Chapter 10: The Niece's Approval
The rain never quite fell, but the air stayed thick with the promise of it, pressing down on the Ishikawa backyard. Hana, a solid, sleepy weight against my chest, smelled of graham crackers and strawberry shampoo. Her small fist was tangled in the collar of my shirt, her breath puffing warm against my neck.
Mayu slid the glass door shut silently, her phone still in her hand. She looked from Hana’s peaceful face to mine, her usual mischief softened into something quieter.
“She never goes down for anyone but my sister that easy,” she whispered, lifting her phone. The camera shutter click was muted. She typed quickly.
A minute later, her phone buzzed on the counter. She smirked, showing me the screen.
Yuki: I’m leaving practice early.
Mayu: Coach will murder you.
Yuki: Worth it.
A warm, possessive thrill curled in my stomach, followed immediately by a pinch of guilt. “He shouldn’t get in trouble.”
“Please,” Mayu snorted, padding to the fridge. “He’s the captain. He’ll do a hundred suicide drills tomorrow and they’ll forgive him. This is more important.” She pulled out two cans of cold barley tea, handing me one. I shifted Hana carefully, supporting her head, and took it. “Besides,” Mayu continued, popping her can open, “he’s been a pent-up mess all week. This’ll do him good.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been… intense. More than usual. Snappy during drills, then totally spaced out in the locker room. Hiroshi asked him what his problem was yesterday and Yuki just stared at him like he was speaking a different language.” She took a long drink. “It’s you. It’s the whole… impending doom of your internship. He’s bad at waiting. And he’s worse at losing things he just got.”
Her words landed with a soft weight. I looked down at Hana’s long eyelashes fanned against her cheeks. The thought of Yuki being rattled, of his famous control fraying because of me, was equal parts unnerving and intoxicating.
“We made a plan,” I said, more to remind myself.
“Plans are paper,” Mayu said with a shrug. “He knows that. The team has a game plan for every match. Half of them go out the window in the first five minutes. You adapt.”
I sipped the tea, the cold, roasted flavor a contrast to the humid air. We sat in the quiet kitchen, the only sounds the hum of the refrigerator and Hana’s deep, even breathing. Mayu scrolled through the photos she’d taken, a small smile playing on her lips. There was one of me, cross-legged on the grass, completely focused on threading a dandelion chain, my tongue caught between my teeth. Another of Hana, belly-laughing, her head thrown back as I blew a cascade of bubbles around her.
“You’re good with her,” Mayu observed, not looking up. “It’s not an act. You’re just… present. It’s a good thing to be.”
Before I could answer, the front door clicked open, followed by the soft thud of shoes being kicked off. Footsteps, quick and heavy, came down the hall.
Yuki appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was still in his practice gear—grey athletic shorts, a damp navy t-shirt clinging to his torso. His hair was dark with sweat, strands sticking to his forehead. He smelled like hard work, liniment, and summer pavement. His eyes found me immediately, then dropped to the child asleep in my arms.
Something in his face, usually so composed, just… dissolved.
All the intensity, the quiet storm he carried, melted away into pure, unguarded wonder. He looked like he’d been sucker-punched by tenderness.
He walked over, his steps slow and deliberate on the tile. He didn’t reach for me. He just stood there, looking down at us. His gaze traveled over Hana’s sleeping form, the way her cheek was smushed against my shoulder, then up to my eyes. A muscle in his jaw feathered.
“Hey,” he breathed, the word rough.
“Hey. You’re in trouble.”
“I am.” He didn’t seem to care. He lifted a hand, hesitated, then gently brushed a stray hair from Hana’s forehead with his knuckle. His touch was so careful, so impossibly soft. “She’s out.”
“Sugar crash from the bubbles,” Mayu supplied from her perch at the counter, a knowing glint in her eye.
Yuki’s hand didn’t move far. It came to rest, warm and solid, on my bare shoulder, his thumb stroking the curve of it. The contact, simple and claiming, sent a wave of heat through me.
“Mayu showed me the pictures,” he said, his voice low, just for me.
“She was trying to stress you out.”
“It worked.” His thumb moved again. “That one of you two on the grass… with the flowers.” He paused, searching for the words. “I needed to see that today.”
Mayu’s phone buzzed loudly on the counter—their older sister, saying she was ten minutes away. The spell broke, but slowly. Yuki’s hand stayed on my shoulder.
“I’ll get her stuff together,” Mayu said, sliding off her stool and heading for the living room.
The kitchen felt smaller with just us, and the sleeping child. The reality of his early arrival, the smell of his sweat, the quiet intensity of his proximity, it all coalesced into a sharp, sweet ache. We had so little time left of this easy closeness.
“How was practice?” I asked, just to say something.
“Long. Hot. Pointless.” His eyes never left mine. “I couldn’t focus. I kept thinking about you sitting here. Letting my niece use you as a jungle gym.”
“She’s light.”
“That’s not the point.” He leaned down, his lips brushing my temple. A simple kiss, but it felt weighted. “The point is, I was jealous of a three-year-old.”
I laughed softly, careful not to jostle Hana. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.” He straightened as Mayu came back in with a little backpack.
Their sister’s car pulled into the driveway then. The transfer of a sleeping child was a delicate operation. Yuki took her from me, his movements sure and effortless, cradling her against his broad chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. She stirred, whimpered, “Uncle Yuki…,” and then settled back into sleep, her head on his shoulder.
Watching him hold her, something inside my chest cracked open, spilling warmth. I saw a glimpse of a future I hadn’t let myself imagine, one with frayed volleyball nets in backyards and sleepy children passed between us. It was terrifying. It was perfect.
He carried Hana out to the car, handing her over to his sister with a few quiet words. When he came back inside, the house was empty. Mayu had vanished upstairs, tactfully giving us the illusion of privacy.
He walked straight up to me, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me. It wasn’t like the desperate, hungry kisses from my bed. This was deep, searching, and profoundly soft. A confirmation. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
“Sunday,” he murmured. “Our day. I have an idea.”
“What idea?”
“You’ll see. Just… wear something comfortable. And be ready at ten.” He kissed me again, quick this time. “I have to go shower. I smell like a locker room.”
“I don’t mind.”
He gave me a look, dark and promising. “You will later. When I smell like me, and I have you all to myself.” He released me, heading for the stairs. He paused, his hand on the banister. “Stay. Have dinner with us. Mayu’s making pasta. It’ll be edible, I think.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, taking the stairs two at a time.
I stood in the quiet kitchen, the ghost of his touch on my skin, the taste of him on my lips. Through the sliding door, the sky had finally broken, a few fat, warm drops beginning to hit the concrete patio. They made dark, scattered circles on the grey stone.
Upstairs, the shower turned on. Mayu came clattering back down, a sketchbook in her hand—mine, left in the living room.
“So,” she said, dropping it on the counter in front of me. “He’s officially gone. You broke my brother.” She said it with immense satisfaction.
“I didn’t break him.”
“You absolutely did. He left practice. Yuki never leaves practice.” She grinned, opening the fridge again. “It’s awesome. Now, help me chop onions before he comes down and tries to take over. He’s a control freak in the kitchen, too.”
I picked up a knife, the ordinary domesticity of the task a stark contrast to the seismic shift happening inside me. The rain began to fall in earnest, a steady whisper against the roof. I listened to it, and to the sound of water running through the pipes above, tracing the path of the boy I’d always known who was now, irrevocably, the man I loved.
And for the first time, the thought of the distance ahead didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like a test. And looking at the life blooming chaotically around me in this warm, cluttered house, I wanted to pass.