We finished Brian's "light meal" together, and he—apparently intent on spoiling me today—cleared all the dishes himself. He handed me a freshly brewed cup of chamomile tea and sat down on the sofa.

"So, are you willing to share what's troubling you?"

At Brian's words, I sipped my tea and thought for a moment. Most of today's events were still too chaotic to discuss coherently.

But among everything on my mind, there was one thing I wanted to ask him—someone who had known me as a child.

"...A lot happened today, and I ended up remembering and thinking about a lot of things."

"I see. Thank you for that very specific and extremely helpful explanation."

Ignoring Brian's sarcasm, I continued.

"I had the chance to see a room that was exactly like my old room. It made me remember what life was like before I left home. I don't want to think this way, but... maybe what Mom did to me was a bit too controlling for a child. Of course, I grew up perfectly healthy, and I think that's mostly thanks to her."

I’d expected Brian to lecture me about my lack of gratitude toward my parents—but at my words, his blue eyes darkened. He opened his mouth, choosing his words carefully.

"...When we were in elementary school, we had that assignment where we carved a wooden bird."

"We did. I liked blue back then, so I picked a blue bird from the encyclopedia."

"I remember when we were drawing the preliminary sketches at your house—Miriam suddenly hit you."

I was startled by his unexpected words.

"You... remembered that?"

"Why would you think I'd forgotten?"

Because Mom always forgets. Every single time.

Startled by the answer that had surfaced from within me, I listened as Brian continued.

"I still remember it clearly. She yelled, 'Why is Brian drawing properly while you're just playing around?' I wanted to explain that you'd already finished your sketch. But I couldn't."

I was shocked by how detailed his memory was. Of course I remembered that incident well, but I hadn't thought about it until this very moment. I'd never imagined it remained in anyone else's memory.

Brian continued.

“Your sketch was seriously good. You finished five or six precise, three-dimensional drawings in no time—meanwhile, I was just jealous of how good yours was and kept stubbornly adding more detail to mine. Because I couldn’t explain that, you—”

“That’s absolutely wrong. Adult you knows that kind of thinking is wrong.”

“…Yes.”

“That incident… it became a wound for you, didn’t it?”

Even to my own ears, my voice sounded dark and heavy. For the first time, I was certain that what Mom had done—even if she couldn’t help herself—had been terrible. Brian was only ten years old then. That wasn’t an age to be shown senseless violence. He shouldn’t have had to be hurt by getting caught up in our problems.

I nearly forgot to breathe from anger as Brian continued.

“In that moment, it looked like you just gave in. As if you were used to that kind of thing—”

“Stop, Brian. That’s enough. Listen, what you saw wasn’t something a ten-year-old should have witnessed. I’m living happily now, and I’m grateful to Mom for raising me. So it’s… you know, fine now.”

I said it with a smile, then closed my eyes when I couldn’t bear it any longer.

“I’m sorry for hurting you back then, Brian.”

Above my head, I sensed Brian letting out a deep sigh. Then came the quiet sensation of long arms gently enclosing me as I hung my head.

“…Honestly, that part of you hasn’t changed at all. You apologized to me back then too. When we were kids, I hated that about you. You never bring “center” or “periphery” into your relationships—and yet, when it comes to yourself, you shut me out. I used to think that someday I’d become strong enough to protect you, but—”

“What, that I don’t actually need saving? I hear that a lot, but I really appreciate you helping with the investigation.”

“True. Calling me wasn’t a bad choice—for you. But that’s not what I mean.”

Having delivered this somewhat arrogant line, Brian released me from his long arms. Then he placed his left hand over my right, as if pressing down from above.

A cold, dry palm. My body reflexively recoiled backward.

Leaning forward to match my retreat, Brian continued.

“Rather than blindly pursuing my idea of ‘strength,’ I should have simply told you I loved you and asked to be part of your life.”

“What are you—”

The words I’d started to say were swallowed by a pair of blue-gray eyes that pushed deep into mine without the slightest restraint. Features that still carried traces of the boy he’d once been, yet had been completely stripped of any boyishness—sharp, almost serenely cool. His skin had lost its youthful freshness, and yet, for that very reason, he was all the more compelling.

Inexplicably furious, I forced myself to break away from his gaze, as if resisting something intent on laying bare everything about me.

“I care about you too. Besides, even without my permission now, you’re already part of my life. We’re childhood friends.”

At my response, Brian groaned.

"...You—"

Cutting himself off, Brian grabbed my chin. I couldn't help but shout, caught between irritation at his presumptuous gesture and a twinge of guilt.

"What are you doing?!"

"Even after I've said all this, you're still going to run...? You've been running all this time. Even though you knew I wanted to tell you how I felt!"

"Shut up. As if I'd take your feelings seriously. You're the one who rejected me three years ago!"

Brian seemed to falter slightly and released my chin. His left hand, however, still pinned my right.

"...I never intended to reject you. I do think I hurt you, though."

"You never intended to reject me...? Do you even remember what you said?"

"I remember. Every single word."

I fell silent despite myself. Needless to say, I didn't remember the exact words from back then.

"Anyway, I love you—you know that. And if you'd still say you love me too—"

As Brian closed the distance between us inch by inch, my heart raged as if in panic. Suddenly confronted with the possibility of kissing this man—and perhaps more—my skin prickled even though he wasn't touching me.

Stop it. I've finally come to like myself. I don't want to go back to being the person who let this man's every action dictate my every move. To become lovers now, of all times!

As I screamed internally, Brian continued.

"—Just be good and marry me."

"You can't just suddenly say—"

I swallowed the words I'd started to say. What I'd just heard reached my brain, and my brain processed its meaning. The next moment, my brain displayed a "Cannot Process" error message.

"—Huh?"

"............"

"............"

A terrifyingly awkward silence descended between us.

Inside my head, the error message kept flashing. —I knew I should choose different words, but I simply couldn’t help it, and I let slip something that would probably make any list of “Top Ten Things You Should Never Say When Someone Proposes.”

“…What did you say?”

Brian, who until then had been wearing an expression even more dumbfounded than mine, grimaced as if in pain. Several strands of disheveled black hair fell across his fair skin, lightly tanned from the sun. Brian in anguish was, to put it mildly, extremely sexy. Though not enough to dispel the air between us, which had gone flat like day-old soda.

His voice came out low, almost strained, as if he couldn’t quite make sense of it himself.

“What on earth did I just say?”

“No, I mean… don’t you think that’s supposed to be my line?”

At my perfectly reasonable words, Brian fell silent, still keeping me pinned in place.