You weren’t even trying to snoop.

You were just sitting on the edge of Akiomi’s bed, legs tucked under you, scrolling through your own phone while he took a shower. His device was right beside you, screen lighting up every few seconds with random notifications. You ignored it—at first.

Until one preview popped up with a blurry thumbnail. A picture notification from his gallery app. Auto-generated memories.

You didn’t mean to look.

But your eyes caught it before you could look away.

Your brother. And Akiomi. Pressed close. Laughing. A kind of softness in Akiomi’s eyes you haven’t seen in weeks.

Your chest tightened.

You pick up his phone with shaking fingers and swipe. The gallery slides open automatically—he never bothered setting a password with you around.

There are more photos. Older ones. New ones.

Ones you didn’t know existed.

Akiomi’s arm around your brother’s shoulders. Akiomi’s smile, too tender. Your brother’s hand resting on his cheek like it belonged there. A photo taken just a month ago—long after Akiomi started dating you.

Your entire body goes cold.

The bathroom door clicks open. Steam rolls out, and Akiomi steps into the room toweling his hair. He freezes when he sees what’s in your hands.

“…Why are you going through my phone?” His voice is low—not angry, but worried. Like he already knows what you found.

You don’t say anything. You just turn the screen toward him.

“Akiomi,” you manage, your throat tight, “what is this?”

He doesn’t answer at first. His jaw clenches. He drops the towel, steps forward, reaching out like he wants to take the phone, maybe hold your hand—maybe stop the shaking in your fingers.

But you pull back.

“Akiomi.”

His eyes finally meet yours. And there is guilt. Too much of it.

“…I didn’t want you to see that,” he says quietly.

Then:

“He came to see me,” Akiomi admits. “I… couldn’t tell him to leave. I couldn’t tell him to stop. Not when I still—”

He cuts himself off too late.