The night was thick with darkness, the kind that swallows the sky whole, leaving only the sound of rain-an endless torrent drumming relentlessly against the windowpanes. Every thud of the wind felt like it was shaking the walls, and I buried myself deeper into the cocoon of my blanket, seeking warmth in the growing cold.
The storm outside seemed to amplify the silence inside. But just as my eyelids grew heavy, the faint sound of creaking floorboards reached my ears, followed by footsteps, soft at first, then unmistakably deliberate.
"Suguru?" I murmured, barely audible, though unsure if I wanted a response.
The footsteps grew louder, and curiosity pulled me from my bed. With my blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders, I shuffled toward the door, opening it cautiously.
Two bright yellow cans met my eyes first, shining in the dim light of the hallway. Suguru stood there, his familiar presence filling the doorway.
"Here," he said, stuffing one of the cans into my hand forcefully, and letting himself in.
I blinked at the can in my grasp.
"What's this?"
A low chuckle rumbled from him. "Sweet corn. Now close the door, you're letting the cold in."
I hesitated, watching him, confused. Suguru was always unpredictable. One moment he was kind, thoughtful, like now, and the next, distant and blunt, like a door slammed in your face. I couldn't figure him out, no matter how hard I tried. It was like he danced between two different versions of himself, and I never knew which one I'd get.
I closed the door, but my eyes never left him. He made himself at home, casually, as if he hadn't just shown up in the middle of a storm with cans of sweet corn.
And there it was again-the softness in his eyes, a contradiction to the coldness I often saw. It tugged at me, the need to know why.
Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out.
"Why?"
He looked up from his casual rummaging.
"Why what, Satoru?"
I hesitated. The air between us felt heavy, the rain outside a constant reminder of the weight of my own thoughts. If I didn't ask now, I never would.
"Why aren't you like this all the time?"
The instant the words left my mouth, regret flooded in. I bit my lip, feeling my palms grow clammy, heart racing as I waited for him to respond. I wasn't sure what I expected, but I wasn't ready for the silence that followed.
Suguru's eyes locked onto mine, unwavering. The playful light that had danced in them moments ago had vanished, replaced by something unreadable.
The silence stretched on, long and uncomfortable, filled only by the pounding rain outside. His face was blank, a mask of indifference. And then, as if on cue, it shifted. His lips curled into a grin, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Satoru, I didn't know you cared about that kind of stuff," he said with a chuckle, brushing off my question with a playful tone that felt like a deflection.
Disappointment feisted over me. His words felt hollow, dismissive, like he was dodging something deeper. I wanted to press him, to make him answer honestly, but before I could gather my thoughts, he stood, moving across the room with ease, pulling a spare blanket from my cabinet.
"I'm going to stay here for a bit," he said, already settling onto the floor as if the conversation hadn't happened.
"You can sleep if you want."
I stood there, frozen, every rush of emotion I'd felt moments ago now drained, leaving behind only a hollow dissatisfaction. He'd shut me out again, keeping that distance I'd grown all too familiar with.
"Thanks for the sweet corn,"
I muttered, trying to mask my disappointment as I shuffled over to help him with the makeshift bed.
But as I laid down again, pulling the blanket tighter around me, I couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how close Suguru seemed, he was always just out of reach.
