even an option in his eyes. So, because she seemed to have already figured out things by herself, Keisuke deigned to express his thoughts aloud.

—It's complicated, commented the young man cautiously, searching for the right words. We're not dating, but Hana means more to me than... anyone else. She's different. You're right. That's why I left her with Rina. I knew they'd get along. She's...

He paused and shook his head.

—That's all there is to know.

Honoka gently took hold of her son's hands. They were icy cold, so she gripped them tighter. Keisuke raised his head and dared to meet her gaze. His mother's eyes were shining, filled with such intense joy that the young man felt shivers run down his spine. She seemed on the verge of tears, so emotional. He couldn't understand why.

—She makes you happy, guessed his mother.

It wasn't a question, but he nodded guiltily all the same.

—You deserve to be, too, Honoka murmured, her smile trembling with emotion. I don't know why you persist on thinking otherwise, but I'll never stop telling you. You don't have to stop yourself from feeling this way. Just because you're happy in your life doesn't mean you don't care about Rina or me. I know, sweetheart, that you mean to do well, but you don't have to deprive yourself of living for us.

Honoka slid one of her gnarled hands over her son's cheek and caressed it gently. Her eyes glided over his face, as if she wanted to memorize even the subtlest details.

—You've always been such a nice kid, your sister is lucky to have you. Very lucky. With you in her life, I have no worries about... when I'll leave you two behind.

Keisuke tensed. The muscles in his jaw contracted forcefully to withstand the sensation of being stabbed in the heart.

—Don't say that, the dark-haired boy managed to articulate despite the lump that had lodged in his throat.

—Don't say what? That I've only got a few years to live? Just five if I manage to make it until I'm forty ?

There was no trace of sadness or fear in her voice, as there often is when a fatal disease grows inside someone. Resigned, she had accepted the fate that had long awaited her and hoped that those around her would do the same. When her life would come to an end, she didn't want those around her to suffer any more than they already had.

—The doctors say I won't last much longer, said her mother, stroking his cheek with her thumb. Denying the obvious to stay in denial won't do you any good, sweetheart. It's time you accepted it.

—I'm not in denial, Mom. I know more than enough what the doctors said. I just don't like being reminded of it. I don't like it when you talk about it like it's nothing.

A sad smile appeared on Honoka's lips, but she didn't respond to it. She had begun to pull her son's hair back, freeing the strands of hair that hid those beautiful, clear eyes she so enjoyed gazing into. They reminded her of the color of the summer sky, the foam of the sea and all those beautiful memories she'd never have the chance to relive. But her eyes weren't the only thing that brought back memories. There was also that fine, irregular line that crossed the top of his forehead and disappeared into his hairline.

—It's a shame this scar is still so visible, breathed Honoka, her voice filled with regret.

Keisuke didn't flinch when his mother's fingers touched the mark. After all, she'd changed so many times the bandages that covered it after he got stitches that she knew its appearance better than anyone. However, his voice was no less slanderous when he retorted.

—And then you wonder why I hate him so much, he grumbled in a voice filled with bitterness. I'll never understand what good you see in him.

The words were crude, but Honoka let them seep into her memory. She wasn't unaware of what had happened, either that day or the day before. At the time of the accident, she was already carrying Rina in her womb. The little girl had been born only a short time after the wound had healed. On the photographs of her son, meeting his sister for the first time at the maternity ward, the bandages were already off and the remains of what would later become a fine scar were visible. A scar that broke her heart every time she saw it.

Honoka had never seen Ichiro hit his son. With her or with Rina, he had never shown even an ounce of violence. In her eyes, he had been a loving husband and a caring father for her daughter. At first, it had been hard for her to imagine that the man her heart had chosen to love could behave like this when he drank too much. But when she saw the increasingly worrying bruises on her son's skin...

—I'm sorry I never intervened, she murmured desolately. I'm sorry I couldn't protect the child you were. You'd have every reason to resent my silence.

But on the contrary, Keisuke had long since understood why she had turned a blind eye to his father's actions. By then, the disease had already taken hold of her. His father had been the only one to support her, both mentally and financially. Apart from him, she had no one to rely on. Besides, she loved him. He loved her. Their feelings were stronger than anything else, and isn't it said that for love, human beings are ready to sacrifice a lot? Keisuke didn't hold a grudge. Not once had he ever held a grudge. Whatever was going on between him and his father had nothing to do with her. Absolutely nothing.

—You have nothing to reproach yourself for, and you don't have to apologize for someone else's actions.

A silent tear rolled down her mother's cheek as a mirthless laugh escaped her lips. The indulgence and maturity he showed would always surprise her. Sometimes she forgot he was no more than eighteen.

As she scrutinized her son's face, the adult could only note, once again, how similar his features were to those of his father. It was almost cruel to know that, as he grew older, her child would see more and more of his tormentor's face in the mirror. A shaky sigh escaped him.

—What's the matter? Keisuke dared to ask when he noticed her pensive expression.

—It's crazy how much you and your father look alike, Honoka whispered, as if she were talking to herself. And yet, you've inherited your mother's eyes.

Keisuke's face closed immediately as a wave of anger seeped insidiously into his being. He stepped back as if she'd burned him, freeing himself from her grip. His voice became as icy as the look in his eyes.

—That woman is not my mother, nor will she ever be, the young man blurted out, not without a certain amount of disgust.

—And yet, in my eyes, the fact that blood ties don't bind us is a blessing, Keisuke. At least I don't have to worry about having tainted the health of one of my children with my defective genes.

Honoka's words resounded with such violence that they had the effect of a sledgehammer to the head. Stunned, his heart raced in his rib cage, and the knot in his throat tightened so much that he was unable to breathe. Nausea gripped him. He felt like he was suffocating.

—Rina's not sick, the boy said in a tone of voice that had no appeal. She's doing fine.

—It's just too soon to be certain, and we cannot deny that her health has always been more fragile compared to other healthy kids of her age...

—That's enough, said Keisuke, straightening up. Please, he added in a low, imploring tone. It's already complicated enough, there's no need to make assumptions like that... and it'll tire you out for nothing. So just stop, okay?

The room fell silent again, and this time Honoka didn't speak. On the glass table, the coffee had gone cold. The half-peeled mandarin no longer appealed to him. The conversation had put an end to his hunger. Keisuke couldn't imagine eating even a quarter. The only thing that he wanted was the pack of cigarettes that found its way into his hands before he even realized he'd bent over to grab it.

—Sorry, he murmured, not daring to look up at her as he slipped a fag over his lips. I'm sorry, he said.

Without a backward glance, he opened the bay window and disappeared under the thick curtain of rain, hoping the nicotine would help soothe his soul in pain.