My Girlfriend Wanted an Open Relationship, So I Broke Up with Her and Found a Sweet Yandere - Chapter 43

The heater in the car had taken the edge off the cold, but not enough to make me feel settled.

I sat with my hands folded loosely in my lap, watching the snow smear itself across the window in pale streaks. The roadlights came and went in silence, and Hayami-sensei kept her eyes on the road, as though the city itself had nothing to do with us.

I had already told her about the leak. About the landlord. About the stairs. About how I had nowhere decent to go tonight.

She listened without interrupting.

That somehow made it worse.

“…You were really going to stay at a net café?”

Her voice was calm, but not careless.

I rubbed my thumb against the side of my hand.

“I was thinking about it.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good plan.”

“It wasn’t.”

She glanced at me briefly, then back at the road.

“Then why even consider it?”

I looked out the window.

Because I was broke. Because I was tired. Because I was annoyed enough to stop thinking straight.

Instead I said, “It was the only thing I could come up with.”

She didn’t answer right away.

The turn signal clicked softly.

Snow drifted across the windshield before the wipers cleared it again.

“…What about your stuff?”

She kept her attention forward, one hand steady on the wheel, like she had only asked because it needed asking.

“…The things that could get ruined,” I said. “My bag, some books, my charger. I didn’t leave anything important on the floor.”

A small pause.

“Just what you could carry quickly, then.”

“Yeah.”

She nodded once, almost to herself.

“That should be enough for tonight.”

Not comforting. Just practical.

That was easier to deal with.

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes for a second.

My chest still felt tight.

The car moved through a quieter stretch of road after that, away from the heavier traffic and into streets I didn’t recognize. The buildings thinned out. The lights grew fewer. It felt less like Tokyo and more like the part of it people didn’t talk about.

After a while, I opened my eyes again.

“…This isn’t your old place.”

“No. I told you I was moving.”

Her answer came without delay.

She took the next turn with the same careful ease.

“It’s further in than before. Quieter.”

That was obvious enough.

The road had narrowed, and the neighborhoods around us looked older, more spread out. Not empty. Just less hurried.

“My grandparents live nearby,” she added after a moment. “So it made more sense.”

I nodded, though I was only half-listening.

The cold started to creep back in between the heater’s weak breaths. Or maybe it was just me not settling down.

Either way, my mind wouldn’t stay in one place.

The car slowed.

Then turned into a quieter lane, and the building came into view.

I blinked once, trying to place it.

It was larger than anything around it—an older apartment complex set a little back from the road. The exterior was clean, well-maintained, but there was a stillness to it that made it feel almost unused. Several windows were dark. A few had lights on, faint behind curtains.

It looked like one of those places people forgot about without actually abandoning.

“…This is it?”

“Yes.”

She parked in a marked space near the entrance and turned off the engine.

The silence afterward settled in quickly.

I stepped out with her.

The cold hit harder here, sharper without the constant movement of the main streets. Snow had gathered along the edges of the parking area, untouched in places.

She walked ahead and keyed in the entrance code.

The door unlocked with a soft click.

Warm air met us as we stepped inside.

The lobby was quiet. Lights dim but steady. No one around.

We didn’t speak as we crossed it.

The elevator ride was short.

A narrow hallway stretched out, lined with identical doors.

She stopped at one near the end and unlocked it.

The door opened.

I followed her inside.

The space beyond was… wide.

Much wider than I expected for an apartment.

The ceiling felt higher. The living area opened up without much interruption, but it wasn’t settled yet. Boxes lined the walls, some stacked neatly, others left half-open. A few pieces of furniture had been placed—clean, minimal, but not arranged with any finality.

It didn’t feel empty.

Just unfinished.

“It’s still being sorted,” she said.

“Yeah.”

My voice came out quieter.

I slipped off my shoes and stepped in further.

The room held sound differently—soft, but not hollow.

She moved toward the kitchen area, then stopped and looked back at me.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.”

The answer came out on instinct.

A second later—

My stomach growled.

Loud enough.

I froze. A faint sense of déjà vu crept in.

She let out a small, quiet laugh.

I looked away.

“…Apparently not.”

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

“I thought so.”

She turned to the kitchen. I stayed on the couch as she opened a few boxes, took out what she needed, and put something together.

The space felt larger the longer I sat in it—the living area opened wider than expected, the ceiling slightly higher, the walls still bare.

A low table sat in front of the couch. She placed the bowl there, steam rising faintly. I leaned forward and started eating. Boxes lined one wall, some open, some sealed. A folded blanket rested on the arm of the couch. The light above was soft, steady.

I didn’t rush. Just ate.

She watched for a moment, then turned away.

“I’ll get the bath ready,” she said.

I didn’t respond, but once she was gone, a lump settled in the back of my throat that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much I tried to shake it off or think about something else.

Just as it started to ease—

One thought surfaced.

And only one.

A question. One she asked not too long ago—

Would you live with me?