Wrong Script, Right Love-Chapter 173: Familiar Without Knowing Why

[Renji’s POV—Kurosawa Mansion—Later]

FLOP.

Hayato hit the bed like a sack of very expensive, very uncooperative potatoes.

He sprawled across the mattress, jacket half-off, tie crooked, hair a mess—staring up at me with unfocused eyes and a lazy, utterly shameless smirk.

"...Unbelievable," I mumbled.

"Renjiii," he slurred, stretching out the word like it was something sweet. He patted the space beside him, once. Twice. "Come here."

I shot him a glare. "No."

Ignoring him, I crouched down and started removing his shoes, tugging them off one by one with more force than necessary.

"I can’t believe you drank this much," I muttered. "Didn’t I tell you to drink less? You never listen. I can’t tolerate—"

WHOOSH.

The world tilted.

Before I could react, a strong arm hooked around my wrist and yanked me forward. I let out a startled noise as I lost my balance—and suddenly I was on the bed.

Beside him.

Pinned.

Hayato rolled onto his side, one arm draped lazily over my waist like it belonged there. Way too close. Warm. Heavy.

"You nag too much," he murmured, eyes half-lidded, far too pleased with himself. Then, with the confidence of a man who had lost all sense of self-preservation, he added:

"Why don’t you just marry me and become my wife?"

I froze.

Completely.

"...You’re drunk," I said flatly.

He hummed. "That’s not a no."

I turned my face away, refusing to meet his eyes. Because he always said this when he was drunk.

Every single time.

In these eight months, we’d grown closer—worked late, shared meals, and filled each other’s days without even noticing when it happened. But his drunken words... I never knew what to do with them.

Were they meaningless?

Or were they things he only dared to say like this?

"You always say that," I muttered.

"That’s because it’s a good idea," he replied immediately.

I stared at the ceiling. "You don’t even remember saying it."

"I remember wanting to," he said, voice quieter now.

My chest tightened.

I shifted, trying to sit up—but he tightened his arm around me, resting his forehead against my shoulder with a content sigh.

"Stay," he mumbled. "You’re comfy."

"...Sir."

"Hayato."

I swallowed.

He was warm. Too warm. His breathing was steady now, slower, calmer—already drifting toward sleep. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

And just before his grip loosened completely, he murmured one last thing, barely audible—"Don’t go anywhere, okay?"

I stayed.

Not because he asked. But because... I never could leave him like this. And lying there beside him, heart racing, I wondered—for the first time—

Whether the things he said while drunk were really lies... Or just truths he was too afraid to say sober.

***

[Kurosawa Mansion—The Next Day]

SIZZLE.

The sound of eggs hitting the pan filled the kitchen as I focused on breakfast—fried eggs on one burner, a pot of hangover soup simmering beside it.

Calm. Controlled.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

"...Ugh—gosh... my head hurts..." The voice drifted down the stairs.

I didn’t turn.

Heavy footsteps followed. Uneven. Slow.

I flipped the eggs just as Hayato reached the bottom step—hair completely messed up, tie loose, shirt half untucked, looking less like a CEO and more like a man who had personally offended alcohol and lost.

He squinted at the kitchen.

Then at me.

Blink.

Squint again.

"...Renji?" he asked slowly. "Why are you here so early?"

Pause.

"And why are you... cooking?"

My jaw tightened.

Ah. Of course.

This bastard forgot everything.

I flipped my hair back, forcing on my most professional, pleasant smile—the one I reserved for investors and fools.

"Please take a seat," I said evenly. "Breakfast is ready, sir."

"Oh," he murmured, clearly still processing reality, and obediently sat down at the table.

I poured the soup into a bowl.

Carefully.

Deliberately.

Then I placed it in front of him with a polite nod.

"Please have this, sir," I said sweetly. "It will help you sober up... completely."

He stiffened slightly, eyes darting to the bowl.

"Y-yes," he said nervously, and lifted the spoon.

I sat across from him, calmly eating my eggs.

He took one sip.

Then—

SPLURT!!!

He nearly launched the soup back into the bowl, coughing violently.

"What—what is this?!" He gasped. "Why is it so salty?!"

I took another unbothered bite of my omelette. Swallowed.

Smiled.

"I’m glad to see you’re finally sober, sir." He stared at me like I’d just confessed to murder.

"...Did I do something?" he asked cautiously.

I shook my head without looking up. "No."

He frowned deeper. "I must’ve said something again and forgotten it, didn’t I?"

I finally looked at him. Shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Then smiled.

"Why don’t you change first, sir?" I said politely. "You look like a street dog right now."

He froze.

"...Renji."

"Yes, sir?"

"I am still your boss," he said carefully. "You remember that, right?"

I stood immediately.

Bowed deeply.

"Ah—my apologies, sir," I said smoothly. "Please step into your room and change your attire. At the moment, you resemble a German Shepherd."

I tilted my head.

"Is that phrasing acceptable, sir?"

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then stood up slowly.

"...You’re really scary," he muttered.

I smiled.

Sweetly.

"Thank you, sir."

***

[Later—Kurosawa Group Headquarters —Mid-Morning]

By the time we reached the office, Hayato looked... presentable again. Hair neatly combed. Tie properly knotted. Shirt tucked in. The terrifying CEO mask is firmly back in place.

Only the faint tension around his temples—and the way he rubbed them every few minutes—betrayed the hangover.

Serves you right.

We stepped into the elevator together. The doors slid shut with a soft chime.

I opened my tablet.

"Your schedule for today, sir," I said calmly.

He exhaled, already resigned. "Go on."

"At ten-thirty, you have a video call with the Singapore branch regarding last quarter’s revenue dip. I’ve prepared a summary highlighting the supply chain delays and proposed countermeasures."

He nodded. "Mm."

"At noon, lunch with the legal team. I’ve shortened it to forty minutes because you have—"

"I appreciate your mercy," he muttered.

I ignored that.

"—a one-thirty meeting with Astraeon Holdings."

He stilled.

"...Again? We received mail from them?"

"Yes," I said, glancing at the screen. "Late last night. They requested an in-person discussion. I confirmed on your behalf."

He looked at me. "You didn’t wake me up?"

"You were unconscious," I replied flatly. "And drooling."

. . .

"So...you really were with me last night?" He said.

I didn’t respond. The elevator dinged. He cleared his throat. "Thank you. Please go on."

I continued walking beside him as we exited.

"At three, you’ll review the merger documents. I’ve marked the clauses that require your signature. At five, a call with the PR team regarding next month’s press release."

"And after that?" he asked.

I paused for half a second.

"After that," I said, "I strongly recommend you go home."

He stopped walking. Hands slipped into his pockets, shoulders tense in a way I’d learned to recognize.

"...Are you angry," he asked quietly, "that I forgot what happened yesterday? Did I say something wrong while I was drunk?"

I met his gaze without flinching.

"You say many things when you’re drunk, sir."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

A beat.

"Anything I should be worried about?"

I smiled. Polite. Professional. Completely useless. "Nothing you don’t say every time."

His brow furrowed. "That doesn’t answer my question."

"That’s because," I said gently, "you’re not ready for the answer."

The corridor narrowed around us. The hum of the building faded. Even the sound of footsteps from a distance seemed to disappear.

Then—"I keep having strange dreams, Renji."

I blinked. "Huh? Dreams? How is it related to—"

He didn’t nod. Didn’t look away. Just stared at the far wall, jaw tight, like he was bracing himself.

"They’re... blurry," he continued. "Fragments. Places I don’t recognize. Faces I can’t see clearly."

My pulse quickened.

"But there’s something common in all of them."

I swallowed. "What is it, sir?"

Our gazes locked as he said, "There’s a name."

My breath caught.

"Someone calls me by a name that isn’t mine," he said slowly. "And yet... it feels like it is."

My hands trembled at my sides when he finally said, "Alvar."

The world tilted. He didn’t stop.

"Someone calls me by this name. The same name you said that night," he went on, voice low, almost cautious. "That Christmas night. You called me Alvar."

So...he remembers that I hugged him that night?

My vision blurred. I hadn’t meant to cry. The tears came anyway—silent, instinctive, unstoppable.

He noticed. Immediately.

"...Does that name," he asked softly, carefully, "tie me to you, Renji? Are we... somehow related to each other?"

I couldn’t answer.

Because if I did—everything would change.

He waited.

Then spoke again, slower this time, like each word cost him something.

"I know this is out of nowhere," he said, "but... I can’t stand seeing you upset."

I stiffened.

"Something in me hurts," he continued quietly, "when you get angry at me for not remembering what I say when I’m drunk."

He stepped closer.

Too close.

Close enough that I could feel his warmth, steady and grounding, like an anchor I didn’t deserve anymore.

His gaze dropped to my face.

To my tears. His hand lifted before I could stop him. Thumb brushing gently beneath my eye.

Wiping the tear away.

"And..." His voice lowered, rougher now. "I hate it when you cry."

My breath shattered.

"Why is that?" he whispered.

I trembled.

The corridor blurred. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

"Please," he said, searching my face like he was afraid of what he might find. "Tell me. Why do I keep having those blurry, strange dreams?"

"No..." He swallowed. "Tell me why it hurts so much seeing you like this."

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because the truth wasn’t gentle. Because love remembered too soon could destroy us both.

And standing there—with his hand still warm against my skin, his eyes full of confusion and something frighteningly close to recognition—

I realized the cruelest thing of all.

He didn’t need his memories to feel this.

He already did.