Zenjiro sighed. He stood perfectly still in the dark kitchen. The faint, orange glow of the distant streetlamps filtered through the frosted glass of the back door. It cast long, strange shadows across the wooden floorboards. He looked down at his step-mother. The cold wood offered zero comfort. He knew she was in deep, terrible pain.
The empty glass bottles scattered around her bare legs told the entire story. Her ex-husband called earlier that morning. The unexpected sound of his voice ripped her old, carefully hidden wounds completely wide open.
Thinking about her heavy pain forced Zenjiro to remember his own. The crushing weight of Asuka's harsh rejection still suffocated his lungs. The brutal word she used echoed loudly in the quiet space.
Ugly.
It was a sharp, jagged piece of glass turning slowly in his stomach.
He stared down at Clara. Her blonde hair fell loosely over her face. Her breathing was slow and heavy.
"We are in the exact same situation, Mother," Zenjiro whispered to the empty room. "I am in pain because of a broken heart. You are in pain because you remembered your experience with your ex-husband."
He looked at the dark green bottles lying on the floor. He thought about the sick ache sitting deep in his chest. He desperately needed to forget his own pain. He needed a distraction.
"I think I should drink too," he muttered.
He scanned the messy floor. He saw an unopened aluminum can of beer resting right beside Clara's right thigh. He crouched down. He reached his hand out to grab the metal. As his fingers closed around the cold cylinder, the back of his hand brushed firmly against her bare skin.
It was warm. The sudden heat sent a small shock straight up his arm. He ignored it and grabbed the cold aluminum.
"I am eighteen years old now," Zenjiro whispered. "I am allowed to drink, right?"
He hooked his finger under the metal tab. He pulled it back hard. The can cracked open with a loud hiss. He brought the rim directly to his lips. He tilted his head back and took a long drink.
His face twisted instantly in pure shock. He squeezed his eyes shut. His lips pulled back into a tight grimace. It was the very first time he had ever tasted beer.
"So bitter," Zenjiro gasped. The harsh, ugly taste coated his entire tongue. It burned the back of his throat. "Why would anyone ever drink this?"
He placed the open can down on the wooden floor. He felt entirely disgusted by the terrible flavor. He looked back down at Clara. She hadn't moved a single inch.
"You will catch a cold here, Mother," he said quietly.
He decided to carry her to her bedroom. He stepped closer. He leaned his upper body forward and carefully removed the small glass cup resting precariously on her lap. He placed it far away near the base of the refrigerator.
He bent his knees. He put both of his arms firmly under her underarms. He braced his legs and tried to lift her straight up to make her stand.
He failed completely on his first attempt.
Her body didn't even leave the floor. The dead weight made her incredibly heavy. She was vastly heavier than he thought. She was much heavier than Liora. He let her go. She slumped right back against the lower cabinets.
He looked down. He saw an open can of beer sitting dangerously close to Clara's left hip. He worried it might spill if he hit it during his next attempt. A dark stain would completely ruin her clothes. He reached out and moved it slightly using his right hand.
He prepared himself for the second attempt. His arms went deep under her underarms again. He used his full strength this time. The plan was to lift her up slightly to lean her back against the wooden cabinet. Then he would turn his back and carry her securely on his back.
He pulled upward with all his might.
But...
Something unexpected happened.
His right index finger got stuck hard on Clara's thin white shirt. The cotton fabric snagged tight. As he lifted her torso up, the shirt dragged violently upward.
His finger slipped completely under the fabric. It accidentally hit something soft and fiercely warm.
Zenjiro froze. Every single muscle in his body locked instantly into place.
He remembered early that day. He remembered the exact feeling he had when he touched Asuka's bare thigh. The shocking heat. The smooth texture. The feeling striking his finger right now was exactly the same.
His finger was firmly stuck on her shirt. He stopped pulling. He looked down.
Her white shirt was bunched high up on her ribs. He could see her bare stomach. The thin fabric still covered what was hidden directly behind it, but the sudden exposure made his mouth go completely dry.
He looked up at Clara's face. She was thirty-six years old. But sleeping there in the dim orange light, she looked entirely different. She was staggeringly pretty. Her delicate features looked exactly like a flawless porcelain doll.
His heart started to beat incredibly fast. A loud, frantic rhythm hammered violently against his ribs.
And then...
His right hand instinctively started to move.
Very slow.
He didn't issue the command. The limb acted completely on its own. He lifted his hand slowly upward.
The bunched fabric shifted higher.
Higher.
And higher.
He looked below the hem.
He saw it.
The white cotton fell away. He saw the two soft, spherical shapes that made him freeze in the master bedroom all those years ago. They lay completely exposed to the cold kitchen air. The dim light cast heavy shadows over her pale skin.
And then...
He stared intently at the sight.
Pure panic suddenly flooded his brain.
He needed to know if she was awake. He reached out with his shaking right finger. He gently opened Clara's left eyelid. He pushed the skin up.
The kitchen was a little dim. He took his face much closer to hers. He peered directly into the gap.
Then...
He saw only white. He couldn't see the bright blue iris of Clara's eye. It was rolled completely back into her head.
He let the left eyelid drop. He checked her right eye the exact same way. It was completely white.
He let out a long sigh. She was really deep in sleep. The heavy alcohol had completely paralyzed her.
Zenjiro stepped backward. He sat down heavily on the hard wooden floorboards.
He sat about one meter away from her. He looked intently at Clara in the slightly dim kitchen. He stared at her incredibly pretty face.
And...
He stared down at her fully exposed chest. His heart beat faster and faster.
Thump. Thump.
The loud thumping echoed right in his ears.
He realized something big. The deep, crushing pain in his chest from his heartbreak was actually still there. But it was entirely overridden by something else.
The exact moment his index finger hit her soft skin, he felt that violent jolt of electricity shoot straight up his spine again.
Simultaneously, the dull ache in his heart was pushed totally into the background. It was there, but he couldn't focus on thinking about it right now.
His brain's absolute focus right now was the woman sitting right in front of him. She was incredibly attractive. Zenjiro sat there watching her from a meter away.
His raw instinct started screaming at him. It told him something completely dangerous. His heart rate rose again.
He stepped forward. He reached out and took the unfinished can of beer he had called bitter. He brought the aluminum rim to his lips. He took a sip.
One sip.
The liquid burned. He swallowed it down.
Two sips.
He took another long drink.
Three sips.
It was incredibly bitter. His facial reaction twisted into a painful grimace. It showed exactly how harsh the taste truly was. He hated it. But he drank it anyway. He needed the heavy burn.
He looked at Clara. He remembered Asuka standing in the damp alleyway. He remembered her sharp, cold voice warning him about places that are strictly off limits.
Zenjiro shook his head hard. The common sense he learned over the few years was yelling at him. It told him this was not right. She was a mother figure to him. She took care of him when he was young. How could he do this to a person who only show kindness to him? It was a huge betrayal. His brain said: This is a big mistake.
But his dark instinct was telling him the exact opposite. The pain and the bitter alcohol twisted his logic into tight knots. His instinct whispered loudly in the quiet room:
This is the day to cross the line.
He took another long sip of the beer.
He took another.
And another.
He completely endured the terrible bitterness of the taste. The alcohol hit his empty stomach like a hot stone.
He placed the empty can down on the floorboards.
He stood up slowly.
The heavy dose of alcohol hit his bloodstream fast. His empty stomach absorbed the liquid without any resistance. A sudden, thick wave of heat rushed up his neck and blurred the edges of his vision. The wooden floorboards tilted slightly under his bare feet.
The rigid, logical walls he had built around his mind for years finally cracked. The sharp pain of Asuka's rejection still throbbed deep in his chest, but the cheap beer actively numbed his common sense.
He looked down at Clara in the dim orange light. The strict moral boundary completely dissolved. He surrendered entirely to the sudden chemical rush.
"Screw this," Zenjiro whispered. His voice was raw and unrecognizable. "I don't care anymore. It's so painful. It hurts."
He stared down at her sleeping body. The dark kitchen spun slightly around him. His hands shook at his sides.
"I'm sorry, Mother," he muttered. "I... I need a distraction."
The edges of his vision turned completely black. The heavy wooden cabinets faded away. The rest of the kitchen disappeared entirely. His entire world shrank down to the soft, pale skin resting on the cold floorboards.
He took a single step forward.
Thump.
His bare foot hit the solid wood. The sound was incredibly loud in the dead silence of the house.
Thump.
He took another step.
Thump.
He walked incredibly slowly. The short distance felt like a mile. His slow, deliberate steps made the quiet air feel suffocating.
He held his own breath.
Then...
He reached her side.
And..
He slowly knelt down on the hard floor. The fabric of his dark sweatpants rustled loudly in the quiet space.
Then...
He raised both of his hands.
They trembled violently. His fingers shook with raw, nervous energy.
And then...
He slowly reached out toward his destination. He moved both of his hands forward through the cold air. It was agonizingly slow. The orange light from the window cast long, dark shadows over his knuckles.
He pushed his hands closer. Left and Right.
Closer.
And closer.
The distance vanished.
He lowered his shaking hands. The air grew incredibly hot against his bare palms. He let gravity pull his fingertips down through the final fraction of an inch. The absolute limit broke. A sudden, massive jolt of electricity flared right against his skin.
"Onii-chan."
A tired voice cut sharply through the dark room. His arms jerked backward instantly. Footsteps slapped fast against the hallway floorboards.