Chapter 10: Within the Quiet || Shizukesa no naka de

  Shunsuke’s apartment, Roppongi Hills → September 30, 2022

  "Behind the glamour lies a pain no one is allowed to see."

  Shunsuke woke up early that morning.

  Kuro was still fast asleep beside him, snoring softly—curled up like a stone in the blanket nest they'd made together.

  He chuckled quietly and got out of bed, padding into the kitchen to start breakfast.

  For Kuro, of course.

  He scooped some rice into a bowl, adding a generous spoonful of tuna. As soon as he opened the can, he heard familiar footsteps coming from the bedroom.

  “I see you smelled the tuna,” he said playfully.

  Kuro trotted in and sat regally in front of him—like a tiny emperor expecting tribute.

  Smiling, Shunsuke knelt down and set the bowl beside Kuro’s fortress of blankets.

  Kuro let out a pleased chirp and immediately plopped down, munching away with sleepy contentment.

  Shunsuke stayed there for a moment, watching him eat while heating up some water for tea.

  He rarely ate in the mornings himself. Not because he wasn’t hungry—he just didn’t have the will.

  Most days, he left for university without touching a bite, coming home late in the evening with nothing in his stomach.

  Only then would he throw something together, half-heartedly.

  Kuro, of course, always had fresh food, always on time.

  But Shunsuke… didn’t mind skipping his own meals.

  Shunsuke sipped his tea, eyes drifting to the tablet glowing on the kitchen counter. The screen was cluttered with emails, schedules, and notifications.

  One message in particular stood out: the charity event tonight.

  He had been asked to attend—as Shun Ishihara, his carefully crafted public persona.

  He knew Miyu would be there too, appearing as Shion, the elegant and innocent model the public adored.

  He sighed.

  They had to keep their distance.

  Too close, and the illusion would break.

  Their images didn’t match—not at all.

  She was sold as the embodiment of purity: soft, sweet, and untouchable.

  He was marketed as the opposite.

  Mysterious. Dangerous. The kind of man people stared at but didn’t dare approach.

  Shunsuke had never shied away from sensual shoots. Even nude ones.

  Miyu’s agency would riot if they ever found out who he really was to her.

  He rose from his seat and walked into the bedroom, opening his wardrobe.

  His fingers slid past rows of tailored suits and carefully chosen outfits.

  Tonight required something striking—but not too flashy.

  Despite the money he made from modeling, Shunsuke kept very little for himself.

  Most of it went to charities, usually anonymously.

  He only kept what he needed—for Kuro, university, and his apartment.

  Shunsuke had never cared for excess.

  The only luxuries he allowed himself were this apartment… and his cars.

  Shun Ishihara.

  The name he had chosen when he first started working as a host.

  Not his real name—just close enough.

  "Shun" from Shunsuke.

  "Ishihara" from his mother’s maiden name.

  It had become more than just a pseudonym.

  It was the name he used at university.

  The name on his student records.

  No one there knew his real identity.

  No one knew he was a Kawamura.

  And that was for the best.

  As student council president, he couldn’t risk the truth getting out.

  People didn’t take kindly to heirs of criminal empires.

  Ryuichi understood.

  He used his own birth name too—Ryuichi Sakamoto.

  It was safer that way.

  A clean name. A clean slate.

  A soft chirp pulled Shunsuke from his thoughts.

  Kuro had padded into the bedroom, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

  Shunsuke crouched down, gently stroking his fur.

  “I need to go to university,” he said softly. “And tonight I’ll be at an event. But I’ll come home first and give you enough to eat.”

  Kuro chirped again, as if understanding, then toddled off toward his blanket fortress in the corner of the room.

  Shunsuke smiled.

  Sometimes, he thought, Kuro was the only one who truly knew both sides of him.

  Shunsuke stepped into the bathroom, shedding his underwear before slipping under the hot stream of the shower. Water ran down his lean, athletic body, trailing over old scars and tense muscles.

  He always left the door open—just in case Kuro wanted to join.

  Sometimes, the raccoon padded in and stood beside him under the warm spray, chittering softly.

  That morning, Kuro didn’t come.

  Shunsuke didn’t mind. He always got up early, so there was no need to rush. He washed his hair and his body, going through the motions with quiet precision.

  Then he stepped out, grabbing the towel he had placed neatly the night before. He dried off, sighing, his reflection fogging up in the mirror.

  Toothbrush in hand, he opened the cabinet and reached for his medication.

  Sertraline. Prazosin.

  He had been taking them for two years now.

  He wasn’t sure they did anything.

  But he still took them.

  He didn’t trust himself to know if they helped or not.

  There had to be a reason his psychiatrist prescribed them.

  And that had to be enough.

  ???????

  Ryuichi sat at the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee—black, no sugar.

  Hina was already smiling like sunshine.

  He wasn’t a morning person.

  Actually, he hated mornings.

  Correction—he hated people in the morning.

  Except Hina...and maybe Shunsuke.

  “I don’t get how you can already smile like this so early,” he muttered, hoping the bitter coffee would kick his brain into motion.

  He needed more than one alarm just to wake up. His body simply refused to obey the first one. Or the second. Or sometimes the third.

  “I like grumpy morning Ryuichi,” Hina giggled, reaching for her tea.

  She always got up the moment her alarm rang. Just stood up like it was nothing.

  It made no sense to him.

  Honestly, it felt like betrayal.

  Betrayal to his bed.

  The front doorbell rang.

  Ryuichi let out a sigh. “That’s Shunsuke. Punctual as always.”

  Hina walked to the door and opened it with a soft smile.

  “Good morning, Shunsuke-kun.”

  From the kitchen came a low groan.

  “Great. Two people beaming with sunshine already,” Ryuichi muttered flatly, still clinging to his mug like it was his last lifeline.

  Shunsuke stepped inside and sat down on the couch, his posture relaxed as always.

  “Every morning you're grumpy,” he teased lightly. “You should smile more.”

  “Shut up,” Ryuichi replied, glaring at his coffee as if it had failed him.

  He drained the last of it, then dumped the cup in the sink with a groan before shuffling into his study room. A moment later, he returned with a stack of textbooks, stuffing them into his backpack with resigned slowness.

  Hina was already ready—her sketchbooks and notebooks neatly tucked under one arm.

  “Thank you for taking me with you, Shunsuke-kun,” she said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Shunsuke just nodded in response.

  He didn’t mind driving Hina to art school—it was a detour, sure, but she was family. And more than that, she’d given his little brother something he hadn’t seen in a long time: a reason to smile. A bit of warmth.

  For that alone, he would’ve driven her across the country if needed.

  The three of them left Ryuichi’s apartment and headed to the garage, where Shunsuke’s car waited.

  Hina blinked in surprise.

  “Did you get a new car, Shunsuke-kun?”

  Before Shunsuke could answer, Ryuichi cut in with a flat tone.

  “Nope. He has two. The one you’ve seen is his weekend car. This is his public persona car.”

  He let the words hang before adding with mock thoughtfulness,

  “I still remember someone saying, ‘I don’t need luxury…’ Who was that again? Hmm.”

  Shunsuke just shrugged his shoulders as they approached the midnight blue Lexus RX.

  He only used this one for university—or when he had to drive more people around.

  He unlocked the doors, holding them open for Hina and Ryuichi, who both slid into the back seat. Shunsuke took his place behind the wheel and started the engine with a quiet hum.

  Today, he’d first drop Hina off at her art school before heading to Ichigaya to pick up Miyu and Yuki.

  He had texted Miyu the night before, asking if it was alright to pick her up now that her parents were more content with their relationship.

  Hina rarely went to campus anymore, preferring online lectures, but today she had exams to attend in person. So naturally, Shunsuke made sure to bring her.

  “When you’re done, just text me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll pick you up and drive you home.”

  “I only have a few student council things to take care of after that, so I’ve got time.”

  Hina smiled softly and nodded.

  “Thank you, Shunsuke-kun.”

  ???????

  After dropping Hina off at her art school, Shunsuke drove straight to Ichigaya.

  “Huh, I see your meeting went so well yesterday that now you're even picking up your girl,” Ryuichi teased from the backseat, not even looking up from his textbook.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  He had a seminar today and needed to be on campus—but like Hina, Ryuichi preferred doing most of his courses online.

  Less interaction. Fewer people to deal with.

  Especially if that meant avoiding his ex, Yuka.

  Shunsuke wasn’t much different. He attended his lectures online too, only showing up at university for student council work or exams.

  It made things easier—especially with Kuro.

  He could take care of his raccoon properly and still keep up with classes.

  Sometimes, during webcam lectures, Kuro would hop onto his lap mid-call.

  Shunsuke didn’t mind.

  And honestly, neither did anyone else.

  Kuro had a talent for charming whole classrooms with a single blink.

  As they reached the Nakashima compound, Shunsuke slowly stilled the car, waiting for Miyu to appear. He leaned back in his seat, relaxing for a moment.

  After a few minutes, he spotted her walking through the gate—Yuki skipping along beside her.

  The moment he saw them, Shunsuke got out of the car and approached.

  “I’m sorry,” Miyu said quickly. “Can we drop Yuki off at elementary school first? I’m running a bit late.”

  Shunsuke gave a soft nod. “Of course we can,” he said gently, kissing her cheek.

  He opened the back door for Yuki, who immediately hopped in and plopped down next to Ryuichi.

  “Hey, you little menace,” Ryuichi greeted her with a playful smirk.

  “Hi, Ryu-nii!” Yuki beamed.

  Her usual energy hit him like a wave, and Ryuichi looked momentarily flustered trying to keep his cool.

  Miyu slipped into the passenger seat, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Please put on your seatbelt, Yuki-chan.”

  Yuki gave a little nod, and Ryuichi leaned over to help her buckle in.

  Shunsuke smiled quietly, his hand brushing against Miyu’s on the center console.

  Then a small voice chimed from the back:

  “Can I call you daddy now, Shun-nii?”

  Ryuichi snorted.

  Shunsuke nearly choked, his ears turning red.

  Miyu flushed pink.

  “If your mother’s okay with it… and you are too,” Shunsuke said softly, “I’d be happy to be.”

  ???????

  In the evening, Shunsuke stepped back into his apartment, greeted instantly by the sound of claws skittering across the floor.

  Kuro jumped at his leg, chirping softly.

  “I’m back, Kuro. I missed you too,” he murmured, kneeling down to stroke the fluffy raccoon.

  Kuro chirped again, nuzzling into his chest as Shunsuke scooped him up and carried him into the kitchen.

  He set him gently on the counter, brushing some fur off his sleeves.

  Kuro sat upright like a tiny guard, watching every move as Shunsuke washed the rice and set it in the rice cooker. He then prepared two eggs—one scrambled without seasoning for Kuro, and one for himself with soy sauce and a pinch of salt.

  Kuro remained obediently still, nose twitching. He knew the rules: no touching the pan, no grabbing utensils.

  When the rice cooker finally clicked, Shunsuke portioned out two bowls. His own got the seasoned egg and a handful of sweet corn mixed in. For Kuro, he carefully let the rice cool a little before adding the plain scrambled egg and some corn as well.

  He placed the small bowl in front of Kuro on the low feeding mat.

  “Dinner time,” he said softly.

  Kuro immediately chirped in delight, tail swishing as he dug in.

  After dinner, Shunsuke stepped into his bedroom, slowly peeling off his clothes. He tossed the neatly folded shirt and trousers onto the empty side of the bed—her side. The spot where, if Miyu were here, she would lie.

  His fingers clicking automatically as he changed into the dark formal attire reserved for the charity function until—

  Ding dong.

  The front doorbell.

  He paused, glancing toward the hallway mirror as he fumbled to fasten his belt. He didn’t need to check the intercom. He already knew.

  Miyu.

  He opened the door, and there she stood—elegant and breath-stealing in an ice-colored gown that shimmered like a winter moon. The cut was modest, graceful, and understated... just like her. Her long hair was pinned loosely behind her shoulder, subtle makeup accentuating her soft features.

  She looked like a dream.

  Shunsuke’s gaze lingered for a moment too long before he stepped aside to let her in.

  She had told her agency the truth.

  That she was going to the event with Shun Ishihara—her colleague and friend. Not as lovers. Not as anything that would jeopardize either of their careers. Just a professional appearance.

  It was a lie wrapped in truth, or maybe the other way around.

  But for now, they’d play the part. Smile for the cameras. Pretend the distance wasn’t killing them.

  “You’re breathtaking, Miyu…” Shunsuke whispered, gently pulling her into his arms. His lips brushed hers in a tender kiss, and she leaned into the warmth of his bare chest, her heartbeat echoing softly against his skin.

  “I’m nervous, Shunsuke,” she admitted, voice low. “I’ve never been to something like this before.”

  He wrapped his arms around her a little tighter. “I’m right here,” he whispered. “Just stay close to me.”

  Miyu looked up at him, then placed a kiss against his chest. His breath hitched—just for a moment—before he exhaled and relaxed into her touch.

  “I became a model because I had a crush…” she started, her breath soft against his skin. “A crush on you… No. On Shun Ishihara.”

  Shunsuke's arms stilled, but he didn’t let go.

  “I wanted to meet him someday,” she continued, “that man on the billboards, the one who looked untouchable. But instead, I found someone even more beautiful…”

  She looked up at him, eyes warm and unwavering.

  “The man behind the mask.”

  A single tear slipped down Shunsuke’s cheek.

  ???????

  Miyu and Shunsuke sat in the backseat of his Lexus RX, her hand resting lightly on his. Up front, Ryuichi was driving. It was rare to see him behind the wheel—he preferred his motorcycle—but for events like this, he made an exception. Not because he cared about appearances, but because Shunsuke did.

  He didn’t crave the spotlight. He was there to watch over his brother.

  There had been a time—a fan, obsessed, unstable—when someone had tried to harm Shun Ishihara. Ryuichi had been there. Since then, his vigilance had only grown sharper.

  Now he watched over Miyu too. The light in his brother’s life.

  From the driver’s seat, Ryuichi kept his eyes on the road, silent and focused. No one would touch them. Not on his watch.

  As they arrived at the red carpet, Ryuichi stepped out from the driver’s seat, his expression unreadable as always. He walked around the car and opened the back door.

  Shunsuke stepped out first. The camera flashes exploded the moment his polished shoes hit the ground—Shun Ishihara had arrived.

  He straightened his jacket, then turned back and offered his hand.

  Miyu stepped out—no, Shion stepped out. Elegant in her ice-colored gown, poised but trembling slightly. The cameras immediately turned on her too, clicking like a hailstorm. She gripped her purse tightly, a small breath caught in her throat.

  Shunsuke wrapped his arm protectively around her lower back, guiding her forward. Ryuichi closed the door behind them, but not before exchanging a silent nod with his brother.

  They had a pact. A silent one.

  He'd protect them—always.

  And Shunsuke would shield her.

  Journalists swarmed them the moment they stepped onto the red carpet.

  Flashes. Voices. Questions. Chaos.

  “Are Shun Ishihara and Shion a couple?” one reporter called out boldly, shoving a mic forward.

  Miyu froze just for a second—but that was enough.

  Shunsuke stepped in with a practiced smile, all smooth charm and host-like poise. “Shion and I are friends,” he said warmly. “Nothing more. I asked her agency if I could accompany her tonight—it's her first grand event, and I thought she might feel more comfortable with someone familiar.”

  His voice was calm. Relaxed. Unbothered. But his fingers gently brushed the small of her back, grounding her.

  Miyu nodded toward the cameras, her expression composed, though the faintest hint of nerves lingered in her eyes. “That’s true,” she said clearly. “He asked my friend to accompany me.”

  She kept her chin high. Her voice was steady—but there was a quiet tremble beneath the surface; only someone close to her could catch it.

  Shunsuke did.

  And his smile softened, just a bit more real than before.

  As the evening progressed, Miyu never strayed from his side. The soft music drifting through the venue was calming, and the steady warmth of Shunsuke’s hand at her back made her feel safe.

  How much she wished she could be honest—how desperately she wanted to admit that she and Shunsuke were together.

  But she couldn’t.

  Her agency would drop her in a heartbeat.

  Shunsuke didn’t fit the image they had so carefully crafted for her: sweet, shy, innocent.

  He was everything they feared—mature, magnetic, the kind of man who could steal the breath from a room. He didn’t shy away from seductive photo shoots or bold interviews.

  He was the opposite of everything she was supposed to be.

  And yet, she clung to him like he was the only thing real in a world made of glass.

  Shunsuke kept her close as they drifted through the crowd, exchanging polite words and tight smiles with passing celebrities.

  But he could feel it.

  The tension beneath her skin.

  The stiffness in her spine.

  The way her laughter never reached her eyes.

  He hated it.

  Hated every fake smile she had to wear.

  Hated that she had to pretend.

  If it were up to him, he would have claimed her right there—on the red carpet, under the spotlight, in front of every jealous whisper and envious stare.

  He would have said it proudly: that Miyu was his.

  That she was the only one who had ever truly owned his heart.

  But he knew better.

  His reputation—dangerous, scandalous, unrepentantly adult—was everything her agency wanted her to avoid.

  And the last thing he wanted was to taint her name or damage the future she was fighting to build.

  So instead, he just held her a little tighter.

  And when no one was looking, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

  As the melody shifted to something slower and sweeter, Shunsuke turned to her.

  He reached for her hand, his touch feather-light.

  A soft smile curled on his lips, his voice smooth like velvet.

  “May I have this dance, Shion?”

  Her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat. Her lips parted to protest—but no sound came. Only the blush rising in her cheeks betrayed her fluttering heart.

  “I… I don’t know how to dance, Shun,” she whispered.

  He chuckled gently, already guiding her toward the center of the room, where couples moved like flowing silk under crystal lights.

  “Then just trust me,” he murmured, his hands coaxing hers into place with a tenderness that sent shivers through her.

  He moved like water—graceful, sure—and she followed, step by step, trusting him completely.

  Miyu’s world narrowed to just him: his scent, his warmth, and the quiet strength in his arms.

  “How did you learn to dance like this?” she asked, voice barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell.

  She stumbled.

  But before panic could rise, Shunsuke caught her easily, pulling her close against his chest.

  “I’ve got you, Shion,” he whispered. His voice was low, calming, like a secret meant only for her.

  The soft clicking of cameras began to rise—all eyes were on them.

  A wave of whispers fluttered through the crowd.

  Their names, their closeness, the way he held her—none of it went unnoticed.

  Flushed, both of them tried to play it off as if nothing had happened.

  But Shunsuke didn’t let her go.

  Still holding her, he reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  His fingers brushed her skin—just barely—but the touch lingered in her heart like a spark.

  And in that moment, the world disappeared.

  All that remained was him.

  And her.

  And a love too big for the spotlight to ever fully hide.

  ???????

  Later, around midnight, Shunsuke stood alone in an empty hallway, far from the music and the chatter of the ballroom. The noise had dulled into a low hum in the distance, but it still throbbed in his skull like a second heartbeat.

  He leaned against the wall, eyes shut tight, one hand gripping the side of his head. The polished floor beneath him seemed to sway. Nausea clawed at his throat.

  Then he heard the quiet rhythm of heels approaching—familiar, steady.

  “I got some water, Shun,” Miyu’s soft voice reached him, gentle like a breeze. “Take it with your sumatriptan.”

  He opened his eyes just enough to see her silhouette, delicate and calm despite the chaotic night. She handed him the bottle and sat down beside him on the bench tucked against the wall, her presence a silent comfort.

  They stayed there, just breathing, the world momentarily reduced to two people in the hush of a hallway.

  All the flashing lights, the fake smiles, the carefully played roles—it had overloaded Shunsuke’s nervous system. The pressure behind his eyes felt like glass splintering.

  “It’s fine, Shion. You can go back. I just need… some time,” he said quietly, trying to sound composed. But the tight edge in his voice gave him away.

  Miyu shook her head, not even hesitating. “No. I stay here. Not as Shion—but as Miyu.”

  Her voice was soft but unshakable. She looked at him, not the mask, not the name—but him.

  Shunsuke turned to her slowly, his features relaxing just enough to let a small, tired smile appear.

  “Okay… Thank you.”

  A sharp click echoed down the hall.

  Miyu turned—too familiar with the sound. A paparazzi stood just a few meters away, camera already raised, the lens trained directly on Shunsuke’s pale, pained face.

  Without hesitation, Miyu stepped in front of him, shielding him with her body. Her heels clicked softly as she planted herself between Shunsuke and the flash.

  “Please leave,” she said, calm but firm. “Ishihara-san is having a migraine attack. He doesn’t need that now.”

  The photographer scoffed. “It’s a public event—”

  “This hallway isn’t,” Miyu interrupted smoothly. “He’s unwell. Show some respect.”

  There was a tense beat, then a groan as the paparazzi lowered his camera and turned away, muttering under his breath as he disappeared back into the noise.

  Miyu turned back. Shunsuke hadn’t moved. His eyes were shut again, jaw tight with pain.

  “Thanks,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Miyu gave him a soft, almost maternal smile. “Not for this,” she said gently. “It’s just human decency. Taking a picture of you like that… it’s cruel.”

  Shunsuke let out a quiet, pained chuckle. “They don’t care. It’s never about people. Just stories.”

  After a while, Shunsuke slowly stood up, still a little unsteady. Miyu immediately reached out, her hand slipping around his arm to support him.

  “Let’s go home,” she said softly. “I already told Ryuichi we’re on our way.”

  Shunsuke nodded silently. The worst of the pain had dulled, the sumatriptan beginning to take effect, but he was still pale and sluggish. They walked side by side through the quiet hallway, away from the lights, laughter, and shallow elegance of the event.

  Ryuichi was already waiting in the parking area, leaning against the sleek black car, arms crossed. As soon as he spotted them, he straightened and opened the car door without a word. His eyes briefly met Miyu’s, and he gave a small, grateful nod.

  “Thank you,” he murmured as he helped Shunsuke in.

  Miyu slid in beside Shunsuke, who leaned his head against the cool window glass with a quiet sigh. She gently reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together without needing to say anything.

  “A migraine?” Ryuichi asked from the driver’s seat, concern evident in his voice.

  Miyu nodded. “Yeah. He already took the pill, but it’s better to get him out of that place.”

  Ryuichi glanced at them in the rearview mirror, his expression serious. “Let me guess. Someone tried to snap a photo of him like this?”

  Miyu’s gaze hardened slightly. “They tried. I stopped them. I stepped in between him and the camera.” Her tone was calm but firm. Protective.

  Ryuichi exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “It’s disgusting. They’d take a photo of someone bleeding out on the floor if it meant selling the story.”

  Shunsuke, still with his eyes closed, gave a low, tired chuckle. “That’s what I said.”

  Ryuichi shook his head. “They should be thankful they ran into Miyu instead of me.”