The house was quiet when I stepped inside.
Not the kind of comforting quiet that made a place feel like home. It was empty, hollow—like the walls had long since stopped holding warmth.
I set my bag down near the entrance, my fingers lingering on the strap for a moment longer than necessary. My chest felt tight, but I knew it wasn't the walls or the silence that made it hard to breathe.
It was what I had to do next.
I took slow steps down the hall, my footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor. The door to her room was slightly ajar, the dim light spilling out into the hallway.
She was home.
I hesitated. My hand hovered over the door for a second before I knocked lightly.
A pause. Then—
"…Come in."
I pushed the door open.
Shinobu sat by her desk, a book open in her hands. She didn't look up immediately, as if she was expecting someone else. But when she finally glanced at me, her eyes widened slightly.
I never came to her room. Not like this.
"…Yuki?" Her voice held a note of surprise, guarded but not unkind. "Something wrong?"
I swallowed hard.
Now or never.
"…Onee-chan."
The book slipped from her fingers.
She froze, staring at me as if she had misheard. Her eyes flickered with something—shock, disbelief, maybe even a hint of something deeper, something raw.
I had never called her that. Not in years.
Not since that night.
Not since I had taken everything from her.
A lump formed in my throat, but I forced myself to keep going.
"I'm sorry." The words felt small, meaningless compared to everything I had done. But they were real. The most real thing I had said in a long time.
Shinobu remained still, her expression unreadable.
I clenched my fists at my sides. "For everything. For leaving you alone. For taking away our parents. For never…" My voice wavered, but I pushed through. "For never saying this sooner."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then—slowly, almost hesitantly—Shinobu let out a breath.
"…Why now?"
Her voice was quiet. Not accusing, not angry. Just… tired.
I met her gaze, really looking at her, and for the first time, I saw it.
The exhaustion. The weight she had been carrying all this time. The pain she never spoke of.
"…Because I finally understand."
Shinobu's hands curled into fists on her lap. Her walls were still up, but there was a crack now, something breaking through.
I had spent so many years drowning in my own guilt, my own suffering, that I had never stopped to think about what she had been carrying.
I had been selfish.
I had left her alone.
And now, all I could do was give her the choice.
The choice to forgive me.
Or not.
I stood there, waiting, heart pounding in my chest.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Shinobu exhaled.
"…Idiot."
She turned away slightly, but not before I caught the way her eyes shone—just for a second, before she blinked it away.
"You're late," she muttered, voice quieter than before. "Too late."
But she didn't tell me to leave.
She didn't turn me away.
And for now, that was enough.
Shinobu turned away, but I could still see the way her fingers trembled slightly as they curled into fists on her lap.
She wasn't pushing me out.
She wasn't yelling.
She wasn't telling me that I had no right to be here.
That alone made my chest feel tighter.
"…I know," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Too late.
I had been too late to save her from the pain, too late to undo everything I had done.
But maybe—just maybe—I wasn't too late to fix what was left.
Shinobu sighed, leaning back in her chair, staring at the ceiling as if looking anywhere but at me would make this moment easier.
"I don't know what you want me to say, Yuki." Her voice was quiet. "Do you want me to just forgive you? Pretend like none of it ever happened?"
I shook my head. "No. I don't expect that."
Her gaze flickered toward me, searching, unreadable.
I took a slow breath.
"I just wanted to tell you. That's all."
Shinobu scoffed, rubbing her temples. "That's all, huh?"
Silence settled between us again. Not as heavy as before, but still lingering.
Then, after a long moment, she spoke.
"…Why now?" Her voice was softer this time, lacking the sharp edge from earlier. "What changed?"
I swallowed.
"Because I finally faced it," I admitted. "Everything I did. Everything I ran from."
A bitter smile crossed my lips. "And I realized… I never once asked how you felt."
Shinobu's fingers twitched slightly.
"…It doesn't matter," she muttered, looking away. "I got used to it."
I clenched my jaw.
It did matter.
It mattered more than anything.
I took a step closer. "No, you shouldn't have had to."
Shinobu tensed.
For the first time in years, I saw something break through the walls she had built.
A flicker of something raw.
"…You were our parents' favorite," she said suddenly.
Her voice wasn't resentful. Just… tired.
"I hated you for it, you know?"
I nodded. I had known.
"But I hated them more."
That part—I hadn't known.
Shinobu's shoulders sagged slightly, as if saying those words had taken more out of her than she expected.
"They put everything on you," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Made you into something you never wanted to be. And I just stood there, watching."
Her fingers curled tighter. "And then one day… they were gone. And so were you."
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
She wasn't just talking about that night.
She was talking about everything after. The years I spent avoiding her, avoiding our house, avoiding the very idea of facing her.
I had left her alone.
For the first time since I walked into her room, I let myself sit down.
Not across from her.
But beside her.
"…I'm here now."
The words felt small, almost meaningless compared to everything she had gone through.
But they were the truth.
Shinobu let out a long breath, pressing her lips together.
Then, after what felt like forever, she muttered, "…Took you long enough."
A shaky breath left my lips.
A small, broken laugh.
"…Yeah."
For the first time in years, we sat there.
Not as strangers.
Not as people burdened by the past.
But as siblings.
And maybe, just maybe—
It wasn't too late after all.
Shinobu didn't move for a while. Neither did I.
The silence between us wasn't suffocating anymore, but it still felt fragile—like one wrong word would break whatever thread was holding this moment together.
"…You never called me that before," she muttered after a while.
I glanced at her, confused.
She turned her head slightly, meeting my gaze.
"Onee-chan."
My fingers twitched.
I hadn't even realized I had said it.
It had just… slipped out.
Maybe because, for the first time, I wasn't just talking to the sister I had pushed away.
I was talking to the sister I had left behind.
Shinobu let out a breath, rubbing the back of her neck. "Feels weird."
I gave a small, hesitant smile. "Should I not say it?"
She shot me a look. "I didn't say that."
A beat passed. Then, quietly, she added, "…Just don't make a habit of it."
I almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, I nodded. "Alright."
Shinobu stared at me for a long moment before shaking her head.
"This is weird," she muttered.
I raised an eyebrow. "You said that already."
She ignored me, instead running a hand through her hair.
"I don't know what to do with this," she admitted. "With you."
I understood what she meant.
I had come here, apologized, and laid everything bare. But apologies didn't erase the past. They didn't fix everything overnight.
And even though I had finally faced her, that didn't mean things would go back to the way they were.
We weren't kids anymore.
We weren't the siblings who bickered over the last piece of cake or the ones who whispered secrets under the covers late at night.
We had changed.
And maybe that was okay.
I exhaled slowly. "You don't have to do anything."
Shinobu glanced at me.
I met her gaze. "Just… let me stay."
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.
For a long moment, I thought she was going to reject me again. Tell me to leave, that this wasn't something she could accept just because I finally decided to show up.
But then—
"…Idiot," she muttered under her breath.
Before I could react, she flicked my forehead.
Not hard. Just enough to make me blink in surprise.
"You act like I ever told you to leave in the first place," she said, leaning back in her chair.
Something tight in my chest loosened.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't a promise that everything would be okay.
But it was something.
And for now, that was enough.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
"Thanks, Onee-chan."
She groaned. "I take it back. Never say that again."
I chuckled.
And for the first time in years—
It felt like home.
Shinobu didn't throw me out.
That alone felt like progress.
She let out a long sigh, stretching her arms over her head before standing up. "I'm making tea," she muttered. "Don't touch anything."
I raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm going to break something?"
She shot me a look. "I think you're going to sit there overthinking everything until your brain melts."
I opened my mouth to argue—then promptly shut it.
…Fair point.
Shinobu disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room.
I glanced around, letting my eyes wander over the space I had once called home.
Nothing had changed.
The same old bookshelf sat in the corner, filled with novels that neither of us had touched in years. The framed photos still lined the walls—some of just me and her, others with our parents.
I exhaled slowly.
My gaze landed on a particular frame sitting on the shelf.
A photo of us as kids.
We couldn't have been older than seven or eight. Shinobu had her arm around my shoulder, grinning like she had just won some kind of victory. I, on the other hand, had an annoyed expression, probably because she had stolen my snack before the picture was taken.
I stepped closer, reaching out to pick it up.
The glass was slightly dusty.
Had she ever looked at it?
Had she ever considered putting it away?
"…You're still a little brat, you know."
I turned my head.
Shinobu stood in the doorway, holding two mugs of tea. She walked over and handed me one before nodding toward the photo.
"I thought about throwing it out once," she admitted. "But I never did."
I looked down at the picture in my hands.
"…Why?"
Shinobu took a sip of her tea, exhaling slowly before answering.
"Because no matter how much I hated you," she said, "I still missed my little brother."
I felt my grip tighten slightly around the frame.
There it was.
The honesty. The raw truth I had been waiting for.
She had hated me.
And I didn't blame her.
But she had also missed me.
And that meant, maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to rebuild.
I swallowed hard, setting the photo back on the shelf.
"Shinobu."
She hummed in response, taking another sip of tea.
"…I know things can't go back to how they were." I glanced at her, hesitating before continuing. "But do you think we can start over?"
Shinobu didn't answer right away.
Instead, she stared at me for a long moment, as if weighing my words.
Then, finally—
She smirked.
"Only if you promise to keep calling me 'Onee-chan.'"
I groaned. "You literally told me to stop saying that five minutes ago."
She shrugged, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I changed my mind."
I shook my head, but a small smile tugged at my lips.
Maybe this was what starting over felt like.
Not some grand, emotional reunion.
Not an instant fix to years of silence.
Just two siblings, standing in the same room again.
And for now—
That was enough.