Read Novel Full Chapter 570: In Kitchen With Yuko
Chapter 570: In Kitchen With Yuko
The meal ended quietly, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but comfortable, like the hum of a familiar song fading into the background.
We didn’t speak—just sat there, lost in our own thoughts, the weight of the day settling between us. When I finally pushed my chair back and reached for the plates, Yuko’s voice cut through the stillness, soft but firm.
"I can do the cleaning."
I turned to face her, my hand already wrapped around the edge of a bowl. Her fingers—still slightly red from the earlier accident—twitched as if reaching for the dishes out of habit. Without thinking, I set the plates back down and placed my hand over hers, just for a second.
"Your fingers just got hurt," I said, my voice lower than I intended. "You shouldn’t be using them. Let me do it."
She opened her mouth to argue, her brows furrowing the way they always did when she was stubborn. I could already see the words forming—I’m fine, it’s nothing, I can help—but I shook my head before she could speak.
"Just let me."
For a moment, she hesitated, her dark eyes searching mine as if trying to decide whether to fight or surrender. Then, slowly, she exhaled and pulled her hand back, letting it rest against the table. I picked up the dishes again, the clink of ceramic against ceramic filling the space between us.
The kitchen sink was warm when I turned the faucet, the water rushing over my hands as I scrubbed the plates clean. I could feel Yuko’s presence behind me, a quiet warmth, like sunlight filtering through a half-drawn curtain.
When I glanced over my shoulder, she was leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, just watching. There was something in her expression I couldn’t quite name—gratefulness, maybe, or something softer, something that made the air between us feel heavier.
I didn’t ask her what she was thinking. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, but something held them back—maybe the fear of breaking the fragile quiet that had settled between us.
I didn’t turn around, didn’t even pause. Instead, I let the silence stretch, thick and warm, like the steam rising from the sink. The sponge moved in slow, deliberate circles over the plates, the rhythm steady, almost hypnotic. It felt like a promise—one I didn’t need to say out loud.
Yuko stayed where she was, her presence a quiet weight against my back. I could almost hear the gears turning in her mind, the way her breath hitched just slightly whenever her thoughts pulled her deeper. The kitchen light cast long shadows across the floor, and for a moment, it was like we were suspended in time, the rest of the world fading into the background.
When the last plate was dried and placed carefully in the cabinet, I finally turned to face her. She was still standing there, her gaze distant, lost in a thought so deep it was as if she’d forgotten I was in the room. Her lips were parted just a little, her brows knit together in that way they did when something was weighing on her.
I watched her for a second longer, the urge to reach out and pull her back from wherever her mind had taken her growing stronger.
Then, without thinking, I stepped closer and snapped my fingers lightly in front of her eyes.
"Hey."
The sound of my fingers snapping in front of her eyes was just loud enough to pull her back—sharp, but not unkind. Yuko blinked rapidly, her dark eyes fluttering as if she were surfacing from deep water.
For a moment, she looked lost, her gaze unfocused, like she’d been standing in a storm of her own thoughts and only now realized she’d been caught in it. Then, slowly, recognition returned. Her lips twitched, caught between a smile and a sigh, and she shook her head lightly, as though shaking off the last remnants of whatever had pulled her so far away.
"Sorry," she murmured, her voice still soft with distraction. "I zoned out."
"Happens to the best of us," I replied, keeping my tone light, though something in her expression made me wonder what she’d been thinking about.
She hesitated for a second, then seemed to gather herself. "Come with me," she said, pushing away from the doorframe. "I’ll take you to your room."
I followed her down the hallway, the wooden floorboards groaning softly under our steps. The house felt quiet, almost too quiet, like it was holding its breath. The guest room at the end of the hall was neat but slightly dusty, the kind of space that didn’t get much use.
Yuko moved to the bed, smoothing out the sheets with careful hands, though they were already perfectly in place. There was something deliberate in the way she did it, as if she needed the distraction, the small task to ground herself before she could say what was really on her mind.
When she finally turned to face me, her fingers still lingered on the edge of the blanket. "You can sleep here," she said, gesturing toward the bed. "It’s not much, but it’s comfortable."
I sat down on the edge of the mattress, testing its firmness. "It’s fine. More than fine, actually."
Yuko didn’t sit right away. Instead, she hovered near the recliner in the corner, her fingers tracing the back of it absently. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened just slightly, like she was bracing herself.
Finally, she exhaled and sank into the chair. "About earlier..." she started, then paused, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "You must be surprised by my mother’s call."
I leaned back slightly, giving her space to say what she needed to. "A little, yeah. I didn’t expect it."
She let out a humorless laugh, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Neither did I. She doesn’t usually..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "We don’t talk much. Or at all, really."
I watched her carefully, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying. "That must be hard."