-ember- Gimai Seikatsu - 03.mkv -

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.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he takes the ember between his fingertips — quick, hot, pain — and drops it into a small dish of dry leaves he’d gathered earlier (a strange hobby, she always thought). The leaves catch. A tiny flame rises. -EMBER- Gimai Seikatsu - 03.mkv

She’s written on the fogged mirror: “Don’t touch embers with bare hands, idiot.”

“It’s almost out,” she whispers. “Like… us.” He touches the towel

“You left your towel on my hook,” he says.

Slowly, he reaches out — not for the jar, but for her hand. She flinches, then doesn’t pull away. He takes the jar, opens the lid. The ember glows brighter, as if fed by the air — or by their shared breath. He holds it for a second too long

Yuuta sits down opposite her. “Embers don’t disappear. They just hide.”

She looks up. Her eyes are red, but dry.

“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.

He doesn’t knock. Instead, he watches the light pulse once, twice — like a slow heartbeat. An ember.