“You burned yourself,” she gasps.
He touches the towel. Still damp. Still warm from the dryer. He holds it for a second too long. He finally pushes her door open without a word. Shiori is sitting on the floor, knees to her chest, holding a small glass jar. Inside: a single glowing coal — the last ember from the barbecue they’d shared three months ago, the night their parents announced the remarriage. That night, they’d sat side by side, not looking at each other, as the fire died.
Yesterday, they had their first real fight. Not loud. Worse: quiet. She’d dropped a mug he bought at a school festival. He’d said, “It’s fine.” She’d said, “You always say that.” Then silence until now. Their parents are away for three days. The rule: Be home by 10, lock the door, don’t bother each other. They’ve followed it perfectly — too perfectly. Meals eaten in shifts. Laundry separated by an invisible line down the middle of the balcony. -EMBER- Gimai Seikatsu - 03.mkv
“You left your towel on my hook,” he says.
She pauses. “Because I wanted you to notice me. Even if you were angry.” “You burned yourself,” she gasps
The file ends. No music. Just the hum of an air conditioner and the soft click of a door closing — not all the way.
“Yeah. But now the fire’s back.” The next morning, the dish holds ash and one blackened leaf. But on the kitchen counter, two mugs sit side by side — both chipped. Hers from yesterday. His from last year. In the sink, they share the same water. Still warm from the dryer
She’s written on the fogged mirror: “Don’t touch embers with bare hands, idiot.”
She looks up. Her eyes are red, but dry.
But tonight, Yuuta notices something strange: her wet towel is on his hook. A mistake? Or a signal?