Theresa’s gaze flickered toward Samantha, her fingers absently tightening around the hem of her sleeve. She sat on the couch across from her, positioned beside Tomoya, but despite their proximity, she felt miles away from the conversation about to unfold.
Samantha, for her part, remained unnervingly still. Beside her, Kathleen’s posture was equally rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, as though bracing for the inevitable.
No one in the room looked prepared for what was coming.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until the sharp chime of the doorbell shattered it.
Tomoya sprang up, his movements quick—almost desperate. He didn’t make the same mistake as before. This time, he peered through the peephole, his shoulders visibly relaxing only after confirming the identity of the visitor.
With a swift motion, he unlatched the door, revealing Takumi.
The moment he stepped inside, all eyes locked onto him.
Except for Theresa.
She couldn’t bring herself to look.
A bitter weight settled in her chest. It had been Takumi who took her out of the hospital, yet he had never once mentioned Samantha. Not in passing. Not even a single hint.
Her lips parted slightly, a whisper escaping before she could stop it.
"Perhaps… Kim was right."
The words barely left her lips, but they were enough.
Samantha's sharp gaze snapped toward her, eyebrows drawing together in quiet scrutiny. Though she hadn't fully caught what Theresa had muttered, there was something about her tone—resigned, bitter, almost betrayed—that set Samantha’s nerves on edge.
Takumi, having just stepped inside, had his focus locked on Theresa, his unreadable expression betraying nothing.
The tension in the air became unbearable it nearly chokes Tomoya that he desperately wanted to lift everything up.
"So," he clasped his hands together, his voice intentionally light, though the weight of the moment pressed heavily against his chest. He gestured toward Takumi, subtly urging him to take the empty seat beside Theresa.
But Takumi didn’t move toward her.
Instead, his gaze flickered to Theresa's face, assessing something unreadable, and then, without a word, he stepped forward and settled beside Samantha.
Tomoya's breath hitched. His fingers twitched at his sides as he processed what that meant.
This wasn’t just about Samantha anymore.
This wasn’t some casual reunion or a vague debriefing of what had happened at the hospital.
No.
This was a confrontation—one that would determine just how much Theresa was allowed to know.
Tomoya exhaled slowly, dropping back onto the couch beside her. His movements were deliberate, shielding her in the way an older brother might, though he knew very well Theresa wouldn't appreciate the sentiment.
Takumi’s gaze swept over everyone in the room, pausing momentarily on Kathleen, then shifting to Tomoya. But when his eyes finally landed on Samantha, something shifted in his expression.
It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t watching closely.
But Tomoya saw it.
The quiet concern hidden beneath that carefully composed face. The slight clench of his jaw, as if he was bracing himself for whatever truth was about to unfold.
"How do you feel?" Takumi finally asked.
The question was directed at Samantha.
But it was Theresa who stiffened beside Tomoya.
For a fleeting moment, her fingers curled against the fabric of her skirt, her lips parting slightly as if she had been about to answer—only to catch herself at the last second.
Tomoya saw it. Felt it.
The moment of realization that the question wasn’t meant for her.
That whatever had been on her mind—whatever desperation she had been suppressing—wasn't even a concern to the man she had been waiting for.
He shut his eyes briefly, biting back a groan.
"Unrequited love bullshit," he muttered under his breath, massaging the bridge of his nose.
The tension in the room thickened.
Theresa, pretending not to hear him, stared hard at the floor.
Samantha, still unaware of the silent war happening beside her, hesitated before answering Takumi’s question.
"I-I'm not fine," Samantha finally admitted, her voice steady but laced with exhaustion.
She leaned closer to Takumi, her sharp gaze flickering between his eyes, searching for something—anything—that might confirm her growing suspicions.
Takumi, caught off guard, blinked. The unexpected intensity in her stare made him instinctively shift back, but not out of fear. It was something else. Hesitation. Calculation.
"What's going on, sir?" Samantha pressed, her tone unwavering.
Tomoya, Kathleen, and Theresa were now watching Takumi with rapt attention, their expressions ranging from confusion to silent demand. They, too, wanted answers—although Kathleen and Tomoya wanted to know what happened to Junel's case and Theresa wanted to know something else...
A long, heavy pause filled the air before Takumi finally sighed, adjusting his glasses with a slow, deliberate motion. Then, with a kind of measured patience, he placed a firm hand on Samantha’s shoulder.
"Perhaps," he murmured, voice almost too calm, "we should observe some ‘delayed gratification’ to prevent ‘foreign contamination.’"
The words landed heavily in the room.
Tomoya and Kathleen exchanged baffled looks, while Theresa narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
"Huh?" Kathleen grimaced. "What are you even talking about?"
Takumi shifted his gaze toward her, his expression unreadable. "I just want Shane to calm down. Her eyes look sunken and her lips are pale, she might pass out." He offered a small, seemingly reassuring smile before turning back to Samantha.
For a moment, Samantha simply stared at him, her mind racing through possible interpretations of his cryptic response. Then, as if some unseen force weighed her down, she gave a slow nod and leaned back against the couch.
"C-Can I rest for a while?" she murmured, bringing a hand to her forehead.
Immediately, Kathleen's concern spiked. "W-What’s wrong? Are you okay?" Her voice rose slightly in panic as she reached out, gently guiding Samantha’s head to rest against her shoulder.
Tomoya, despite his confusion, was already on his feet, ready to assist.
"Can she use your bed?" Kathleen asked without looking at him, her attention fully on Samantha.
"Of course!" Tomoya nodded, stepping forward. Then, with an almost theatrical pause, he smirked. "Do you want me to carry you, or—?"
His sentence was cut short by a sharp glare from Kathleen.
Tomoya raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. "I'm just being a gentleman."
But the air in the room remained thick with something unspoken.
As Tomoya moved to guide Samantha toward his bedroom and Kathleen followed while Theresa’s gaze lingered on Takumi, studying his face carefully.
Delayed gratification. Foreign contamination. The words gnawed at her. Those are obviously medical terms, but in what interpretation exactly?
Once Tomoya, Kathleen, and Samantha disappeared behind the bedroom door, Takumi finally turned his attention back to Theresa.
The moment their eyes met, Theresa’s breath hitched. A strange, unspoken weight settled between them, heavy with everything left unsaid. Her gaze wobbled, and before she could stop herself, her eyes dropped to the floor.
Her fingers fidgeted, picking at the hem of her pants—a small, nervous habit she wasn’t even aware of. But Takumi noticed. He always noticed.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said without hesitation, his voice steady yet careful, like he was testing how much she could handle.
Theresa’s lips trembled slightly. Her eyes flickered, blinking rapidly before she forced herself to look up at him. The motion was awkward, hesitant—unsure.
"I-It’s okay," she mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. "I know you didn’t mean it. I-I was in the hospital too, so—"
Takumi cut her off before she could finish.
"We weren’t really planning to tell you."
The words struck like a sharp gust of wind—sudden, cold, and disorienting.
Theresa froze.
Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. The subtle tremor in her hands stilled as if her body was processing the weight of what he just said.
We weren’t really planning to tell you.
Not I. We.
Her chest tightened. The room felt smaller, the air thinner.
"You..." she swallowed hard, voice faltering. "You weren’t... planning to tell me?"
Takumi didn’t waver. His expression remained unreadable, but his gaze was firm, unwavering.
"A-All this time, you guys don’t trust me?" Theresa’s voice cracked, the rawness in her tone cutting through the tense air. "After everything w-we've all been through?"
Takumi exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He had anticipated this moment, had even rehearsed different ways to approach it. But now that it was happening, the words felt heavier, more difficult to say.
"This is not about trust, Theresa," he finally said, his voice steady but gentle. "Because if it was, we trust you a lot. It’s just—"
"Then why?" Theresa’s voice climbed higher, trembling with barely restrained emotion. "Is it because I'm having problems seeing visions now? Is that why you guys are leaving me out?"
Her accusation hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating and undeniable.
Takumi hesitated, but before he could respond, a rustle came from the doorway.
Tomoya and Kathleen had been listening from just outside the room, their concern evident in the way their bodies stiffened at Theresa’s rising distress.
Theresa turned to them sharply, her tear-filled eyes locking onto theirs.
"I-I thought you g-guys were already my friends," she sobbed, her hands clenching at her pants as if trying to hold herself together. "I-I had nobody before I met you. Y-You became my family. So why—"
She stopped mid-sentence, her breath hitching when movement from behind Tomoya and Kathleen caught her attention.
Samantha had stepped out of the room.
The moment their eyes met, something inside Theresa shattered.
Samantha’s gaze was cold, indifferent—even disgusted. It was as if she were looking at a stranger, not someone who had risked her peace to help her.
Theresa’s breath came out shakily.
"Right," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "S-She’s already back. I’m no use now, then..."
"Theresa, it’s not like that—" Tomoya took a step toward her, but she quickly lifted a hand, signaling him to stop.
"It’s fine." She let out a small, humorless chuckle, wiping at the tears gathering in her eyes. "I’m sorry, I was just being dramatic. And I just remembered—I have somewhere to go."
She stood up, her movements stiff and unnatural, as if forcing herself not to break. She met Takumi’s gaze one last time, but he said nothing, only watching her with an unreadable expression.
"It was nice knowing all of you," she murmured before turning to the others. "I’ll leave now."
"Theresa, wait!" Tomoya moved quickly, but the door had already swung shut before he could reach her.
Frustration surged through him as he turned back to Takumi, his voice rising. "What did you say to her, nii-san?" The concern in his tone was unmistakable.
Takumi remained impassive, his arms crossed as he finally met Tomoya’s furious gaze. "What she had to know."
Tomoya clenched his fists. "That’s your excuse? You just let her go like that?"
"She shouldn't be around us anymore." Takumi's tone was firm, his reasoning unwavering. "It’s for her own safety."
Tomoya let out a bitter scoff, shaking his head as he turned away. "Is it really?"
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he grabbed his coat from the rack and rushed out after Theresa.
Kathleen stood frozen, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood. This wasn’t right.
Theresa had done so much for them. For Samantha. And now? They were pushing her away like she was disposable.
Guilt clawed at her chest.
But before she could say anything, Takumi shifted his gaze toward Samantha.
"Now," he said, his voice eerily calm, "about you..."