New Awakening
(Return to Shin)
The heavy, lingering silence of the bedroom remained unbroken, a fragile boundary of the new day.
The light was already there, but Akane and I kept sleeping for some other time in each other's embrace.
It felt like I was in heaven, and that the night wasn't over yet.
That morning, I didn't know exactly what had pulled me from the depths of a dreamless sleep.
Perhaps it was nothing more than raw, chemical instinct. Perhaps it was that internal necessity not to lose a single, solitary second of a reality that finally belonged to me.
The very first thought that registered in my waking brain was mechanical: the alarm is going to ring.
The second thought followed immediately, hitting my chest with a sudden, solid warmth: 'Akane is still draped completely across my chest. She's so beautiful.'
From the heavy, relaxed position of her torso, she hadn't shifted her weight a single millimeter.
Her head was still nestled firmly against my sternum, resting exactly within the small hollow where her tears had finally dried into my skin hours ago.
Her slender right hand was still resting on my chest, unconsciously tracing some patterns.
Akane's breathing was deep, slow, and incredibly regular. The steady rise and fall of her back beneath the duvet was the most beautiful, grounding thing I had ever witnessed in my life.
'Ah… what's the time?' I suddenly thought, while my eyes started to search for my smartphone.
'Ah… there it is,' I spotted it close to me.
I carefully reached my free right arm toward the bedside table, moving with a calculated, millimetric precision since I couldn't risk pulling her from the first real rest she had discovered in years.
My fingertips brushed the smooth, cool glass of my smartphone screen. I slid my thumb upward, cutting off the notification in the dark—7:04 AM. The morning alarm had been set for exactly 7:30. It would never ring now.
I let out a slow, entirely silent breath of relief, resting my head back against the pillow.
And then, in the middle of that quiet tranquility, I felt Akane moving.
"Ah... I love you, Shin..."
Her voice was nothing more than a fragile, barefoot whisper against my bare skin, the syllables thoroughly heavy with the depth of her sleep.
She didn't even open her eyes.
That surely was a dream speaking through her lips, or perhaps it was just her heart finding its tongue while her analytical mind was completely offline.
My entire chest filled with a heat so sudden, so fierce and intense, that for a long second I genuinely thought my lungs would fail to draw another breath.
'I'll surely return these words very soon, Akane.'
The words rushed up my throat, but I kept them locked behind my teeth.
I couldn't say them aloud. Not yet. But I thought them into the dark with a structural force I didn't know my soul possessed.
Then, I looked down at her relaxed face, her mouth slightly parted against my skin, and the tiny, wet patch of saliva she had left on my chest—a detail so intensely intimate, so raw, and so beautifully human that it completely shattered the last of my defensive walls.
It was real. She was real. And looking at her, I made a definitive decision.
I wanted to build something for her. Something that would literally make her happy. So I decided to start from the basics.
Liberating my body from her unconscious grasp without triggering her hyper-vigilant reflexes was a tactical maneuver more complex than any logistical plan Takaneda-sensei could throw at me.
First came the hair. Several thick, jagged locks of her black hair were caught directly beneath the weight of my left bicep.
I managed to free them one individual strand at a time, moving my arm by fractions of a millimeter until the black silk was clear.
Next came her leg. Her bare thigh was heavily, intimately hooked over mine, anchoring my lower body to the sheets. I slowly shifted my center of gravity, letting my muscles slide out from beneath her skin over the course of three full minutes, creating an invisible pocket of space between us.
Finally, I had to deal with her right hand.
I didn't dare touch her fingers. Instead, I allowed my own torso to slowly glide backward, slipping away from the mattress in one fluid, continuous motion, like a shadow retreating from the light. My feet touched the cold carpet of the floorboards.
Akane didn't even flinch. I was perfect.
I stood perfectly stone-still beside the bed for ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. I counted the seconds by the steady, deep rhythm of her chest rising and falling beneath the duvet. Her breathing remained entirely regular.
'Oh. I did it.'
Then, I reached over to the wooden desk chair, grabbed the plain cotton sweatpants I had left folded there, and slid them on without making a sound, before drifting through the bedroom door like a phantom.
I had an explicit mission to fulfill before the morning air would wake her up.
The kitchen was cold, dark, and heavy with the sterile silence of the early morning. I immediately reached out and flipped the wall switch—the harsh, buzzing hum of the fluorescent neon tubes was completely devoid of romance, but I didn't have the luxury of waiting for the atmosphere of the sun.
'Let's return the favor, Akane,' I said to myself.
I was gonna make her a traditional Japanese breakfast. It was the only thing that felt right.
I would've given the whole world to her, but a handmade breakfast was the only thing I could do in that moment.
I pulled open the heavy door of the refrigerator, my eyes scanning the shelves.
Eggs. A block of fresh tofu. A thick, marinated piece of raw salmon that my parents had bought before they went abroad. A bundle of green scallions. And a bag of short-grain rice sitting in the pantry.
I measured the rice, rinsed it three times under the cold tap until the water ran clear, and dumped it into the electric cooker, pressing the mechanical "start" button, and, just like magic, the machine clicked into life, its internal timer beginning to run on its own.
Then, I turned the knob on the stove.
A thin layer of oil hit the rectangular pan, immediately crackling as the blue flame flared underneath the iron.
The piece of salmon went in first—skin-side down, exactly the way my mother had demonstrated to me years ago, back in an entirely different life before the house had turned into a tomb.
The sharp, savory aroma of the fish skin sizzling on the hot metal instantly bloomed through the kitchen air, cutting through the cold and mingling with the sweet, starchy steam venting from the rice cooker.
I really need to thank my motherwhen he comes back for teaching me how to survive in the kitchen.
While the salmon was taking on a deep, golden color, I grabbed a knife and cut the tofu into precise, clean cubes, dropping them into a small bowl with a splash of dark soy sauce and a thin stream of mirin, leaving the soy to sink into the white curd.
Next came the eggs. Three of them cracked against the rim of a ceramic bowl. I beat them with a pair of chopsticks, adding a tiny splash of savory dashi broth and a pinch of sea salt until the yellow liquid was completely uniform.
The rectangular tamagoyaki pan—an implement I hadn't touched in months, maybe even a full year—sat on the smaller burner. I poured the first thin layer of egg, watching it bubble instantly. My fingers were steady as I used the wooden spatula to roll the cooked layer forward, then repeat the process by adding more liquid and rolling it back. It wasn't structurally perfect; the edges were slightly uneven, but the layers were soft, golden, and steaming.
'I think that everything is going too well…'
The salmon was done—the skin crispy, the flesh a pale, flaking pink. I lifted it onto a small plate, setting the salt-sauteed tofu right beside it, topping the white cubes with a handful of freshly chopped scallions. I prepared a quick miso soup, using a rich dashi base, dropping in the remaining tofu and a few strands of dark wakame seaweed.
I scooped two steaming mounds of white rice into ceramic bowls and then pulled a small container of pickled tsukemono from the fridge. Finally, I poured two cups of hot green tea, the leaves opening in the boiling water.
When the entire wooden tray was complete, I stepped back, my hands resting on my hips as I looked down at the spread.
It was the very first time in all my years of living that I worked so hard to make breakfast for someone. I never did something like that, not even for Kurone.
'Not bad, Ishikawa,' I thought, a small spark of pride warming my chest.
I carried the heavy wooden tray up the creaking stairs, my steps slow and deliberate, my eyes fixed on the green tea.
The bedroom door was exactly as I had left it—ajar, letting a thin sliver of hallway light cut through the dark room.
Akane hadn't shifted an inch.
She was still completely buried beneath the heavy duvet, her dark hair a beautiful, chaotic mess of ink across my white pillow.
The duvet had slid down just a fraction of an inch during my absence, revealing the smooth, pale curve of her bare shoulder blades and the edge of the dark moth tattoo resting against her skin. Her face was completely serene, the hard, defensive lines of her jawline entirely gone.
I carefully set the wooden tray down on the nightstand, right next to the silent smartphone.
Then, I leaned over her body.
The first kiss I posed was directly against her cheek—the soft, warm skin of her left side that was pressing into the fabric of the pillow.
The second kiss landed softly against her temple, right where the dark fringe of her hair began to part.
The third kiss I pressed directly onto the very tip of her nose.
"Wake up, sleepyhead," I whispered into the quiet room, my voice still incredibly thick and gravelly from the residual sleep in my lungs.
Akane stirred slightly under the covers, her head turning an inch, but her eyelids remained closed.
"No... Just a little more, please," she murmured, the syllables completely low and soft in her throat.
But then, her slender hands reached out blindly across the mattress, searching the empty space beside her—looking for the heat of my body—her fingers moving lazily against the sheets. "Let me hold you, ghostboy..."
Her hand found nothing but the cold, empty cotton of the bed.
In a fraction of a second, her expression changed completely. A faint crease formed between her brows as her instincts screamed at her. Her awareness snapped violently back into focus. Something about her surroundings was terribly wrong.
I wasn't there.
As soon as she realized it, her golden eyes flew wide open.
For one frantic, panicked microsecond, her gaze darted around the dim room, her muscles locking with the defensive tension of a soldier waking up under fire.
Then, her eyes locked onto me, leaning over her mattress, and the panic vanished.
"Good morning, Sleepyhead," I said softly, leaning down to catch her lips before she could even form a word.
Her mouth was still incredibly warm from sleep, her response soft, slow, and cute, as her mind tried to keep up with her body.
But she answered me instinctively, her lips moving against mine with an automatic certainty, as if her physical form recognized my touch even when her brain was still suspended in sleep.
When I finally pulled back, her eyes were still half-closed, clouded with a beautiful, heavy confusion.
"What the..." she started, her raspy voice cutting off.
Then, her gaze drifted past my shoulder and landed squarely on the wooden tray sitting on the nightstand.
She sat upright in the bed so fast the movement was a blur.
The heavy duvet slid completely down to her waist, exposing her bare torso and the dark lines of her ink in the silver light.
Akane clearly didn't care about me seeing her completely naked, judging from her reaction.
"Shin... What's this...?"
"It's breakfast," I said, reaching over to lift the heavy tray and sliding it carefully onto her lap over the duvet. "I prepared it myself while you were busy dreaming."
Akane stared down at the steaming food. Then she lifted her eyes to my face. Then her gaze dropped back to the dishes.
"Grilled salmon. Tamagoyaki. Sauteed tofu with scallions. Miso soup. Short-grain rice. Tsukemono. And hot green tea." I listed every single plate in a flat, deadpan monotone, as if I were a professional waiter reading the daily specialty of a high-end restaurant. "I did the absolute best my survival skills could manage. Sadly, this tea is not a Lapsang Souchong, so you'll have to endure it."
The silence that followed my words stretched out for five long seconds, the quiet in the bedroom thickening and growing heavy.
And then, I watched her golden eyes fill with an immediate, thick layer of crystalline tears.
Tears of something entirely different from sadness. Those were something soft, pure, and completely unguarded.
'Ah... this is miles better than sex, maybe,' I thought, a wave of profound, triumphant satisfaction hitting my chest. I didn't say it aloud, but I thought it for her, watching the light catch the moisture in her eyes.
"Dumbhead," she whispered, her voice cracking as a single tear finally broke over her lower lash, cutting a fast track down her pale cheek. "You're a complete idiot, Ishikawa. I won't be able to act like I want if you keep being so sweet with me."
"I know," I answered, a massive, genuine smile splitting my face.
Then, without adding another syllable to the conversation, she reached out her long fingers and picked up the wooden chopsticks.
And then, we ate in absolute silence, but it wasn't the awkward, defensive quiet of two strangers unsure of their footing.
It was the deep, full silence of two people who had completely run out of things to hide, who didn't require a single spoken word to understand the baseline of the architecture between them.
Akane took a small piece of the seared salmon with her chopsticks, bringing it to her lips. The moment she swallowed, her golden eyes closed for a full second, her head tilting back slightly.
"...it's perfect," she murmured into the quiet room.
Next, she pinched a yellow square of the tamagoyaki, inspecting the rolled layers under the light.
"...it's not even slightly burned," she added, her raspy voice carrying a grain of genuine, unadulterated incredulity. "How exactly did you execute this without destroying the kitchen?"
"I spent my morning watching a highly detailed tutorial on YouTube while you were snoring into my collarbone," I lied smoothly.
The absurd response successfully tore a sudden, brief laugh from her chest—a short, adorable sound that was still slightly wet with the tears she hadn't bothered to wipe away.
"Idiot," she said, her lips forming a cute smirk on her face.
Then, silence filled the room for some instants while I stared at her beautiful face.
This specific silence was lighter and immeasurably more intimate. And more than anything, it felt completely, beautifully normal.
There were just two teenagers sitting on a mattress in the morning light, wearing old clothes (me, at least), sharing pieces of fish, and quietly enjoying their time together.
"Shin," Akane said after she finished her bowl of rice, her voice dropping into a lower, quieter register than usual. "Can I ask you a serious question?"
"Sure. Anything." I said, smiling.
"Why did you actually do all of this?" Akane asked, with a slightly worried tone of voice.
She asked the question without looking at my face. Her slender fingers traced the rim of her ceramic tea cup, her eyes fixed on the green liquid inside.
"Because I wanted to," I answered simply, my voice solid. "No other reasons."
"That doesn't qualify as a real answer, Shin," she replied.
"It's the only one I have in my inventory, Akane."
She lifted her head then, her golden irises still slightly wet from the tears, but there was a deep, unreadable intensity flashing within them now."
"You are an incredibly strange guy, Shin," she said, clearly teasing me.
"If I were normal, you wouldn't have even looked at me probably," I replied.
"Well, that may be true, you know~" Akane smiled.
"That only means that we're perfect for each other," I replied.
Then, another solitary tear broke over her eyelashes, sliding down her nose.
After a few minutes, breakfast was finished, and the green tea had reduced to warm dregs at the bottom of the cups.
Akane raised her arms above her head, executing a long, lazy stretch that caused the duvet to slide even lower down her hips, but neither of us made a single move to acknowledge the exposure.
The casual nudity had simply become part of our shared space.
"Okay," I said, pushing myself off the mattress and lifting the empty wooden tray from her lap. "Get out of the sheets and start preparing yourself."
Akane blinked, her golden eyes sgranando in genuine confusion.
"Prepare myself for what exactly? We have school today," she asked.
"No," I interrupted her smoothly, setting the heavy tray down on the surface of my desk. I turned my torso back around to face her, slipping my hands casually into the pockets of my sweatpants. My voice was perfectly calm, deliberate, and laced with a subtle, amused authority.
"Today, we are completely skipping school."
The silence that hit the bedroom was absolute.
"...what did you just say?" she asked, her jaw dropping just a fraction.
"I said that today, neither of us is walking through those iron gates. We are skipping the entire day."
Akane then stared at me as if my brain had officially cracked open in the night.
She looked at me as if I were speaking a foreign language.
"Shin... are you completely out of your mind? The faculty will call your house. Takaneda-sensei will literally murder you."
"They will manage to find a way to survive without us for twenty-four hours."
"Shin, what about the tasks for the school festiv—"
"They can wait until tomorrow." I interrupted.
"And the—" she tried to continue, but deep down, I knew that she only wanted a confirmation.
"Akane."My tone dropped into something significantly softer, heavier, and completely non-negotiable.
Then, I ran a hand through my messy morning hair, but my dark eyes didn't leave her face for a single fraction of a second.
"I want to have a real, official date with my new beloved girlfriend."
The words slipped out of my mouth with such an effortless, natural velocity that my own brain didn't even register the impact until I watched them land squarely against her defenses.
Akane's entire face transformed in a microsecond.
First came absolute, unadulterated incredulity.
Then came pure stupor.
And then... a color I had never, ever seen her pale skin produce before. A deep, vibrant, burning flush of pink rushed up her throat, completely painting her cheeks and the silver-pierced tips of her ears.
"Y-Your... Girlfriend?" she balbetted, the tough lone wolf completely losing her vocabulary.
My girlfriend. Yes. I had spoken the phrase exactly like that.
I didn't step back. I didn't try to offer a sarcastic laugh to temper the statement, and I didn't feel the blood rush to my own face. I was entirely steady.
"Exactly," I confirmed, a calm, proud smile touching my lips. "Today is officially our first real date. You were the one who decided that, right? So finish waking your brain up, slide into some real clothes, and come downstairs. I'll be waiting for you in the entryway."
Akane remained silent, clearly stunned to see me act like this instead of being a doormat.
Then, I turned my back on the bed and took exactly one solid step toward the open bedroom door.
But I didn't make it any further.
Akane launched her entire body at my back.
Literally.
I heard the sudden, violent rustle of the duvet flying across the mattress, and before my brain could even calculate the trajectory, her hot, bare chest slammed heavily against my spine.
Her slender arms wrapped fiercely around my neck in a suffocating chokehold, her bare legs flying around my hips to lock her thighs securely against my waist.
I staggered forward half a step under the sudden impact, but my reflexes caught her weight, my hands automatically reaching behind my back to grab the undersides of her thighs, holding her up.
I was standing completely upright in the center of the sunlit room, with Akane hung completely onto my back like a literal koala, her flushed, warm face pressed tightly against the skin of my right cheek.
"Where exactly do you plan to take me, Ghost Boy?" she whispered directly into my ear, her raspy voice completely warm and filled with a depth of pure, unadulterated joy that I didn't think this world was capable of holding.
Then, before I could even open my mouth to answer, her tone shifted back into that signature, dry, sarcastic irony that belonged entirely to her:
"I'm seriously hoping it's a local gothic graveyard. I've heard the atmospheric romance is absolutely spectacular around this time of the year."
I felt her lips press a soft, lingering kiss right against the center of my cheekbone, just a fraction of a second before the low, beautiful vibration of her laugh echoed directly against my skin.
I looked straight ahead, out the large bedroom window, watching the bright morning sun completely illuminate the green grass of the garden below. The world was open, the shadows were gone, and the dark was officially finished.
"Just wait and see, sleepyhead," I replied, my fingers tightening their grip on her bare thighs, pulling her body weight even closer against my back.
And I held her as tight as I possibly could.
—
Author's note: Welcome to the next narrative arc: The School festival arc, The Art of living again.
Here's a picture of Akane and Shin sent by a friend of mine: