Part 2 — The Weight of Being Unseen
"Why did you even come here?" Yuji asked.
"You should've stayed home."
Haruto's jaw tightened.
"I didn't want to," he said.
Yuji raised an eyebrow.
"And why is that?"
Haruto finally looked up.
"…You know I'm not the only one who got hurt," he said quietly.
"Ayame was hurt too."
Yuji didn't interrupt.
"And you already know Kaito," Haruto went on.
"He'll stay by her side. He always does."
Miri shifted uncomfortably.
Yuji frowned slightly.
"That doesn't mean you don't matter."
Haruto let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Doesn't it?"
He set the spoon down.
"From the beginning," he said, "it's always been Ayame first. If she cries, everyone moves. If she's hurt, everyone panics."
He glanced away.
"If I'm hurt, they tell me to be quiet."
Miri opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Kaito doesn't hate me," Haruto said. "That's not it."
Yuji nodded slowly.
"Then what is it?"
Haruto hesitated.
"…He just doesn't see me the same way," he said.
"To him, Ayame is someone to protect."
"And you?" Yuji asked.
Haruto's fingers curled slightly.
"I'm just… there."
The words hung heavy in the air.
"He doesn't mean to," Haruto added quickly, almost defending him.
"But it shows. It always has."
Miri frowned.
"You're wrong," she said softly. "He worries about you too."
Haruto shook his head.
"Not like her," he replied.
"Never like her."
Yuji's voice lowered.
"That kind of thinking will eat you alive."
Haruto looked up, eyes tired but sharp.
"I'm not thinking," he said.
"I'm noticing."
Silence filled the restaurant.
Yuji finally spoke again.
"You ran here because you didn't want to sit in a place where you feel invisible."
Haruto didn't deny it.
"…I just wanted to be somewhere neutral," he said.
"Somewhere I'm not someone's responsibility—or someone's afterthought."
Miri looked at him, eyes softer now.
"You're not invisible here," she said.
Yuji nodded.
"And you never were to your father."
Haruto's throat tightened.
"…I know," he whispered.
For a moment, the noise of the outside world faded.
But the problem wasn't gone.
It was just waiting—
back home,
with a brother who didn't realize how deep the distance had grown.