My name is Yuzuki Hikari Tachibana.

But almost nobody called me that.

Teachers called me "Miss Tachibana" by accident.

Cashiers called me "sweet little lady."

Old women in grocery stores smiled at me and said things like:

"What a beautiful daughter."

And every single time, my parents' expressions tightened afterward.

Especially my father's.

I learned very early that beautiful things were dangerous in our house.

Cute things too.

Soft things.

Gentle things.

Things like me.

—

The first thing people noticed about our apartment was how cheerful it looked from the outside.

Tachibana Childhood Household

9-2 Aozora Lane, Yokohama, Kanagawa, Japan

The building sat above a tiny bakery near the shopping district. Every morning, the smell of warm bread drifted through open windows while pastel flower boxes decorated the balconies outside.

People always smiled when they passed by.

"It looks so cozy."

"It's adorable."

"You must love living there."

I used to smile politely whenever adults said that.

Because I didn't know how to explain that homes could look warm while feeling cold enough to freeze children from the inside out.

Inside the apartment, there were:

constant argumentsbroken dishessilence sharp enough to hurtdoors slamming late at nightexpectations too heavy for a child to carry

And underneath all of it:
the constant pressure to become someone else.

"Sit properly."

"Speak lower."

"Stop acting childish."

"Boys shouldn't like those things."

"Act properly."

Properly.

I hated that word.

It felt like someone was trying to erase me politely.

—

My room became the only place in the world that actually felt safe.

The moment someone stepped through my bedroom door, the apartment changed completely.

Soft strawberry blankets covered my bed.

Tiny bunny-shaped lamps glowed warm pink at night.

Plushies lined shelves against the walls:
rabbits,
cats,
tiny bears wearing scarves.

Cute animal stickers covered the mirror near my desk. Little charms dangled from the ceiling, spinning gently whenever wind slipped through the window.

My father called the room embarrassing.

My mother called it childish.

I called it survival.

Because when adults spent all day teaching you that softness was shameful, sometimes surrounding yourself with gentle things became the only way to remember you deserved comfort too.

At night, I would lie beneath blankets holding my favorite rabbit plush against my chest while listening to my parents fight downstairs.

Some nights, the arguments stayed muffled.

Other nights—

CRASH.

Breaking plates.

Raised voices.

Doors slamming hard enough to shake walls.

I learned how to turn the music louder during those nights.

Cute soft piano playlists.

Fantasy soundtracks.

Rain ambience.

Anything to drown out the feeling that our apartment was splitting apart beneath my feet.

Sometimes my older brother knocked quietly before entering.

He never made fun of my room.

Not once.

That mattered more than he realized.

One rainy evening, he stepped inside carrying strawberry milk from the bakery downstairs.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, sketching tiny rabbits in my notebook.

He looked around the room once before sighing softly.

"...You bought another plushie."

"It was on sale."

"That's what you said last time."

I hugged the new bunny closer defensively.

"It looked lonely."

That made him laugh quietly.

Not cruel laughter.

Warm laughter.

The kind that felt safe.

He sat beside me afterward while rain tapped softly against the windows.

"You know," he murmured, "normal people don't rescue plushies emotionally."

I looked down at the bunny's stitched face.

"...What if nobody else buys them?"

My brother stared at me for several seconds.

Then something sad crossed his expression briefly.

"...You're too soft."

I heard that constantly.

But when he said it, the words sounded worried instead of angry.

—

At school, things weren't much easier.

Mizuhara Municipal Elementary School

The school sat near a beautiful river lined with sakura trees. During spring, petals covered sidewalks like pink snow while students ran laughing beneath branches.

Teachers described the school as close-knit.

Neighborhood-friendly.

Safe.

That last part always felt funny to me.

Because children could be cruel anywhere.

Especially when someone looked different.

I looked different.

Too pretty for a boy.

Too delicate.

Too soft-spoken.

My hair naturally curled slightly near the ends, no matter how short my father forced it to be. My eyes looked too large. My voice stayed gentle even when I tried making it deeper.

I spent most recesses sketching quietly beneath sakura trees because loud games stressed me out.

That made me an easy target.

"Why do you sit like that?"

"You throw like a girl."

"Are you wearing lip gloss?"

The boys laughed constantly.

I learned how to laugh, too.

Not because things felt funny.

Because embarrassed laughter sometimes prevented worse teasing.

One afternoon during recess, several older boys cornered me near the river fence.

One grabbed the bunny keychain hanging from my schoolbag.

"This yours?"

I immediately reached toward it anxiously.

"Give it back."

"What even is this thing?"

"It's cute," another mocked dramatically.

"Careful, maybe he'll cry."

They laughed harder.

I hated crying in front of people.

Hated it.

Crying made adults irritated.

Crying made boys crueler.

Crying made me feel weak.

So instead, I stared at the ground and tried breathing normally while humiliation burned hot beneath my skin.

Then suddenly—

The laughter stopped.

Not gradually.

Immediately.

Silence spread through the group so fast it startled me.

I looked up slowly.

A taller boy stood several feet away near the sakura trees.

Messy black hair.

Dark grey eyes half-hidden behind uneven bangs.

Oversized black hoodie despite spring weather.

His hands rested loosely inside his sleeves while the wind moved softly through his dark hair.

He looked exhausted.

Not sleepy, exhausted.

Life exhausted.

The older boys immediately stepped backward.

"...Kurose."

I had heard that name before.

Everyone had.

The Guardian.

The scary kid who beat up bullies.

The quiet boy nobody messed with twice.

He looked toward my keychain first.

Then at the boys.

"Give it back."

His voice wasn't loud.

That somehow made it scarier.

One older boy tried laughing nervously.

"Mind your business."

The black-haired boy stepped closer once.

That was enough.

My bunny keychain was shoved back into my hands immediately.

The boys left quickly afterward.

I stood frozen beside the fence, clutching my bag tightly.

The black-haired boy turned to leave, too.

"...Wait."

The word escaped before I could stop it.

He paused.

I stared at his back nervously.

"...Thank you."

Several quiet seconds passed.

Then he shrugged once without turning around.

And walked away beneath falling sakura petals.

I watched him until he disappeared around the school building.

My chest felt strange afterward.

Warm.

Curious.

Safe.

It scared me a little.

—

After that, I noticed him everywhere.

Not because he stood out loudly.

Because he didn't.

He moved through school like a shadow.

Always quiet.

Always alone.

Children avoided him instinctively.

Teachers watched him carefully.

Older students lowered their voices when he passed.

But I noticed other things too.

Like how younger children followed him around nervously whenever bullies appeared nearby.

How did stray cats trust him enough to eat from his hands?

He always carried extra bandages in his hoodie pocket.

He looked angry whenever someone cried.

Not annoyed, angry.

Protective angry.

One afternoon, I watched him kneel beside a first-grade student who scraped her knee during recess.

The little girl sobbed dramatically while blood spotted her tights.

Other boys nearby looked uncomfortable.

The black-haired boy didn't.

He quietly pulled bunny bandages from his pocket.

Bunny bandages.

My heart nearly exploded.

"You carry cute bandages?" the little girl sniffled.

He looked vaguely horrified by the question.

"...They were cheaper."

Lie.

Even I could tell.

The little girl smiled shakily while he carefully bandaged her knee.

His movements looked surprisingly gentle for someone everyone feared.

That was the first moment I realized something important:

People misunderstood him.

Badly.

They saw the sharp eyes,
the bruised knuckles,
the silence,
the intimidating stare—

But they didn't notice the way he treated injured things.

And I think people reveal who they really are through the way they handle pain.

—

At home, things continued getting worse slowly.

Not dramatic enough for outsiders to notice.

Just constant.

Like dripping water slowly flooding a room.

One evening during dinner, my father noticed a pastel charm attached secretly inside my schoolbag.

The room went silent immediately.

"What is this?"

My stomach dropped.

I looked down at the tiny moon-and-rabbit charm hanging near the zipper.

My older brother froze, too.

"...It's mine."

My father removed it slowly.

Disgust twisted across his face.

"Do you enjoy embarrassing this family?"

"I just like it—"

"You just like acting ridiculous."

The charm hit the trash can hard enough to crack slightly.

I flinched automatically.

My mother stared down at her food silently.

No one defended me.

No one ever did.

"Boys don't carry childish things like this," my father snapped.

I wanted to ask:
Why?

Why was softness humiliating?

Why did cute things make adults angry?

Why did existing naturally feel wrong?

But I already knew asking questions only prolonged arguments.

So instead I whispered:
"...Sorry."

That should've ended things.

Instead, my father leaned closer.

"You apologize too much."

I stared down at my plate.

Then quietly:
"...You get angry when I don't."

The room fell silent.

Even my brother looked startled.

My father's expression darkened instantly.

For a second, I thought he might hit me.

Instead, he stood abruptly and left the table.

The front door slammed moments later.

My mother finally spoke after several minutes.

"You shouldn't provoke him."

I stared at my untouched dinner.

"I didn't."

But nobody answered.

—

That night, I climbed onto the apartment rooftop carrying my sketchbook and favorite plush rabbit.

The city glowed softly beneath summer lights while warm bakery air drifted upward from below.

I liked rooftops.

They felt farther away from yelling.

I sat beside the railing, sketching quietly beneath moonlight.

Without realizing it, I drew him again.

Messy black hair.

Sharp eyes.

Oversized hoodie.

Standing beneath sakura petals.

I stared at the sketch afterward.

Then quickly shut the notebook in embarrassment.

Why was I drawing him?

Because he protected people?

Because he carried bunny bandages secretly?

Because his eyes looked lonely in the same way mine probably did?

Maybe all three.

Wind moved softly through the rooftop.

I hugged my rabbit plush closer against my chest.

Somewhere nearby, train tracks hummed quietly beneath passing lights.

And for the first time in a long time—

thinking about someone else made the world feel slightly less heavy.

—

The next morning at school, I saw him sleeping beneath a tree before classes started.

Most students avoided him automatically.

I hesitated for several seconds before quietly approaching.

He looked exhausted even asleep.

Dark circles beneath his eyes looked worse up close.

A fading bruise lingered near his jawline, partially hidden by his sleeve.

Something twisted painfully inside my chest.

Before I could stop myself, I crouched slightly beside him.

"...Kurose?"

His eyes opened instantly.

Sharp.

Alert.

Defensive.

Like sleeping lightly had become instinct.

I startled backward.

"S-sorry!"

He blinked slowly after recognizing me.

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

"...What?"

I awkwardly held out a small packaged strawberry bun from the bakery downstairs.

"I brought extra."

Lie.

I bought it specifically for him.

He stared at the bun.

Then at me.

"...Why?"

Because you looked lonely.

Because nobody ever brings you things.

Because I think you deserve kindness too.

Instead, I answered quietly:
"...You helped me."

Several long seconds passed.

Then slowly—
awkwardly—
He accepted it.

"...Thanks."

The word sounded rusty.

Unused.

And somehow that made my chest ache even more.

He looked down at the strawberry bun afterward like he didn't entirely know what to do with it.

Then quietly:
"...Your keychain's fixed."

I blinked.

"What?"

He pointed toward my schoolbag.

The bunny charm.

The cracked moon piece had been repaired carefully with silver glue.

My eyes widened.

"You fixed it?"

A shrug.

"I found it near the trash."

For a moment, I genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Nobody had ever dug something out of the trash just because it mattered to me.

My throat tightened unexpectedly.

"...Thank you."

He looked away immediately.

Like gratitude embarrassed him.

Then the school bell rang.

Students flooded toward the classrooms around us.

The moment shattered.

He stood first, hoodie sleeves hiding his hands again.

For one second, I thought he might leave without another word.

Instead, quietly:

"...Don't let them take your stuff again."

Then he walked toward the school building beneath morning sunlight.

And I sat there holding my repaired bunny charm against my chest while something warm unfolded slowly inside me for the very first time.

Not fear.

Not loneliness.

Something softer.

Something dangerous.

Hope.

Night settled slowly over Yokohama.

From outside, the apartment above the bakery glowed warm beneath hanging lights and pastel curtains. Customers passing below probably imagined soft family dinners, laughter drifting through open windows, and a peaceful home scented with fresh bread.

Yuna had learned years ago that appearances lied beautifully.

Inside the apartment, silence pressed heavily against the walls.

His father still had not returned from work after storming out earlier. His mother moved quietly through the kitchen, washing dishes that were already clean, her expression distant and exhausted beneath the yellow light above the sink.

Yuna sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, surrounded by plushies while sketchbooks covered nearly every available surface around him.

His room remained the only part of the apartment that truly belonged to him.

Tiny moon charms rotated softly overhead whenever wind slipped through the cracked window. Strawberry blankets tangled around his legs while warm pink bunny lamps cast gentle light across walls covered in stickers and small drawings.

The room looked like the inside of a child's dream.

Maybe that was why he clung to it so desperately.

Because the rest of his life rarely felt soft.

Yuna carefully opened his sketchbook again.

The drawing from earlier stared back at him.

Messy black hair.

Sharp tired eyes.

Oversized hoodie.

Standing beneath sakura trees.

Kurose.

Haruto Kurose.

Even thinking his full name felt strange somehow.

The boy frightened almost everyone at Mizuhara Municipal Elementary School.

Children whispered stories about him constantly.

How he fought older students.

How delinquents avoided him.

How teachers watched him nervously during fights.

But Yuna didn't think Haruto looked dangerous.

Lonely maybe.

Sad definitely.

But not cruel.

Cruel people didn't carry bunny bandages.

Cruel people didn't repair broken charms they found in the trash.

Yuna traced the drawing lightly with his pencil.

Then suddenly—

Knock knock.

His head lifted instantly.

The bedroom door opened slowly before his older brother stepped inside, carrying two steaming mugs.

"Hot chocolate," Kenjiro announced quietly.

Yuna's face brightened immediately.

"You made extra marshmallows?"

Kenjiro snorted softly.

"You looked emotionally devastated downstairs."

"I was emotionally devastated downstairs."

"That tracks."

Yuna moved aside automatically while his brother sat near the edge of the bed.

Kenjiro was seven years older than him and somehow seemed both terrifying and comforting at the same time.

Tall.

Elegant.

Sharp-eyed.

Long dark hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck.

Everyone outside the family treated him carefully because he carried himself like someone impossible to intimidate.

But Yuna knew different versions of him, too.

The exhausted university student falling asleep over textbooks at 2 a.m.

The brother who secretly bought rabbit-shaped pastries because Yuna liked them.

The teenager who quietly stood between him and their father whenever arguments became dangerous.

Kenjiro noticed the sketchbook immediately.

"...Who's that?"

Yuna nearly launched the notebook across the room.

"No one!"

Kenjiro stared.

Then slowly reached for the sketchbook anyway.

Yuna clutched it protectively against his chest.

"You can't see."

"That means it's absolutely important."

"It's not."

"Then show me."

"No."

Kenjiro leaned back against the bed dramatically.

"Interesting."

Yuna narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

"You only get defensive over two things."

"I don't get defensive."

"You do."

"No, I don't."

Kenjiro pointed toward the sketchbook.

"Case in point."

Yuna buried his face into his strawberry blanket immediately.

"This is bullying."

Kenjiro laughed softly under his breath.

Warm laughter.

The kind that always loosened something tight inside Yuna's chest.

Finally, after several moments of dramatic suffering, Yuna slowly handed over the sketchbook.

Kenjiro studied the drawing carefully.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"...Kurose?"

Yuna froze.

"How do you know?"

"The entire district knows who Kurose is."

Yuna hugged his rabbit plush nervously.

"He's not scary."

Kenjiro looked up from the sketchbook.

"...You sure?"

"Yes."

"That's a bold opinion considering he hospitalized three middle schoolers last spring."

"He protected someone."

Kenjiro paused.

Yuna looked downward quietly.

"He always protects people."

The room fell silent for several seconds.

Then Kenjiro's expression softened unexpectedly.

"...You like him."

Yuna almost died instantly.

"I DO NOT."

"You drew him like he's a tragic anime protagonist."

"I was practicing facial structure!"

"You added sparkles."

Yuna grabbed the sketchbook back violently.

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

Correct.

He didn't.

Kenjiro smiled faintly while sipping hot chocolate.

Yuna looked toward him quietly afterward.

"...Do you think he's lonely?"

Kenjiro blinked.

"That's a very specific question."

Yuna hugged his knees against his chest.

"He always looks tired."

Kenjiro's expression shifted subtly.

More serious now.

"I've seen him around the neighborhood before," he admitted quietly.

Yuna looked up immediately.

"What's he like?"

"Protective." Kenjiro stared into his drink thoughtfully. "But the kind of protection that usually comes from bad homes."

Yuna's stomach tightened slightly.

"...Oh."

Kenjiro glanced toward him.

"People don't become that angry at eleven years old without a reason."

Silence settled between them.

Yuna thought about the bruises he'd glimpsed near Haruto's wrist beneath the rain.

About the exhaustion in his eyes.

About how quickly he reacted whenever someone cried.

Something hurt softly inside Yuna's chest.

"...I think he's kind."

Kenjiro studied him quietly.

Then softly:

"Maybe he needs someone to notice that."

Yuna looked down quickly before his brother noticed how warm his face suddenly felt.

—

The next few weeks passed quietly.

School remained exhausting.

Home remained tense.

But something had changed now.

Yuna no longer felt entirely alone at Mizuhara Municipal Elementary School.

Sometimes during recess, Haruto sat beneath the sakura trees feeding stray cats while Yuna sketched nearby.

Neither talked much initially.

But the silence around Haruto felt different from the silence at home.

Not heavy.

Not dangerous.

Just... quiet.

Safe quiet.

One afternoon, Yuna gathered enough courage to sit beside him beneath the trees.

Haruto immediately glanced sideways suspiciously.

"...What?"

Yuna carefully offered him strawberry milk.

Haruto stared at it as it might explode.

"...Why do you keep giving me food?"

Yuna looked down awkwardly.

"...You look hungry a lot."

Haruto froze slightly.

Yuna realized too late how personal that sounded.

"S-sorry! That sounded weird—"

Haruto quietly accepted the drink.

"...Thanks."

Yuna smiled softly afterward.

Small victory.

They sat in silence while sakura petals drifted around them.

Nearby, children laughed during recess.

Haruto suddenly spoke without looking at him.

"You draw a lot."

Yuna blinked.

"...Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Mostly cute things."

Haruto nodded once.

"...Makes sense."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You like cute stuff."

Yuna looked horrified instantly.

"...How do you know?"

Haruto pointed toward Yuna's pencil case.

Tiny bunny stickers covered the entire thing.

"...Oh."

Silence.

Then unexpectedly—

"I like your keychains."

Yuna stopped breathing.

"What?"

Haruto still refused eye contact.

"The moon is nice."

Yuna stared at him in complete disbelief.

No boy at school had ever complimented his accessories before.

Usually, they mocked them.

Laughed.

Called them girly.

But Haruto simply sounded honest.

Matter-of-fact.

Yuna's chest felt strangely warm afterward.

"...Thanks."

Haruto shrugged again.

His favorite form of communication.

Yuna decided then that Haruto secretly resembled a stray cat.

Sharp claws.

Suspicious of kindness.

Quietly affectionate when nobody noticed.

The realization made him smile the entire walk home.

—

Unfortunately, happiness rarely lasted long inside the Tachibana household.

One Friday evening, Yuna returned home to shouting already echoing through the apartment.

His stomach dropped instantly.

Not again.

The front door opened carefully.

His mother stood near the kitchen, crying while broken ceramic plates littered the floor. His father paced furiously nearby, still wearing his work suit.

Kenjiro stood between them.

Immediately, Yuna's body tensed.

"What happened?"

Nobody answered initially.

Then his father noticed him.

"Your brother embarrassed this family again."

Kenjiro's jaw tightened visibly.

"I defended him."

"You assaulted another student."

"He was harassing Yuna."

The apartment went silent.

Yuna blinked slowly.

"...What?"

Kenjiro glanced toward him briefly.

"A middle school boy grabbed your bag outside the station yesterday."

Yuna remembered immediately.

The older student who laughed at his bunny keychains.

Who called him disgusting?

Who yanked his sleeve hard enough to leave bruises.

Yuna hadn't told anyone.

"...How did you know?"

"I saw."

Kenjiro looked furious all over again, remembering it.

The father scoffed harshly.

"You attacked someone over childish teasing?"

"He touched him."

"And?"

Something dangerous flickered across Kenjiro's expression.

Yuna immediately recognized it.

The same anger Haruto carried.

"He's thirteen," Kenjiro said coldly. "Why are you acting like harassment is normal?"

"Because boys need to toughen up."

Yuna flinched automatically.

Kenjiro noticed instantly.

Their father noticed too.

Silence swallowed the room.

Then suddenly:

"You're raising him weak," the man snapped toward Kenjiro. "Look at him. Crying over toys and accessories."

"I wasn't crying."

"Not yet."

The father stepped closer.

Yuna instinctively backed away.

Kenjiro immediately moved between them.

That only escalated things further.

"You think you're the parent now?" their father snarled.

"No," Kenjiro answered sharply. "But somebody should act like one."

Wrong thing to say.

Yuna realized it instantly.

So did their mother.

"Kenjiro—"

The slap echoed through the apartment violently.

Yuna gasped.

Kenjiro stumbled sideways from the force, one hand immediately flying toward his cheek.

For one horrifying second, nobody moved.

Then Yuna ran forward instinctively.

"Stop it!"

The father grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise instantly.

Pain shot through Yuna's shoulder.

"Stay out of this."

"Let him go."

Kenjiro's voice sounded terrifyingly calm now.

Yuna looked up.

His older brother's eyes looked colder than Yuna had ever seen before.

The father shoved Yuna backward roughly.

He hit the floor hard.

His elbow slammed painfully against broken ceramic pieces scattered nearby.

Sharp pain exploded through his arm.

Yuna cried out.

Everything froze.

Blood dripped slowly onto the kitchen floor from a cut near his elbow.

Kenjiro moved instantly.

He shoved their father backward hard enough to stagger him into the dining table before kneeling beside Yuna.

"Hey."

His voice softened immediately.

"Look at me."

Yuna's vision blurred slightly from pain.

Kenjiro carefully checked the cut while glaring murderously toward the other side of the room.

The father looked stunned now.

Violence only became real once blood appeared visibly.

Coward.

Coward, coward, coward.

Yuna hated him suddenly.

Not childish frustration.

Real hatred.

Because Haruto protected strangers more gently than Yuna's own father treated family.

The realization hurt terribly.

Their mother finally rushed forward, shakily carrying towels.

"Oh my god—"

Kenjiro took them silently before helping Yuna stand.

"We're leaving."

Their father scoffed immediately.

"Don't be dramatic."

Kenjiro looked toward him slowly.

Yuna would remember that expression forever.

Cold.

Furious.

Done.

"You made him bleed."

The father opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

For once, no excuse came out.

Kenjiro guided Yuna toward the front door afterward while pressing towels carefully against his elbow.

Yuna trembled slightly.

Not from pain.

From adrenaline.

From fear.

From finally understanding something important:

Their father would never change.

Outside, cold evening wind hit their faces immediately.

Kenjiro exhaled shakily while walking them toward the river district.

"You okay?"

Yuna nodded weakly.

"...You got hit too."

"I'm fine."

Lie.

A red handprint already darkened one side of his face.

Yuna stared downward guiltily.

"...Sorry."

Kenjiro stopped walking immediately.

"What?"

"You got hurt because of me."

Kenjiro looked genuinely horrified.

"Don't say that."

"But—"

"No."

His voice softened again.

"You being hurt is never your fault."

Yuna's throat tightened painfully.

Nobody had ever said that to him before.

They continued walking quietly afterward until eventually reaching the riverside near Mizuhara Municipal Elementary School.

Sakura trees moved gently overhead beneath evening lights.

Kenjiro finally sat beside the riverbank with Yuna nearby.

The city hummed softly around them.

Cars.

Train tracks.

Wind.

Normal life continues despite everything.

Kenjiro carefully replaced bloodied towels with clean bandages from his backpack.

"You carry first aid kits now?" Yuna asked quietly.

"You're accident-prone."

"That's rude."

"It's accurate."

Yuna laughed softly despite himself.

Then winced.

Kenjiro's expression softened with relief at hearing the sound.

"...There you are."

Yuna looked toward the river quietly afterward.

"...Do you think I'm weak?"

Kenjiro paused mid-bandage.

"What?"

"Dad always says I am."

Silence settled heavily.

Then Kenjiro tied the bandage carefully before answering.

"No."

Yuna stared downward.

"But I cry easily."

"So?"

"I like childish things."

"So?"

"I'm scared all the time."

Kenjiro gently flicked Yuna's forehead.

"Ow."

"You survived this family while staying kind."

Yuna blinked.

Kenjiro looked toward the dark river thoughtfully.

"That's not weakness."

The words hit harder than expected.

Yuna suddenly realized he might cry again.

Embarrassing.

Kenjiro noticed immediately.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"You're making the face."

"I'm not making a face."

"The emotional face."

Yuna laughed weakly through tears.

Kenjiro sighed dramatically before pulling him sideways into a loose hug.

Yuna froze initially.

Physical affection felt unfamiliar.

Awkward.

But warm.

Very warm.

"You're my little brother," Kenjiro murmured against his hair. "I don't care what dad says. You're allowed to like soft things."

Yuna buried his face against Kenjiro's shoulder suddenly.

The tears came anyway.

Silent ones.

Small shaking breaths.

Kenjiro simply held him tighter.

No criticism.

No annoyance.

No disgust.

Just warmth.

And for a little while beneath the sakura trees beside the river, Yuna finally understood what safety was supposed to feel like.

—

They returned home hours later after the apartment had gone quiet.

Their father stayed locked inside the bedroom.

Coward again.

Yuna showered carefully afterward while staring at bruises forming near his arm in the mirror.

The bathroom light looked too bright suddenly.

His reflection looked small.

Fragile.

Wrong somehow.

Yuna pulled oversized sleeves down immediately after dressing again.

Covering bruises had already become instinct.

When he returned to his bedroom later, he discovered something sitting near his pillow.

The moon-and-rabbit charm from the trash.

Fixed carefully.

Kenjiro must have repaired it while Yuna showered.

Yuna picked it up slowly.

His chest hurt.

Good hurt this time.

Loved hurt.

The difference mattered.

He climbed into bed afterward, clutching the charm tightly while bunny lamps glowed softly around the room.

Outside the bedroom door, the apartment remained tense and broken and exhausting.

But inside his room—

Plushies surrounded him, charms spun gently overhead, and strawberry blankets wrapped warmly around his body.

And somewhere out there in Yokohama,
a quiet black-haired boy with tired eyes carried bunny bandages in his pocket and protected people without asking for anything back.

The thought made Yuna smile sleepily into his pillow.

Maybe the world wasn't entirely cruel.

Maybe some people stayed soft despite it.

And maybe—

just maybe—

Yuna wanted to know Haruto Kurose better than anyone else ever had.