Chapter Text
PK Academy buzzed with the restless energy of students fresh off summer break
Hairo stepped out of his car and paused, glancing at himself in the side mirror.
The sun had been generous this summer; his skin held a warm and even tan he was quietly proud of. He straightened slightly, satisfied, before heading inside.
The hallway greeted him exactly how he liked it—full of motion, chatter, and that contagious morning excitement that always kept him going.
“Nice tan, Hairo!”
“Have you been working out?”
“Your tan looks so good!”
He greeted everyone easily, smiling, waving, feeding off the energy as he made his way to class. By the time he reached his seat across from Saiki, he felt fully settled back into his usual routine.
Kaidou was already mid-rant about his escapades as the Jet Black Wings. “Hey, Hairo,” he said, brightening instantly.
Hairo smiled. “Hey, Kaidou. Saiki. Kuboyasu”
“Is that your car out there?” Kuboyasu asked, leaning around Kaidou to look at him.
Hairo nodded. “Yeah. Finally saved up for it. We could all go grab ramen later—there’s enough room.”
Kaidou lit up, giving him a firm pat on the back. “Well, if you’re offering!”
Hairo chuckled, but as the conversation settled, something tugged at him—a small yet nagging absence. His gaze drifted around the room—then it hit him.
Before he could say anything, the class suddenly rushed toward the door. The hallway outside filled with gasps, whispers, and unmistakable giggles.
Aren frowned. “What’s going on?”
Hairo shrugged, curiosity pulling him as they joined the crowd, peeking out into the hall.
At first, he couldn’t see past the cluster of students.
“Hey, what’s—”
“There’s no way that’s Nendou.”
“…Yeah. That’s him.”
“He looks so—”
Hairo didn’t need to hear the rest.
Because when the crowd shifted, he finally saw him.
Nendou.
But not the Nendou he knew.
His hair was different. His posture had changed, too, less careless somehow. Even his face—his jawline, his expression—looked sharper, almost unreal.
The gathered around him like he was something out of a movie.
Kaidou gasped. “That can’t be Nendou. Girls are surrounding him.”
Aren grimaced. “No way…”
Hairo didn’t say anything.
Heat crept up his neck as his stomach flipped in a way he didn’t quite understand.
Then, as if nothing had changed at all, Nendou broke through the crowd and stepped into the doorway.
For a second, Hairo hesitated.
And then Nendou grinned. “Hey, buddies!”
There it was.
That was Nendou.
Hairo’s throat went dry.
Nobody could really focus with the constant buzz surrounding Nendou. Girls were actually approaching him—smiling, laughing, leaning in close. Not like before when they just wanted to poke fun. This was different.
This was real.
One girl squeezed Nendou’s bicep, giggling, and Hairo felt his jaw tighten.
Another reached up, casually threading her fingers through Nendou’s hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Hairo’s could’ve went into cardiac arrest at that point.
It didn’t make sense.
Even seeing it with his own eyes, none of it fully made. Kaidou sat unusually silent the entire class, just staring at Nendou like he was some kind of illusion that might disappear if he blinked. Hairo wasn’t much better.
It wasn’t like Nendou had ever been ugly to him—never that.
But this? This was something else entirely.
How could someone change this much over a single summer?
By the time things settled, the group gathered around Nendou’s desk like they always did.
“Oh, hey guys,” Nendou said, grinning even wider. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t wanna talk to me after all that.”
“We couldn’t get a word in edgewise,” Aren muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve got a whole fan club now.”
“Fan club? I don’t think so,” Nendou said easily.
They slipped back into their usual rhythm after that—walking together, talking over each other, recounting bits of their summer. Normally, Hairo would be leading the conversation, asking questions, keeping the energy up.
But today, he lagged behind. His mind kept circling back to Nendou.
He’d always known Nendou had potential. He’d seen it long before anyone else bothered to look.
Now he was seeing everyone else notice it too.
It was overwhelming.
And for reasons he couldn’t quite name, it bothered him more than it should.
They stopped in front of Kaidou’s house.
Kaidou pointed toward the gate. “We should get ramen another time. I promised my mom I’d help her with something tonight.”
Nendou snickered. “Don’t give yourself another scar.”
“Shut up, Nendou!” Kaidou snapped, flushing as he shoved the gate open and disappeared inside.
The moment the door shut, the air shifted.
Now it was just the two of them.
Hairo hadn’t realized how quiet he’d been until the silence settled in.
Nendou leaned slightly, trying to catch his eye. “Dude, you okay?”
Hairo startled. “Oh—yeah. I’m fine,” he said a little too quickly.
He pulled out his phone, more for something to do than anything else. “It’s still early,” he added after a beat. “Wanna grab some ramen?”
Nendou didn’t hesitate. He placed a hand over his stomach. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Hairo let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
At the ramen shop, Nendou was already halfway through his bowl, tearing into it like he hadn’t eaten in days.
Hairo had ordered too, but his food sat untouched in front of him, steam slowly fading. He leaned back slightly, chopsticks in his hand, his attention locked somewhere else entirely.
His gaze traced every one of Nendou’s movements like he was studying for something. Hairo stiffened.
His biceps are… perfect. His cheekbones are way more defined now. When did that even happen?
He shifted in his seat, trying to shake it off.
Should I ask him for his workout routine?
…Would he let me watch him train?
He froze.
Wait. No. That’s weird.
Really weird.
Nendou suddenly looked up, cheeks puffed with food. He swallowed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You not hungry?” he asked.
Hairo blinked. “What?”
“I said, are you not hungry?” Nendou repeated.
Before Hairo could answer, a shadow fell over their table.
He glanced up.
Blonde. Long legs. Confident smile. Still in her school uniform—definitely not PK Academy.
Hairo’s eyes narrowed slightly as she stepped closer. She gave him a polite glance, then turned fully to Nendou.
“Hi,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sitting over there.” She pointed to a table near the entrance where three other girls watched closely. “I just wanted to say I think you’re really attractive, and I… wanted to give you my number.”
She held out a small sticky note.
Nendou—still as clueless as ever—took it with a mouth full of ramen.
He hurriedly swallowed. “Thanks,” he said simply.
She smiled, clearly pleased, then turned and walked back to her table, immediately dissolving into quiet giggles with her friends.
Hairo watched the whole thing in silence.
His shoulders sank before he could stop them.
Before… this would’ve been a joke. A setup. He would’ve brushed it off, warned Nendou not to fall for it, told him they were just looking for a reaction.
But now it made sense. She wasn’t joking.
She meant it.
And for some reason, that sat heavy in his chest, pressing down in a way he couldn’t name.
Nendou casually slipped the note into his pocket like it was nothing.
Hairo stared at his bowl for a moment, then finally lifted his chopsticks and took a bite.
It tasted fine.
He forced himself to swallow.
And decided, for now, to let it go.
Hairo thought things would settle down after the first day. They didn’t.
If anything, it got worse.
The strangest part was that Nendou wasn’t even all that different. He still spoke the same way, still missed obvious cues, still laughed just as loud. Nothing about his personality had changed—and yet none of that seemed to matter anymore.
Girls slipped notes into his desk between classes, during breaks, whenever they thought no one was looking.
It was only the second day of school, and it felt like the entire female population of PK Academy had decided Nendou was worth their attention.
And for some reason, Hairo was taking it harder than he expected. He didn’t even know what he was feeling which was the worst part.
They couldn’t go ten minutes without something happening.
At P.E., a girl conveniently “fainted” just so Nendou would carry her to the nurse’s office. At lunch, a group of girls offered to feed him—yes, actually feed him—crowding around his table like it was normal.
Hairo couldn’t stand it.
So he did what he always did when things got overwhelming—he worked.
After school, he volunteered to help with cleanup, throwing himself into it until his thoughts finally started to quiet. By the time he finished near the restrooms, the halls were nearly empty.
That’s when he saw her.
A girl stepping out of his classroom.
Hairo approached without thinking. “Hey.”
She turned, smiling politely. “Hi.”
“What were you doing in there?” he asked. “Did you forget something? I can help.”
She shook her head, hesitating. “No… I just—”
Hairo tilted his head, waiting.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I left a note for Nendou. I’ve seen him around, and—”
Hairo didn’t let her finish.
“Oh really?” he cut in. “What do you like about him?”
It came out sharper than he meant.
She blinked, caught off guard. “I… don’t really know him that well.”
“Then maybe you should,” Hairo said, his voice low, “leave letters for people you actually know. Not strangers.”
“…Oh. Okay.”
She didn’t argue. Just turned and walked away.
The moment she disappeared around the corner, Hairo’s shoulders dropped.
That wasn’t like him. Not even close.
He exhaled slowly, then glanced back into the classroom.
The note sat on Nendou’s desk.
For a second, he hesitated.
Then he looked down the empty hallway, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.
The room felt different without the noise.
Hairo moved to Nendou’s seat and picked up the letter.
“To Nendou… from Mina,” he read under his breath.
He scoffed, already tearing it open. It felt wrong, but not wrong enough to stop.
“Dear Nendou, I’ve always liked how kind you’ve been. Even when people call you names or say you’re not that bright, you’re still nice. I really admire that. Please give me a chance to take you out.”
Hairo let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
Where was this a year ago?
Six months ago?
When no one else bothered to look twice?
He crumpled the paper and tossed it into the trash.
His gaze drifted to Nendou’s desk—stuffed with letters, small gifts, folded notes shoved into every available space.
His hands clenched at his sides.
Some of us never overlooked you, Riki Nendou.
The feeling came back—stronger this time, rising in his chest, tight and suffocating. The same feeling he got every time someone touched Nendou, every time someone smiled at him like they’d discovered something new.
Before he could stop himself, Hairo grabbed the trash bag. One by one, he started clearing the desk.
Letters. Gifts. Notes. Confessions. All of it.
He wanted to make sure every piece of nonsense was gone.
This—this was what it was.
Not confusion. Not frustration.
Jealousy.
Not because he wanted what Nendou had—
but because everyone else suddenly wanted Nendou.
Like they had any right. As if they hadn’t ignored him before.
Hairo’s grip tightened around the edge of the desk.
Nendou was everything he admired. Everything he respected. And he wasn’t about to let that get buried under a pile of shallow attention.
His eyes landed on a blank sheet of paper.
Before he could think too hard about it, he sat down and picked up a pen.
“Nendou,” he wrote, “you were always perfect from the moment I saw you. I admired you from the beginning…”
He paused.
How am I supposed to end it?
Just signing it Hairo Kineshi felt… wrong. Too exposed.
So instead, he drew that same small, absentminded squiggle he always scribbled in the margins of his notebooks.
It was enough. He folded the paper neatly and placed it carefully inside Nendou’s desk.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then he picked up the trash bag, turned off the lights, and shut the classroom door behind him.
The next morning, guilt sat heavy in Hairo’s chest.
He hadn’t meant to rip up that girl’s confession. It just… happened.
Just like it “happened” when he threw away the rest of the letters. Dozens of them.
He exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair as he walked through the hallway. It didn’t matter. Nendou never even got through all of them—there were always more by the end of the day.
If anything, Hairo’s letter was probably buried somewhere at the bottom of a trash bag by now.
Good.
…Right?
Surprisingly, the hallway was clear for once—no swarm of girls blocking the entrance, no crowd gathered at the door.
Hairo slowed as he reached the classroom.
Then he saw it.
Nendou was already at his desk. A small stack of letters sat beside him—but in his hands—a single sheet of paper.
Hairo’s stomach dropped. He didn’t need to see it up close. He knew. And judging by the way Nendou was staring at it—that was his letter.
Hairo swallowed, forcing himself to move, each step heavier than the last. He sat down at his desk, trying—hopelessly failing—to act normal.
His leg started bouncing under the table.
Nendou didn’t say anything at first. He just kept looking at the letter.
Then, finally—
“Kaidou.”
Kaidou leaned over, taking the paper. His eyes skimmed the page quickly.
“Huh,” he muttered. “Wow… whoever wrote this definitely doesn’t want to be found.”
He flipped it slightly, glancing at the bottom.
“And that’s not even a signature. You should just toss it.”
Hairo’s chest tightened.
Nendou didn’t respond right away.
“…Nendou.”
There was a pause, then Nendou looked up.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
He crumpled the paper without another word.
Hairo froze.
The soft sound of paper folding in on itself felt louder than it should’ve.
Then—toss.
The ball of paper landed cleanly in the trash. Hairo’s body went stiff.
That was it.
On one hand… this was what he wanted. He hadn’t written it to be found. He hadn’t signed it. He didn’t want Nendou to know.
But still…
For a second, he thought maybe Nendou would—
He shut the thought down immediately.
No.
This was better.
Now it was over. Nendou threw it away.
Good.
💌