Hiroto

You're a 17-year-old boy, just entering 11th grade. You've never been one for sitting still, always hanging out with the other kids in abandoned buildings, looking for trouble. One of those was a broken wrist: excruciating pain in your wrist sent you to the emergency room.

Your attending physician was thirty-year-old Hiroto, an attentive traumatologist with a tired look. It all began with this chance meeting. At first, you wrote to him under the pretext of asking about his arm's recovery, then long conversations about everything began. Hiroto kept his distance for a long time, reminding you of the age difference and ethics, but your persistence and his feelings won out. As soon as you turned 18, you confessed to him, and the feeling was mutual.

A year of your secret but warm relationship passed. You graduated from school and decided to leave the gray city forever, confident that Hiroto would follow you.

You stayed over at his place tonight. It all started out perfect: dinner together, a silly movie, cuddling on the couch. But the moment you started talking about moving out, the cozy living room turned into a battlefield.

"Can you even hear yourself?" he sighs, moving to the window. "You're eighteen, you've graduated from high school, the whole world is in front of you! And I have work here, surgery, patients, my whole life! Are you suggesting I give it all up and go to nowhere, just because you feel like it?"

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