Chapter: The Weight of Goodbye
"Not all stories have happy or tragic endings. Sometimes, they end."
Hikigaya Hachiman understood this better than most. He had spent much of his life believing connections were inherently fleeting—perhaps even meaningless. His high school classmates—people he once saw daily—were now little more than distant memories, blurred and inconsequential. He felt no regret, neither for the time lost nor the lack of goodbyes. They had never truly mattered to him, and he doubted he had mattered to them.
But this... this was different.
This time, the absence wasn't a slow fade into the background of his life. It was sharp, deliberate. An ending that feels unfinished, like a story abandoned before its final chapter.
I, the author, once knew that feeling.
There was someone who wasn't supposed to matter, but somehow did. A story that was never meant to begin, let alone end. She was the girlfriend of a friend. I wanted to respect their relationship and be a good friend. But we started texting, and those texts became calls. And before I knew it, we had this... connection.
Something indescribable. Something undeniable.
It lasted a year—a year of stolen moments and conversations stretching into the late hours. We went our separate ways physically, each pursuing the future we thought we wanted. I moved into the dorms, hoping to grow, and become something more. But even miles apart, we kept talking—more frequently now, almost daily.
I thought, maybe foolishly, a real friendship.
And then, it ended.
A single text. She told me she had broken up with my friend. She was leaving Texas, and starting over. And then, the final words: "If you're reading this, it means this is my last message."
She confessed that she had fallen in love with me.
And then, she was gone.
No goodbye. No chance to respond. An unread message on my screen.
It was an abrupt ending that left me staring at my phone, wondering how something that felt so significant could be reduced to a few words.
So yes, I understand when Hachiman feels the weight of an unfinished story. Because the truth is, sometimes people leave without warning. They vanish, and the questions they leave behind haunt you long after their absence becomes normal.
Not all stories need endings. Some stop, leaving you to gather the fragments and make sense of them on your own.
That's the theme of this chapter: Hikigaya meets someone, gets too close, and then the story ends as quickly as it began. No resolution. No closure. An ending that, in any other story, would have ruined everything.
As for the character in this story—she is a generic mature woman, the kind often depicted in the works of doujin artist Sanbun Kyoden. If you're familiar with his work, you might already know how this story plays out.
This chapter occurs in my story, 'The Four Pillars.' This falls between Yukino's and Ishikawa Yumi's storyline. Hikigaya is in his second year at University. This is the second chapter of, 'A Bitter Awakening.' This occurs a few days after the last chapter. Including this chapter and the last one, you might figure out that Hikigaya is depressed and suffering from new traumas.
0000
In a quiet countryside home nestled among rolling green hills, the soft rays of dawn filtered through paper-thin shoji screens. The faint chirping of sparrows blended with the gentle rustle of trees swaying in the early morning breeze.
Fujikawa Ayumi stirred awake, her body attuned to the rhythm of her demanding routine. Sitting up slowly, she stretched her arms above her head, the oversized, threadbare T-shirt she slept in draping loosely over her slender frame. The faint scent of tatami mats filled the room as she swung her legs over the futon, her bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor.
Rising, Ayumi moved to the small wardrobe tucked against the wall. She swapped her old shirt for a fresh set of underwear before carefully selecting a crisp white blouse with modest long sleeves. She paired it with a charcoal-gray skirt that fell neatly below her knees—practical yet elegant in its simplicity. Her gaze caught her reflection in the aged mirror nearby.
Her face bore the quiet strength of someone who had weathered many storms. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes spoke of smiles and struggles, though her complexion remained clear and youthful. She sighed softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
"A divorced single mother," she murmured, her tone a mixture of resignation and pride.
With practiced ease, Ayumi slid open her door and stepped into the hall. The wooden steps creaked faintly under her careful tread as she descended, the house still wrapped in the peaceful hush of early morning.
In the kitchen, she moved with calm efficiency. She measured out rice, rinsing it in cold water until it ran clear, then placed it into the rice cooker. From the fridge, she retrieved a fillet of salmon, seasoning it lightly before laying it in the grill compartment of the oven. As the rich aroma of fish filled the air, she set a pot of water to boil for miso soup, adding a handful of wakame seaweed and diced tofu.
By the time breakfast was ready, the warm meal had begun to chase away the morning chill. Ayumi arranged the dishes on the low floor table: steaming bowls of rice, perfectly grilled salmon, and fragrant miso soup, accented by small plates of pickled vegetables.
Her next task took her to the compact bathroom at the back of the house. After finishing her business, she entered the utility room and filled a shallow basin with warm water. Holding it carefully, she climbed the stairs with steady, deliberate steps, mindful not to spill a drop.
Reaching the room adjacent to hers, Ayumi slid the door open quietly.
"Mom, wake up," she called gently, her voice soft but firm.
Her mother stirred weakly, her frail frame barely visible beneath the neatly folded futon covers. Setting the basin down, Ayumi helped her sit up, her hands gentle yet practiced. She removed her mother's nightclothes and soaked a washcloth in the warm water, carefully wiping her thin arms and legs with precise, tender strokes. The morning bath was more than just a routine—it was an act of love. Once her mother was dressed in a clean kimono, Ayumi supported her as they headed downstairs.
At the table, she helped her mother settle onto a cushion before switching on the small TV in the corner of the room. The faint hum of a morning news broadcast filled the space, adding a touch of life to the quiet home.
Leaving her mother to enjoy her breakfast, Ayumi returned upstairs.
Her final task of the morning awaited her. It was time to wake her son, Hiroki.
Her steps were lighter now, the familiar rhythm of her routine bringing a quiet sense of comfort.
o000
After breakfast, Ayumi quietly began clearing the table, stacking the dishes, and carrying them to the kitchen sink. The sound of running water filled the room as she rinsed each plate and bowl, her movements methodical. Once the dishes were washed and dried, she returned to the dining area, where a small family altar stood in the corner.
She prepared a simple offering—a bowl of steaming miso soup, a neatly plated piece of salmon, and a portion of rice. Placing the meal before the altar, she knelt, pressing her hands together in silent prayer. Her lips moved in a soft murmur as she addressed her late father, asking for his guidance and protection, just as she did every morning.
Rising to her feet, Ayumi turned toward the small TV, its soft glow casting gentle light across the room. She reached for the remote, about to turn it off when the screen abruptly changed. A loud chime signaled breaking news.
She paused, curiosity piqued, and stepped closer.
The report covered the grand opening of a towering skyscraper in the heart of Tokyo—a marvel of modern architecture, hailed as a hub for freelancers and start-ups. Footage of the ceremony played, showing a sleek ribbon-cutting event attended by industry leaders and rising stars.
Ayumi watched, captivated by it all. It was a world far removed from the quiet countryside life she had grown accustomed to.
The camera panned across the notable figures present, eventually focusing on a young woman with long, elegant black hair and an air of quiet authority. The caption identified her as Yukinoshita Yukino, a representative from one of Japan's top construction firms.
Ayumi blinked. She was beautiful, this Yukinoshita Yukino.
Then the scene shifted again, and the anchor's voice announced the man of the hour: Hikigaya Hachiman, president of a rapidly growing freelance company and the mastermind behind the project.
Her breath stops.
The camera zoomed in, and there he was—stepping forward, a pair of oversized scissors in hand. His hair was neatly styled, his suit sharp and perfectly tailored. Though his expression remained unreadable, there was a quiet confidence about him, something refined and self-assured in a way she had never seen before.
Ayumi clutched her hands to her chest as the memory of him crashed over her, unbidden and overwhelming.
Six years.
Six long years since she had last seen him.
Yet the mere sight of him stirred something deep within her, something she thought had long been buried. Her heart pounded wildly against her ribs, and her hands trembled as she continued watching.
The ceremony concluded. Reporters swarmed him, their voices clamoring for a statement. But Hikigaya, ever the enigma, nodded politely, offered no comment, and walked away with aloofness.
Ayumi staggered back a step, her hand flying to her mouth.
"It's him," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
A fire surged through her veins—an unbearable heat that left her breathless. How could she have ever forgotten him? His presence had once been etched into every part of her life, and now, after all these years, a single glimpse had shattered the fragile peace she had built.
Fumbling for the remote, she turned off the TV with trembling fingers. The silence that followed was deafening.
She couldn't do this. Not now.
Ayumi spun on her heel and hurried to her bedroom, her footsteps uneven, her pulse frantic. The moment she reached her futon, she collapsed onto it, clutching the fabric beneath her with white-knuckled fingers. Her body burned, her mind spiraling with fragmented memories and unspoken words.
The past—everything she had fought to move beyond—had come rushing back, threatening to consume her.
As she lay there, staring at the ceiling, a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
"Hachiman..."
She breathed his name, the weight of it pressing against her chest—heavy with everything she had felt... and still felt.
Ayumi's POV:
Six years ago, I was thirty-two. Life felt like a blur of transitions and uncertainties. My hair was different then—long, brown, cascading down the middle of my back. Now, my reflection reveals a neat bob, a practical choice shaped by necessity and time. Back then, I had clung to the remnants of youth, though the weight of my circumstances made me feel anything but young.
My wardrobe was comfortable and functional—long-sleeved blouses, skirts of varying lengths, and well-worn jeans. That day was no different.
I had just moved into a cramped 1R apartment in Tokyo, my first real step toward rebuilding a life after the divorce. The space was barely enough for my four-year-old son, Hiroki, and me, but it was ours. It was a beginning—however chaotic.
That morning had been a whirlwind, as most were. Hiroki had just started at a new school, and every day felt like a trial by fire as I adjusted to juggling work, school schedules, and household errands. After dropping him off, I returned to the apartment to gather myself before heading out to buy groceries for dinner.
As I passed the narrow mirror by the door, my reflection caught my eye. My tan long-sleeved blouse was tucked into fitted jeans that hugged my hips too closely for comfort. I tugged at the hem absently, trying to smooth the fabric over curves I wasn't sure I liked anymore. Motherhood had changed my body—my hips were fuller, my backside more pronounced—a subtle yet undeniable shift.
I studied myself, that familiar pang of dissatisfaction creeping in. My figure wasn't what it used to be. As much as I tried to ignore it, I wished I could feel at ease in my skin again. But there was no time for insecurities or wistful comparisons to the past. Life didn't grant me the luxury of indulgent self-criticism.
With a sigh, I turned away. There was dinner to prepare, groceries to buy, and a son waiting to be picked up. I had a life to rebuild, piece by piece. Vanity had no place in that process.
At the market, my shopping bag was already heavy with the ingredients I had picked out. The list was nearly complete, but I stood frozen in the rice aisle, staring at a five-kilo bag on the shelf.
How am I going to carry that home with everything else?
The thought weighed on me almost as much as the bags themselves.
As I debated, a voice from behind startled me.
"Do you need help?"
I turned quickly, clutching my shopping bag tighter out of instinct. The young man who had spoken stood just a few steps away, his expression calm but unreadable. He was of average height and build, with medium-short black hair and a slightly messy ahoge sticking up. But what struck me most were his eyes—dull, almost lifeless, like a fish staring blankly from its tank.
Something about them made my breath hitch—not from fear, exactly, but from the unfamiliarity of someone looking so... exhausted.
Before I could respond, he gestured toward my bag and the rice.
"It looks heavy. Let me help you."
Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward and lifted the bag of rice as if it weighed nothing. I blinked, startled by his assertiveness, but I didn't protest. Instead, I nodded mutely and followed him out of the store.
That was how I met him—the young man who, over time, would remind me of the things I had tried to forget about myself. The parts of me buried beneath the weight of motherhood, divorce, and survival.
When we reached my apartment, he carried the bags to the kitchenette and set them down.
"Thank you," I said softly, unsure of what else to offer.
"Don't mention it," he replied, brushing off his hands. His posture was relaxed, almost slouched, but there was a quiet confidence in his movements.
"Please, sit down. I'll make some tea." I gestured toward the small table in the corner.
He nodded, settling into the chair without fuss. I moved quickly, boiling water and preparing two cups of green tea. As I handed him his cup, he
spoke for the first time beyond those few words at the store.
"I'm Hikigaya Hachiman. I live close by."
"Fujikawa Ayumi," I replied. "I just moved into the area."
The conversation was polite, if a little stilted. He told me he was twenty years old—young, yet carrying himself with a detachment that felt far older. He didn't ask too many questions, and I was grateful for that. The walls I had built around myself were high, and I wasn't ready to lower them for anyone.
As the tea cooled and our small talk dwindled, my gaze drifted toward a cardboard box in the corner of the room. Something about it pulled me from the moment, and before I could stop myself, I stood and walked over to it.
My hands moved without thinking as I lifted the lid. Inside were papers, some stacked neatly, others in disarray. My eyes landed on a familiar envelope, its contents slightly spilling out, Divorce papers.
The sight of them hit me like a wave, a physical weight pressing against my chest. My breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as the emotions I had buried surged forward without warning.
Heat pricked at the edges of my eyes. I blinked rapidly, willing the tears away.
"Are you okay?"
His voice cut through the fog of my thoughts.
I turned to see him watching me, his expression concerned but still guarded. I managed a quick nod, forcing a smile that felt brittle. "I'm fine," I said, my voice unsteady.
But I wasn't fine, and maybe he saw through it. Without another word, he stood and closed the space between us. His arms wrapped around me in a tentative, almost awkward embrace.
It was a weird feeling.
I should have pulled away. It was strange, being held by someone I had just met, someone younger, someone who had no reason to care. But I didn't move. I let my forehead rest against his shoulder as the quiet tears slipped free.
It wasn't right. It wasn't what I should have needed. But at that moment, it was exactly what I clung to.
Hugging a boy I'd pretty much just met.
Eventually, the tears diminished, leaving me feeling lighter yet exposed. I pulled back slightly, my hands resting on his arms as I searched for something to say—some way to explain what had happened.
But silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken things.
Our faces were close—too close. His breath was warm against my skin, and my heart, still racing from the emotions I had just released, faltered.
I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the heat of the moment, the quiet way he had offered comfort without expectation. Or it was the loneliness I had long grown accustomed to, aching a little louder in his presence.
He leaned in, and I didn't pull away.
My body moved before my mind could catch up, closing the distance until our lips met—a tentative, uncertain kiss, as if testing a boundary neither of us had realized was there.
It should have ended there. A fleeting moment of vulnerability. A mistake we could brush off later.
But it didn't.
The kiss deepened, our tongues dancing with each other, and I felt his hands move cautiously as if he were unsure whether to hold me closer or let me go. It wasn't forceful or demanding; it was tentative yet filled with a passion neither of us seemed to expect. My hands, almost unconsciously, slid up to rest on his shoulders, and I found myself leaning into him.
I should have stopped, pulled back, laughed it off, apologized—anything to end it. But instead, I let myself fall into it, into the warmth and intensity of the moment. A part of me—a selfish, aching part—wanted to feel desired, even if only for a fleeting moment.
I didn't want to admit it, but I liked it. I enjoyed being alive in a way I hadn't in years.
And that, I realized too late, was exactly why it felt so dangerous.
In the middle of my apartment, with no one else around.
That's why I...
The memory was vivid, etched into my mind like a fleeting dream I wasn't sure I wanted to remember. It had started with a kiss, slow and tender, but charged with an undeniable pull neither of us could resist.
Hikigaya's hands were hesitant at first, his touch light as if he were testing boundaries. I felt my heart pound as his fingers brushed against my waist, his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of my blouse. I wasn't sure who moved first, but before I could stop myself, my hands reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly in my nervousness.
I was overwhelmed by emotions. I couldn't quite understand myself.
Our breaths mingled in the quiet of my small apartment, the only sounds were the faint rustle of clothing and the occasional whispered word—soft reassurances, questions unspoken but understood. My blouse slipped off my shoulders, pooling at my feet as I felt the cool air against my skin. My cheeks flushed a mix of vulnerability and desire coursing through me.
Hikigaya paused, his gaze meeting mine. There was something in his expression—a mix of uncertainty and awe—that made my chest tighten. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, and I felt the weight of my choices pressing down on me.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, my hands trembling slightly as I reached for him again. "Yes," I replied, my voice soft but resolute.
Piece by piece, the barriers between us fell away. There was no rush, no urgency—only an unspoken understanding as we let ourselves be vulnerable, our shared warmth filling the space between us. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this close to someone, the last time I had allowed myself to let go of the walls I had so carefully built.
Hikigaya slips his hands into my lower garments. His eyes asked if we should continue.
'I couldn't reject him'
He inserted his fingers inside me. He scratched an itch that was forgotten about.
As our movements slowed, I found myself caught in the moment, the way his hands held me as if I might break, the way his touch seemed to soothe the aching loneliness I had carried for so long.
And yet, even in the haze of intimacy, a part of me couldn't silence the doubts whispering in my mind—the questions of what this meant, of whether I was making a mistake. But for now, I chose to let myself feel, to savor the fleeting connection I had so desperately needed.
'As for what happens after'
The apartment was quiet, save for the soft sounds of our shared breaths and the faint rustle of movement. I could still remember how every sensation seemed amplified at that moment—the way my skin tingled where his hands brushed against it, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the rhythm of our connection, the way with every thrust, it pushed open my walls.
'He was... so rough, so impulsive'
It was passionate but unhurried, each movement deliberate and filled with unspoken understanding. He would pull on my hair, it stung but it scared me. I enjoy it. I was scared because I enjoyed it. In the dim light of the room, every detail seemed etched into my memory: the way his gaze lingered on me, not with lust but with something deeper, something almost reverent. His touch seemed to search for my boundaries while silently asking for my trust. Those actions alone, my body could not resist, my legs wrapped around his hip. Not letting go.
I've never... Been desired like this, this passionately...
I recalled the warmth of his skin against mine, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, and the way it made me feel alive—raw and vulnerable, yet somehow safe. The barriers I had carefully built over the years, the weight of my independence and resilience, felt momentarily lighter in his presence.
At some point...
I started feeling like...
But even amidst the passion, there was a lingering hesitation, an awareness that this moment could not last forever. I had felt it in the way my mind wandered between the present and the uncertainties ahead. Still, I had chosen to lose myself in the fleeting comfort, allowing my heart to guide me instead of my doubts. Hikigaya bent me over, the apartment's wall was my only support. He took me from behind.
I had to accept his feelings.
I just started thinking I had to.
For several hours, without any rest...
My breast bounces. Grope, eaten by him. Teased.
We kept going...
From morning until noon...
Moans filled the apartment as fluids spilled out. Dripping down my legs.
And into the evening.
When it was over, and the stillness settled in the room, I had felt a strange mix of emotions—contentment, guilt, and an ache I couldn't quite name. Hikigaya had stayed close, his hand resting on mine as if to ground me in the present.
And yet, in the evening...
The warmth of the afternoon sun greeted me as I rushed down the street, my blouse hastily buttoned and jeans sitting slightly off-kilter from my hurried dressing. My hair was disheveled, and my cheeks were still flushed from the emotions that had consumed me moments earlier. I clutched my bag tightly, my heart racing—not from exertion, but from the weight of what had just transpired.
Would he wait for my return?
What was my relationship with him?
His connection with my son.
Arriving at the school gate, I saw the other parents waiting, chatting casually as children poured out into the yard. I adjusted my blouse instinctively, my face heating up when I realized the absence of my undergarments. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to calm my erratic thoughts as my erect nipples poked my arm.
When Hiroki's face appeared among the crowd, his wide grin chasing away some of my anxiety, I forced a smile and bent down to greet him. "Did you have fun at school today?" I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil within and soreness in my back.
Hiroki nodded enthusiastically, launching into a story about a class project. I listened, my responses were automatic but warm, guiding him back toward our apartment. I tried to focus on his words, on the simplicity of our daily routine, but the memory of the afternoon clung to me like a shadow.
He was gone.
0o00
As if nothing had happened.
I return to my usual life.
And yet, as evening fell and I prepared dinner as if nothing had happened, I returned to my usual life. I set the table, helped Hiroki with homework, and tucked him into bed with a kiss on his forehead. From the outside, everything appeared normal, the rhythm of my life unbroken.
But in the corner of her mind.
The memories of that day lingered—a brush of warmth, a fleeting connection that felt both liberating and terrifying. I couldn't forget the way I had felt in his arms, the vulnerability I had allowed myself to show. My apartment was stained with memories.
As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spiraled.
What had I done? What did it mean? And yet, beneath the guilt and the uncertainty, there was a quiet yearning I couldn't suppress—a desire for something more, something I had long since convinced myself I didn't need.
My life continued as it always had, but a part of me knew it would never quite be the same.
It wasn't a grand declaration or a sweeping romantic gesture, but the simplicity of his words struck me deeply.
Hikigaya arrived at my apartment again just as I returned from dropping off Hiroki at school.
I was taken by him again and again...
The gap between us closed gradually, naturally, until I was under him. His hand remained on mine, and our fingers intertwined.
The moment felt fragile, as though acknowledging it too openly might shatter it. But then Hikigaya leaned in, his movements deliberate but hesitant, giving me every chance to stop him. I didn't.
Our lips met, soft and searching, and the kiss deepened as I pulled him closer. Hikigaya's arms wrapped around me, pulling me gently.
The warmth of our embrace became a refuge from the world. We didn't speak, letting our actions convey what words couldn't. Each touch was tender, each moment a quiet affirmation.
Time seemed to blur, the sounds of cars passing by fading into the background as we lost ourselves in each other. I allowed myself to be vulnerable, to surrender to the fleeting solace of sex, knowing it couldn't erase my past but could, for a moment, make it feel lighter. Letting my voice out.
The day after too, The following day as well.
My words echoed as I sat beside Hikigaya as he slept. I sipped my cold tea, my lips pressing against the rim of the cup like they had pressed against Hikigaya's skin just minutes ago.
I closed my eyes, my thoughts drifting back to the day before—and the day before. My relationship with Hikigaya had settled into something wordless yet deeply physical, an unspoken agreement that neither acknowledged but both seemed to need.
That first hesitant kiss had given way to something more assured, more desperate. Each touch now carried a familiarity, a sense of knowing the other's body and rhythm. I wasn't sure when it had happened—when our encounters shifted from hesitant exploration to something closer to routine—but it had. The memories of moans echoed in the apartment.
He had come to my apartment after class, his expression as guarded as ever, but his presence an unmistakable comfort. Hiroki was spending the weekend with my ex-husband, leaving the apartment eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that invited longing to fill the space.
I hadn't waited for him to say much. Words felt unnecessary between us now. Instead, I'd guided him inside, shutting the door behind him before pulling him into a kiss. His response was immediate, his hands finding my waist, holding me as if I might slip away.
We moved to the futon, our actions a dance we'd learned together over the past days. His touch was both gentle and insistent, my responsive and searching. I couldn't deny the way my body craved his, the way he made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in years.
It wasn't just sex, though. It was the way he looked at me afterward, his gaze soft and thoughtful as we lay beside each other, the faint scent of sweat and warmth lingering in the air. It was the way he never asked me for more than I could give, though I wondered if that restraint masked his fear of asking too much.
Yet, as much as I cherished these moments, there was an undeniable undercurrent of uncertainty. This wasn't sustainable; I knew that much. Our connection, as real as it felt, was built on fleeting moments and unspoken understandings. I wasn't sure if either of us could offer more—or if we even wanted to.
"The day after too. The following day as well."
The words felt like a mantra now, a reminder that this was temporary. But for now, I allowed myself to lean into the comfort, to find solace in Hikigaya's arms and the quiet reassurance of our shared intimacy.
...As if he could aim for every weak point in my heart, he made me waver.
I lay on my futon, my breath still unsteady, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound breaking the quiet, yet it felt deafening against the echo of my thoughts. Beside me, Hikigaya rested, his expression unreadable but his presence unmistakably grounding.
I turned my head to watch him, the sharp lines of his face softened in the muted light. How had it come to this? How had this man, with his sharp words and deadpan demeanor, managed to unravel me so completely? My body aches for him.
When he had arrived earlier that morning, there had been little hesitation between us. It was as though our bodies understood each other in ways our words never could. His hands had found mine, his lips trailing across my skin with a precision that made me tremble. His touch wasn't aggressive, nor was it hesitant—it was deliberate as if he knew exactly how to dismantle every wall I'd built around myself.
And I let him.
My bare body boiling. Being eaten, teased, taken for a ride.
Why am I... so happy to hear that?
"Yes, like that, harder."
"Beautiful"
"Do you like it?"
"Ayumi"
His words from earlier replayed in my mind. They hadn't been grand declarations of love or promises of forever, but simple, almost throwaway remarks about how much he enjoyed being with me. They shouldn't have meant so much, but they did. Those four little sentences, I clung to them, the way someone lost in a storm clings to a fleeting ray of sunlight.
I shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up to cover myself, but the warmth lingering on my skin wasn't from the fabric. It was from him. From the way he had held me, kissed me, and whispered my name in that low, almost reverent tone that sent shivers down my spine.
Why can't I... resist him as I should?
My eyes fluttered closed, but sleep didn't come. I knew I should be stronger, should set boundaries, and should protect myself and my son from whatever this was. But when I was with Hikigaya, all those shoulds seemed to dissolve, replaced by a deep, aching need to be near him.
I felt his arm drape over my waist, pulling me closer. His warmth enveloped me, and for a moment, I allowed myself to forget everything else—my responsibilities, my fears, my doubts. In his arms, I felt safe, wanted, cherished.
But beneath the surface, the questions lingered. How long could this last? How long before reality crashed back in, shattering the fragile bubble we had created? And why, despite knowing all of this, did I feel so drawn to him, so utterly unable to pull away?
I sighed, my hand resting lightly over his as it lay on my waist. For now, I would let myself have this, even if it was fleeting. Because at this moment, with Hikigaya by my side, the happiness I felt was undeniable, no matter how much I tried to resist.
00o0
Why am I... Why am I doing this...
I sat at the dining table, staring at Hiroki's latest test results. His teacher's comments were glowing, praising his progress and discipline. I smiled, proud and relieved, my hands gently smoothing over the paper.
Hiroki surprised me with a good grade...
'I was as happy as his mother.'
The boy was seated nearby, happily eating a snack and talking about his day. I listened, nodding in encouragement, my heart swelling with maternal pride. I hugged him tightly, his small arms wrapping around me in return.
But the warmth of the moment didn't linger.
...And yet... In my heart...
...As I hugged Hiroki, something inside me...
'...Started boiling up!'
I released my son gently, my smile unwavering as I told him to go play in the room. I found myself staring at the space across from me.
The apartment felt quieter than usual, almost stifling. I clenched my hands into fists, my knuckles brushing against the table's edge.
"... even this important moment..."
"...A sweet memory of my family..."
"...Feels duller than it should..."
My gaze wandered to the clock on the wall, and then to my phone sitting nearby. The urge to reach for it was almost overwhelming.
I can't think of anything... But how I want to meet him again, Hikigaya.
The memory of him was vivid in my mind—the touch of his hand on my skin, the way his lips pressed against mine, the sound of my name on his lips. My breathing quickened at the thought.
AHH!
I let out a moan. I covered my mouth. Just thinking about him.
I want...
...Him...
I bit my lip, my fingers trembling as they hovered over my phone screen. How could I feel this way? How could I crave his presence so desperately when I should be focused on Hiroki, on being a good mother, on building a stable life for us both?
I stood up, taking out a box. I pulled out the contents. I lifted my skirt and pulled my underwear down. I inserted the hard plastic inside, letting the egg shape expand my walls. The vibration as I turned it on sent a shockwave through my body. I wore it as I pulled up my soaked underwear and lowered my skirt.
"Hachiman"
And yet, the memories of our time together, the way he made me feel—seen, desired, alive—consumed me. It wasn't just physical. It was the quiet moments after when he stayed when he listened to me when he didn't judge me.
Mmn
I found myself dialing his number before I even realized it. My heart pounded as the line connected, and his calm and familiar voice greeted me on the other end.
mAhh!
"H-Hikigaya," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
There was a pause, and then he answered, "Ayumi?"
The sound of my name, spoken so simply, sent a shiver down my spine. The boiling inside my heart turned into a roaring flame.
MMn
I want...
Ah!
Him...
AHH!
Hah!
To take me again!
000o
The thought echoed relentlessly in my mind, a mixture of longing and guilt twisting my stomach into knots. I tried to focus on Hiroki, on the simple joys of motherhood, but my mind kept drifting back to Hikigaya—the way he touched me, the way he made me feel alive in ways I hadn't allowed myself to feel in years.
...I was... nervous as I talked to Hiroki.
Sitting across from my son at the dinner table, my hands trembled as I picked up my chopsticks. The vibration shook my inside.
...I couldn't tell him...
Hiroki was cheerfully recounting a story from school, his animated gestures making me smile, though my heart felt heavy with secrets.
I'd become yours...!
Hikigaya...
...He taught me all sorts of stuff...
Kissing. Positions. Sex!
...Trained me... Pushed it all on me...
Toys are being inserted. Rope, water, public space.
My thoughts betrayed me, pulling me back to the days we spent together, the way he'd guide me, challenge me, and push me beyond my limits—not just physically, but emotionally.
...I felt like I was turning into someone else...
I don't want to be a mother.
Sex
...From a mother... into his woman.
Sex
Sex
The realization tightened my chest, a bittersweet truth I couldn't ignore. I wanted to resist it, deny it, but the feelings were too strong, too consuming.
Sex
...I am his woman!
Sex
...Someone putting him before anything else...
Sex. I'm nothing else.
"...His and only his..."
Sex. I was his woman. I didn't need anything else in my life.
"...Someone that loves him..."
My thoughts spiraled, a chaotic blend of desire and devotion. I knew it wasn't right to feel this way, to let him take precedence in my heart when Hiroki and my responsibilities as a mother should always come first.
"His..."
Woman.
No!
Lover!
No!
And yet, the pull was undeniable.
His...
Then, as if fate sought to sever the thread of my desires, my phone rang, cutting through the moment like a knife.
Breaking my life.
Startled, I picked it up, my heart pounding. "Hello?"
A familiar voice spoke on the other end. "Fujikawa-san, this is Dr. Tanaka. Your mother has fallen ill and was rushed to the hospital."
Breaking.
The words hit me like a thunderclap, shattering the haze I'd been living in.
The weight of reality bore down on me as my body went cold.
That phone call changed my life again.
The hours that followed blurred together. I pulled Hiroki out of school early, gently explaining that we needed to visit his grandmother. Our journey to the hospital felt interminable, each moment stretching into eternity.
When we arrived, I was faced with the sight of my mother—frail and vulnerable in the stark white hospital bed. The woman who had always been my rock now needed my care.
The days passed in a whirlwind of decisions. I packed my belongings and moved back to the countryside to care for my mother. My life shifted entirely.
"In the end, I forgot to say goodbye to Hikigaya."
It wasn't intentional—there was simply no time, no opportunity. Yet, the absence of a farewell left a hollow ache in my chest. The bond we'd shared, as intoxicating as it was fleeting, had been severed without ceremony.
Sitting in my childhood home, I looked out the window at the quiet countryside, my heart heavy with loss and uncertainty. The life I'd known with Hikigaya felt like a distant dream, a chapter I wasn't sure I'd ever reopen.
But even now, as I poured myself into caring for my mother and raising Hiroki, his memory lingered, a quiet presence I couldn't shake.
Present:
I left my room, my face dry but my heart still heavy. Those old memories flashed in my mind. The tears had stopped, yet the warmth lingered—an echo of Hikigaya's touch that had haunted me for six long years. Even now, my body betrayed me, stirred by memories I had buried beneath the weight of time and responsibility.
So much has changed since then. Hiroki was ten years old—a bright, cheerful boy who brought light to my days. My life had settled into a predictable rhythm: working part-time at the local convenience store, caring for my ailing mother, and raising my son as best I could.
But in the quiet moments, when the noise of daily life faded, his memory crept back in—unbidden, unrelenting. Hikigaya—the only man who had ever made me feel truly alive, truly seen.
I had never met another like him. No one else had shaken me, tempted me, unraveled me the way he did. And now, after seeing him on television, the feelings I thought I had buried resurfaced with a vengeance.
A question loomed in my mind, impossible to ignore.
Do I follow my desire?
My body burned.
There was an itch I couldn't scratch.
A hunger my fingers couldn't reach.
The thought was reckless, terrifying—and yet, intoxicating. To run away and meet him. To leave behind the life I had built, and the people who depended on me—Hiroki, my mother. Could I abandon them for a fleeting chance to reclaim what I had lost?
My hands trembled as I leaned against the kitchen counter, staring blankly at the quiet countryside beyond the window.
Could I be that selfish?
Could I chase the one thing that made my heart race, even if it meant breaking the hearts of those who loved me most?
The weight of my decision pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. I closed my eyes, searching for an answer that remained out of reach.
000o
Ayumi sat in her dimly lit room, the faint glow of her phone's flashlight casting long shadows along the walls. The quiet hum of the night wrapped around her as she worked methodically, folding and packing her belongings into a suitcase.
Her hands trembled slightly as she placed a delicate set of lace and string lingerie inside—pieces she hadn't worn since her time with Hikigaya. Memories were woven into the fabric, echoes of a passion she hadn't felt in years. She hesitated, then carefully tucked in other personal items—sex toys meant to rekindle those same emotions. She pulled out a long rod with imitation veins on it. She turned it on, it started to wiggle. Ayumi remembers her nights with Hikigaya, inserting it inside her. She turned back to her luggage. She picked up a sleek, discreet box nestled beside a silk mask, one that had once added a playful mystery to their nights together.
With a final tug, she zipped the suitcase shut. The sound sent a shiver down her spine as the toy inside her caused her to relieve herself, soaking her panties in urine. Gripping the handle tightly, she stood and moved toward the door. The house was silent, save for the soft creaks of the floor beneath her feet as she descended the stairs in the dead of night.
At the genkan, she slipped on her shoes, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal of the doorknob. Freedom—or perhaps escape—was just one step away.
Hikigaya
Hachiman
Then, a voice pierced the quiet.
"Momma... my head feels hot."
Not now! Not when I needed to leave.
Ayumi froze. The small, trembling voice belonged to Hiroki.
No!
She didn't turn around. She couldn't. Not yet. Her grip tightened on the handle, willing herself to move forward.
Hikigaya was waiting for her.
She took one step. Then another.
'My body burns for him!'
But the voice came again, more insistent this time.
"Momma, I don't feel good..."
Ayumi closed her eyes. The weight of her decision crashed down on her.
She took a step forward. And another.
She exhaled slowly, then turned back. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked softly, leaving the suitcase by the door as she climbed the stairs.
"I feel hot," he murmured.
She knelt beside him, pressing a hand to his forehead. It was warm—too warm. Concern washed over her as she brushed the damp hair from his face.
"Let's get you back to bed," she said gently. "I'll bring a cold washcloth and take your temperature, okay?"
Hiroki nodded weakly, and Ayumi guided him back to his room.
The door she had been so close to opening now felt like a distant memory. Whatever longing, whatever temptation had driven her to pack that suitcase now seemed insignificant.
As she tucked Hiroki in and placed the cool cloth against his forehead, she realized something.
Her life wasn't on pause.
And for tonight, at least, that was enough.
Afterword:
As a writer, I believe a story without a resolution can hardly be called a story—but life rarely adheres to such neat patterns. In my experience, people have left my life without so much as a goodbye, leaving behind only silence. After more than 30 years on this planet, I've come to see endings—any form of them—as a blessing.
A happy ending is, of course, ideal. But even a painful ending has value. It provides closure, however imperfect, and leaves room for resolution later.
In this chapter, Hikigaya faces one of the cruelest endings—one without resolution. Just as he was beginning to open his heart and feel the stirrings of something new, he was abandoned without a word.
No goodbye. No message. Nothing.
Just an ending, sharp and final, leaving behind only the echo of what might have been.