Chapter 11: The Weight He Carried

‘Two hearts, one too full, the other unsure—behind his smile, something quietly collapsed.’

The car rolled through the evening streets, quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the city fading past the windows.

They didn’t talk much—just fragments of easy conversation, the kind that didn’t need to mean anything.

Atsu mentioned work; Ren answered with short, quiet replies.

Still, between the pauses and the city lights passing by, there was something easy in the silence—a quiet comfort that only old friends could share.

After a while, Atsu glanced over again.

「じゃ、ほら、今夜も来るんでしょ？」

(“So, you still plan to join us tonight, right?”)

Ren nodded.

「うん、みんな来るって言ってたよな？」

(“Yeah.. You said everyone’s coming?”)

「ああ。リクとクマ、それにジンもたぶんな。久しぶりだよな。みんな、お前にちょっかい出すぞ。」

(“Yep. Riku, Kuma, probably Jin too. Haven’t seen you in ages, man. They’ll give you hell.”)

Ren smirked faintly. 

「あいつら、いつもそうだろ。」

(“They always do.”)

By the time they reached the small izakaya tucked between two narrow buildings, the street was already alive.

Laughter spilling out, paper lanterns swaying in the soft night breeze.

Inside, voices and warmth met them immediately.

「おい、やっと来たじゃねーか！」

(“Oi, look who’s finally here!”)

Riku stood from the table, waving exaggeratedly.

「京都ボーイご本人登場だ！」

(“The Kyoto boy himself!”)

Another shouted.

The group erupted in teasing laughter, the sound easy and familiar.

Ren chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, taking the empty seat between Atsu and another friend, Kuma.

The table was a mess of plates—skewers, fried chicken, edamame, half-empty glasses. 

The air smelled of smoke and citrus, the kind of comfort that comes with routine.

「ほら、飲め。」

(“Here, drink it..”) 

Atsu said, sliding a glass toward him. 

「遅刻した分の罰だぞ。」

(“You owe us one for being late.”)

Ren took it with a small smile.

「迎えが遅かったのはそっちだろ。」

(“You’re the one who picked me up late.”)

Atsu grinned.

「言い訳すんなよ。」 

(“Excuses.”)

He smiled — small, tired, but real.

It had been a while since he’d sat like this, surrounded by the noise of people he didn’t need to explain himself to.

Atsu leaned back, watching him. 

「じゃ、」

(“So..”) 

He said, a sly tone sneaking in.

「東京、どうだ？もう慣れたか？」

(“How’s Tokyo treating you so far?”)

Ren paused mid-sip. 

「…まあ、別に。」

(“...Fine.”)

「“別に”って、それだけ？なんか言いたそうな顔してるぞ。」

(“Fine? That’s it? You looked like you had something else to say.”)

Kuma added.

Ren shook his head, but the faint color in his cheeks betrayed him.

「ははっ！その顔、見ろよ！」

(“Ha! Look at that face!”)

Riku laughed. 

「絶対なんか隠してるだろ！」

(“He’s hiding something.”)

「うるせぇ。」

(“Shut up..”)

Ren muttered, though he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips.

For a moment, the noise faded—replaced by the warmth of old friendship, clinking glasses, and that familiar blend of chaos and ease.

Even when the laughter got too loud or the jokes hit too close, he didn’t mind.

Because tonight, surrounded by people who had known him long before he started chasing feelings he couldn’t quite name—it felt like he could just be.

As the night went on, the noise around their table softened.

Empty plates stacked up, the clatter of dishes replaced by low laughter and the faint hum of a song playing from the bar.

Riku and Kuma had already started a debate over something trivial—who was the worst at karaoke last time—while Jin was trying to record them, poorly hiding his laughter.

Ren leaned back, resting his arm against the booth, eyes half-lidded. 

The edge of his glass caught the light, half-empty, the ice melting slowly.

He wasn’t drunk—just pleasantly detached, lulled by the sound of voices he’d known for years.

Atsu sat beside him, quiet for once, sipping from his drink. 

After a moment, he nudged Ren’s shoulder lightly.

「なあ。」

(“Hey.”)

「ん？」

(“Hm?”)

「おい、ぼーっとしてるぞ。」

(“You’re spacing out.”)

「俺？そう見える？」

(“Am I?”)

Atsu smirked. 

「ああ。その顔、またしてる。」

(“Yeah. You’ve got that look again.”)

Ren’s breath caught just slightly—small enough that Atsu almost missed it.

「…勝手に決めつけんなよ,」

(“…You really like to assume things, huh.”)

He muttered, turning away.

Atsu laughed softly. 

「否定はしないんだな。」

(“You don’t deny it though.”)

The hum of the room felt distant for a moment—the chatter blending into a low warmth that wrapped around them.

Ren didn’t answer right away. 

He toyed with his glass, watching the condensation drip down.

「…あの人、ちょっと違うんだ。」

(“She’s… different.”)

He said finally, his tone low, almost careful.

Atsu tilted his head, waiting.

「静かなんだけど、冷たいわけじゃなくて。いつもどこか遠くにいる感じ。でも、こっちを見るときは…全部見透かされるような気がする。」

(“She’s quiet, but… not cold. It’s like she’s always somewhere else, but when she looks at you—really looks—it’s like she sees through everything.”)

For a second, Atsu didn’t speak. 

Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

「はは、すっかりやられてるじゃん。」

(“Sounds like she got you good.”)

Ren chuckled under his breath. 

「…かもな。」

(“...Maybe.”)

He leaned his head against the backrest, eyes tracing the lanterns hanging above them—soft light swaying like distant fireflies.

「不思議なんだ。」

(“It’s strange.”)

He murmured. 

「今までいろんな人に会ってきたのに、彼女といると…もうそんなの関係ない気がする。」

(“I’ve met so many people, but with her… it doesn’t feel like that anymore.”)

The room filled again with laughter as Riku spilled his drink and everyone groaned dramatically.

Atsu let out a chuckle at them, shaking his head, then looked back at Ren.

「だったら、逃すなよ。ああいう子は、一度心を開いたら、もう二度と同じようにはならないから。」

(“Then don’t let it slip away. She’s not the kind that opens up twice.”)

Ren turned to him, caught by the sincerity in his tone.

「わかってる。」

(“I know..”)

He said quietly.

Outside, the night had deepened—rain threatening to fall again, the street glistening faintly beneath the lamps.

From inside the warm, noisy room—

Ren looked out through the glass, his reflection faintly overlapping with the room lights.

He reached for another drink, the amber liquid catching the light as he poured.

Atsu noticed, brow furrowing slightly.

「おい、もうそのへんでいいだろ。」

(“Hey, that’s enough, isn’t it?”)

Ren just gave a small laugh, shaking his head.

「もう一杯だけ。久しぶりなんだ。」

(“Just one more. It’s been a while.”)

Atsu didn’t push—he just leaned back, watching silently as Ren took another sip, then another.

The noise around them grew louder, laughter echoing against the wooden walls, but his gaze had gone distant.

Each glass seemed to blur the edge of his thoughts—softening, then tangling them all at once.

He thought of her smile, faint and hesitant.

Of the way she’d looked at him earlier—like she was finally letting him in, just a little.

And suddenly, that fragile warmth twisted into something heavier in his chest.

He laughed again, quietly, but there wasn’t much mirth in it.

「何がおかしいんだよ。」

(“What’s so funny?”)

Atsu asked.

Ren’s eyes drifted toward his half-empty glass.

「さあ…」

(“I don’t know..”), 

He said softly. 

「たぶん、俺がバカなんだ。」

(“Maybe.. I’m just… stupid.”)

Atsu tilted his head. 

「何が？あの子のこと好きだから？」

(“What, for liking her?”)

Ren exhaled through his nose, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

「違うよ。…楽なままでいられると思ってたこと。」

(“No... For thinking I could keep it easy.”)

The table around them roared again—someone starting a song on the old karaoke machine in the corner, badly off-key, drawing laughter from the rest.

But Ren barely heard it.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers curling lightly around the glass.

「変なんだよな。」

(“It’s weird..”) 

He murmured. 

「俺のものじゃないのに、たまに…失うのが怖い気がする。」

(“She’s not mine, but sometimes… it feels like losing her would still hurt.”)

Atsu went quiet. 

He’d seen that look before—not the drunk one, but the one that comes when people try too hard to hold something they can’t name.

Ren lifted the glass again.

Atsu reached out, steady but firm, and caught his wrist mid-air.

「もうやめとけって。」

(“That’s enough, man.”)

Ren stared at him for a moment, his smile faint but tired.

「…ああ。たぶん、そうだな。」

(“…Yeah..maybe it is.”)

He said, finally.

He set the glass down. The ice clinked softly, melting into silence.

Atsu said nothing—just sat there beside him, quiet, while the rest of the world carried on laughing.

Outside, rain had begun to fall—light, steady, tapping against the window like a heartbeat.

Ren turned his head toward it, the sound blurring softly against the hum of the room.

The night went on—and somewhere between the noise and the rain, Ren’s smile faded into something gentler, quieter, like a weight he’d decided to carry a little longer.

The night had already settled deep when her phone buzzed.

Arin glanced at the screen—a message from Atsu.

“Sorry, can I stop by for a bit? I need to drop off something important.”

She frowned a little.

“Something important?”

The reply came quick—

“Yeah. I think you should take care of it.”

Before she could ask more, another message popped up.

“I’m almost there.”

Moments later, the quiet of her apartment was broken by a dull knock.

She opened the door—and froze.

Atsu stood there, one arm slung under the weight of someone who was barely standing.

Ren.

His head drooped, eyes half-lidded, breath slow with exhaustion. 

Atsu gave her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” 

He said, voice low.

“He overdid it a bit.”

Arin blinked, still processing what she was seeing.

Her eyes flickering toward Ren’s face—too peaceful, too tired. 

Faintly flushed, strands of hair falling over his eyes.

Atsu gave a helpless shrug. 

“Couldn’t leave him alone. Figured he’d be safest here.”

“Here?” 

Her voice pitched a little, but before she could argue, Atsu was already stepping forward, half-guiding, half-carrying Ren toward the entryway.

“Just—take care of him for tonight, please.”

And before she could find her words, Atsu gave a small bow—then slipped out the door, leaving her standing there with Ren slumped against her shoulder.

“Don’t make things difficult, Arin.”

His tone was gentle but edged with honesty.

“This guy—he looks easygoing, but inside he’s a mess. If you don’t want it, tell him. If you do, then… don’t hesitate.”

His words hung heavy in the quiet hallway, cutting through the air of the night.

Arin’s hand curled slightly at her side, her fingers tightening into a small fist.

Her lips parted, as if to say something—and she finally let it out.

“My answer.. It is not for you to hear it first.”

Atsu didn’t wait longer. He just gave a faint nod, then turned away.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her standing there—Ren’s weight still leaning against her shoulder, his quiet breath brushing faintly against her hair.

She looked down at him, her voice barely above a whisper.

“…If I do…”

But there was no one left to hear it.

With a soft sigh, she guided him inside.

She sighed, a quiet, disbelieving sound, glancing at the man barely conscious beside her.

Ren murmured something incoherent, his voice barely above a whisper.

Arin steadied him, her hand brushing his arm—his skin warm against her fingers.

“Honestly…” 

She muttered, trying to balance his weight as she guided him inside.

She managed to get him to the couch, lowering him carefully until he settled, one arm falling loosely over his chest.

For a long moment, she just stood there—looking down at him.

His face was peaceful, too peaceful—the kind of peace that only comes when someone’s run out of ways to stay awake.

His hair fell over his forehead, his lips faintly parted, and in the quiet hum of the room, she could hear his slow, steady breathing.

She exhaled softly.

“…You really made it difficult for me, didn’t you?”

The clock ticked quietly in the background.

The rain still whispered against the glass—the same rain that had followed him here.

She reached for a small blanket draped over the chair, placing it gently over him.

Her fingers lingered for a second, brushing against the fabric near his shoulder.

She turned off the light, leaving the room in a faint wash of silver from the window.

For a while, she stood there in the dark—listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

And for the first time in a long while, her room didn’t feel as lonely as before.