Archive of Our Own

Ichika was thirteen years old when Saki moved to a hospital that was too far for her to visit regularly.

She was thirteen years old when Honami changed her number.

She was thirteen years old when Shiho ignored her at school.

As the clouds pour onto her unkempt hair, she rethinks everything that led her up to that point.

Ichika knew it was going to rain that day—maybe she went outside because she was stupid, or maybe she went outside because deep down she deserved to be poured on, or maybe she just didn’t know.

But some evil force had driven her outside, and it was clearly out to get her, because now she’s standing under a tree, miles away from her own house after making the, admittedly dumb, decision to take a walk, soaked.

Saki liked splashing in puddles, despite her friends’ protests. Always, you’ll get sick again and silly, that’s a myth, back and forth.

Honami used to demand they go inside when it rained. Shiho didn’t really care that much, and Ichika was forever willing to go wherever her friends went.

She wishes, for once, that they had followed her instead.

Suddenly, the rain stopped. Maybe not suddenly, Ichika had gotten into the habit of zoning out lately. Shiho would’ve scolded her for it.

Peeling her eyes off the ground, in her peripheral vision, she saw blond hair that faded into an ombré. Wide eyes and a round face. Something filled her chest—hope, maybe. Foolish hope, that perhaps this was all a bad dream, and Saki was standing next to her, out of the hospital, and Honami, Shiho, Shizuku, and Tsukasa were standing at the corner.

Only one of them was actually there.

Tsukasa Tenma, in the flesh, holding a black umbrella over her head.

Except, this wasn’t Tsukasa. This wasn’t Saki’s older brother, because Tsukasa didn’t have a faraway look in his eyes, because Saki’s older brother always greeted her with a smile and a wave, because Tsukasa Tenma was not a fourteen year old boy in a junior high uniform.

Tsukasa Tenma was a ten year old boy in a blue sweater and collared shirt, blanket tied around his neck in a mock-cape and a plastic sword.

Ichika knew Tsukasa. She knew him, on a surface-level. She knew him well enough to use his first name. But she didn’t know him.

Sometimes, she wishes she did. Ichika always thought he was cool, especially with how much Saki talked about him. Her face would always light up, and all the tension from her body would be released by the slightest mention of his name. Maybe she was a little jealous, too, because how can someone have such a positive effect on a person by simply existing?

(Only later did she realize that Tsukasa did much more for Saki than just existing.)

She remembered the shows he’d put on for them, well—mostly Saki, but he’d always say they were invited. He was loud, but not in an annoying way. It was funny, if anything. There was always a smile on his face.

Sometimes, when Saki would relapse, she’d cry. Tsukasa was always there, at her side. He’d hold onto her hand as their dad carried her to the car. She could see them from the outside of the back window, how he’d smile at her, and for a moment, Ichika could believe everything was alright. Everything would be alright.

Tsukasa was very, very convincing.

Saki would mention that was one thing she wished she could change.

“Shiho-chan, truth or dare?” Honami smiled and raised an eyebrow.

The four of them sat in a circle… or, something circle-adjacent. The living room lamps were on, the warm yellow serving as their only source of light. The stars weren’t out, much to Ichika’s dismay, because of the stormy weather that had occurred not that long ago. She always preferred rain over sun, but she’d take three hundred and seventy five days of zero clouds if it meant she could see the stars with her best friends every night.

The girls sat on their color-coded pillows and blankets, chips and juice provided by Saki’s mom in the middle. Shiho had requested soda, but her mom had declined in favor of her daughter’s health.

Honami had suggested truth or dare after Ichika expressed she felt bored from watching random shows for an hour. She wasn’t really bored, she just didn’t want them to fall asleep and would rather lie than lose time with them. Knowing Shiho, she’d probably end up falling asleep in the middle of the game. Her older sister constantly made sure she was in bed at a decent time, so she wasn’t used to being up. The same should be said for Saki, but she was always a little rebellious and would sneak on the stairs to watch her parent’s TV after bedtime.

Shiho glared at Honami, but there wasn’t any ill-intent behind it. She could always tell she never meant to hurt any of them. “Dare, I guess.”

Saki grinned mischievously, whispering something into Honami’s ear. She gasped. “Saki-chan! I can’t say that..!”

“It’d be funnnnyyy…”

“Absolutely not to whatever you’re about to say.” Shiho crossed her arms.

“You suck!” Saki grabbed her yellow pillow and threw it at Shiho, causing a shriek from the latter.

“Hey! That wasn’t fair!” Shiho raised the pillow to an offensive position, ready to strike. She looked a bit like if a gray cat was imitating a tiger. A sixth grader isn’t all that threatening.

Honami tried to keep her composure, but let out a poorly restrained giggle. “Ah, let’s calm down—”

The three of them began hitting each other with pillows. Ichika didn’t join in, opting to watch from afar. A fond smile graced her face, and she found herself never wanting to leave this moment. She watched them as though they were water, falling through the cracks of her cupped hands.

I hope we never leave, she silently pleaded. And if we do, let it be together.

Snapping back to reality, Ichika piped in. “Don’t forget about the game!”

The girls froze, then quickly returned to their previous spots.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” Saki furrowed her brows and straightened her posture, saluting towards Ichika.

She almost felt giddy, the tight, fuzzy feeling in her chest only growing the more time she spent with her friends.

“Ah, right. Well then, Shiho-chan, I dare you… to make us all breakfast in the morning.” Honami smiled innocently.

“That’s just lame. At least give me something I can do now to get it over with.”

“No can do, sorry!”

Shiho proceeded to grumble more words of protest, but reluctantly agreed in the end. It was her turn to ask someone else, and the girls watched her in silence as she surveyed the room to find her subject.

“Saki,” Shiho began.

“Nooooo!”

“I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“I don’t wanna do it.” Saki pouted.

Honami patted her shoulder, “You have to eventually…”

“Nuh-uh! Icchan, help me out here!”

Ichika shook her head, “Sorry, Saki.” She made a point to close her eyes before she could give her that pleading look.

“Ugh, okay! Truth.”

“I didn’t even ask yet,” said Shiho.

“Fine. Ask!”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Saki said proudly.

Shiho hummed, clearly in deep thought. Saki was an open book, at least to Ichika. There wasn’t much she could ask that they didn’t already know. Suddenly, a sly smirk grew on her face.

“Name one thing you dislike about your brother.”

Ichika and Honami gasped. Was there anything she even disliked about Tsukasa? Saki always spoke so highly of him.

“Eh? Well, I wouldn’t say I really dislike anything about him. He’s my big brother!”

“There’s always a flaw in someone, Saki, and I’m not buying the fact you don’t dislike anything about him. I could give you a list of things I dislike about my older sister.”

“That’s different! I’d feel bad—”

“So there is something,” Honami added.

“Alright, alright. I dislike…” Saki trailed off, looking almost guilty. It was enough to make Ichika feel bad for not stepping in, but it was probably too late.

“You gotta answer sometime!”

“I knoow!” She lightly pushed Honami, giggling. “Okay, um, if there’s anything I dislike about onii-chan, it’s probably how, like, convincing he is. If something’s wrong, I can never tell!” She throws her hands up in the air in an annoyed gesture. The three turn to look at each other, puzzled.

“Really?” Ichika tilted her head. “Tsukasa-san seems really… readable.” Honami and Shiho nodded in agreement.

“Exactly! That’s what’s so frustrating— But it is what makes him a good actor, so I let it slide.”

Ichika didn’t believe her then. Didn’t believe Tsukasa would need to convince anyone of anything. Saki was probably upset that he lied about taking the last cookie and convinced his parents it was her. He was so happy, so loud, so determined—even when Saki was in the hospital, he’d always stayed strong. She always assumed that he was made for this, like it was genetically coded in him to be an older brother, to be invincible.

But even if she knew him, she didn’t know him.

“Tsukasa-san?” Her voice was quiet. She couldn’t remember the last time she used it outside of her own house.

It took him a few seconds to stop staring into the distance, to come back to reality. “Hm?” He attempted his normal smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, not like it used to.

She wanted to ask if he was okay, but did she even have that right anymore? Did she ever have that right?

“Quiet” and “Tsukasa” were never used in the same sentence. They were opposites, only to be used as juxtapositions. Love and hate, up and down, left and right, sad and happy, quiet and Tsukasa.

Now, it’s the only word Ichika would use to describe him. Everything about the boy she barely knew was stripped away from him.

Ichika pondered, maybe it happened to her, too. Maybe that’s why Honami and Shiho can barely look at her anymore. Maybe that’s why talking takes so much energy, maybe that’s why she still spends her time on cacti, because it’s the only thing from her old self she has left.

“Your house is far from here. You can come to ours— mine and wait out the rain, if you’d like.” Tsukasa mumbles. He actually mumbles.

Ichika didn’t miss how he said “ours”, she didn’t miss the way his breath hitched when he changed it to “mine”.

She nodded. “Okay.”

Ichika always preferred going over to the Tenma’s. There wasn’t anything wrong with her own house, but something about theirs was… different. With Saki, her mom, her dad, Honami, Shiho, and her older brother, the house was never free of commotion whenever her parents dropped her off.

There was always the occasional calm, when the three of her friends would ask if she wanted to play outside, to which she’d reply, no, I’m kinda tired, so I think I’ll just stay here, and Saki would shrug and tell her to suit herself as they walked out the door.

She didn’t quite realize then, that she’d regret not using every moment she could with her friends. That one day, everything would fall from her grasp, that one day, Ichika wouldn’t remember the sound of Honami’s laugh, that one day, she wouldn’t remember how Shiho smiled when she rolled her eyes.

What she did remember—how Saki tried to hide the quiver in her voice when saying goodbye, how her friends slowly started to ignore her calls, how the piano could be heard from the once lively house she loved so much.

She used to watch her friends from the window, to try and capture the scene like a picture in her brain. She read a book, once, about a girl with a photographic memory. At sleepovers, she would tell Saki about it, when Honami and Shiho were asleep, when the moon’s pale lighting shone through the large windows.

She’d beg Ichika to read it to her. At first, she’d object, telling Saki she didn’t want to wake the others, but then Saki would give her puppy eyes and Ichika would give in immediately. Her best friend would almost always fall asleep ten minutes in, and Ichika would faintly smile and put the book down, brain wide awake, thinking, I would do anything to stay here forever.

In reality, she was much too cowardly to do anything at all.

The door shut with a click.

His parents weren’t home. It leaves her to think, how often were they home in the first place?

Most times when Ichika came over, Saki’s mom was there. Occasionally, she’d have Tsukasa watch over them if she had a student she had to actually drive to, but she’d return in time to make dinner.

Ichika was usually only over when Saki was; however, there were a few exceptions.

She thinks of the few times she was over without Saki. The lighting, how empty it felt, how it didn’t really feel like a home at all. A lived-in museum. Back then, if you told Ichika she’d feel this way about the Tenma house, she would avert her eyes and silently not believe you, but nod anyway.

If you told the Ichika fifteen minutes ago she’d be back in the Tenma house, she would do the same.

It’s almost amazing, how everything connects. How a group of four can turn into a trio because of a hospital, how a trio can dwindle down to just two because of a train ride, how a friend group dispersing can cause old scripts to collect dust in a bookshelf, how the girl in the hospital can cause a piano to become the most used thing in a house.

The cloudy atmosphere leaks in through the windows. It seeps through Ichika and Tsukasa’s bones. They stand still, trying to soak it all in, because they deserve it, because they’re walking freely and Saki isn’t.

The piano room has new additions, Ichika notes. Trophies in corners, medals on the wall. Only one of the Tenma kids could’ve earned those.

Saki’s mom was a piano teacher. Which, naturally, means she passed the skill onto her children.

Tsukasa didn’t need a lot of teaching, from what Ichika could gather. His mom definitely taught him the basics, but he didn’t need much directing after that. Saki had called him a prodigy, pink eyes filled with adoration and pride that were wide and sparkling.

Saki had always liked piano. She’d mentioned offhandedly on their walk to the neighborhood park, the hot, summer sun glistening against her pale skin, that Tsukasa taught her a lot of what she knew, despite only being a year older. He was already that talented at age eight.

Ichika definitely hadn’t known Tsukasa that well back then. He always seemed a lot older than them, out of reach, even a bit intimidating. She confided in Saki one time she found Tsukasa scary to talk to, to which she replied, Onii-chan? You can’t be serious, he won’t even go near a fly, and Ichika giggled and shrugged.

She remembers, probably five or four years ago, knocking on the Tenma’s door. Ichika wasn’t allowed to be out because her parents were at work, but she just wanted to see her trusted friend, so technically there wasn’t anything wrong with leaving the house. She couldn’t be alone all summer break, she had to live life to its fullest!

What she didn’t expect was for Tsukasa to open the door, eyes narrowed and suspicious, before changing to a look of recognition.

“Ichika?” He tilted his head.

“…Tsukasa-san?” She tilted her head the opposite direction.

Tsukasa had shaken his head, grinning wide and toothy. “I wasn’t expecting you!“

Ichika looked down, avoiding eye contact. “Um, yeah, sorry… Is Saki here?”

Tsukasa tapped on the side of the door, silent for a few agonizing seconds. “She… had to go to the hospital last night. Didn’t she call you?”

Oh.

“No, she didn’t.” Ichika looked up, meeting his gaze. He was still smiling, it didn’t falter, not once.

“How odd! Well, you can come inside anyway,” he paused, “Mom and Dad aren’t home, though.” Tsukasa opened the door fully, stepping aside to make room for her to walk in.

“No, I’m…” Ichika had begun. Tsukasa raised his eyebrow. “Actually, if it isn’t trouble, I would appreciate it.”

“No trouble at all.”

She took off her shoes before entering, as per usual. Something about the house felt… off. Normally, it was so bustling and full of life—Tsukasa was always practicing piano or reciting lines, their mom cooking or chatting with her husband, Saki talking Ichika’s ear off (not that she minded).

But now? The house felt completely empty. Stripped of its normal liveliness. The sun shone brightly through the large windows, showering the entire house in its glory, reflecting off the photos and kitchen counter. She could see the normally invisible dust floating in the sunlight, and she had to squint when facing the glass.

Everything felt too big for her, suddenly. The ceiling was too tall, the halls were too wide, the shelves were too high, the chairs were too large.

“I was gonna make dinner in a couple hours, so you’re welcome to stay!” Ichika recognized Tsukasa’s booming voice from the piano room. He must’ve moved while she was taking in the state of the Tenma residence.

Realizing she’d have to move towards the room he was in to hear her, she began to walk. Her light steps were the only sound in the house. “I don’t know if I’ll stay that long,” she had said, once she made it to the doorway.

Tsukasa smiled at her. He was missing a front tooth. “That’s alright with me. I’m not the best cook— But I will be! I’m a star, after all, I should aim to master everything. Who knows, maybe I’ll be invited to a cooking show!”

“I’m sure you aren’t that bad,” Ichika commented.

“Why don’t you stay so I can have a real judge for my cooking?”

She thought about it for a moment. She could always call her parents, and it’s not like she had anything else to do…

“Sure.”

For a split second, Tsukasa almost looked surprised. Like he wasn’t expecting her to accept. It was quickly replaced with a determined grin. “Perfect! Hahaha, you’ll be so impressed with my skills!”

Ichika softly smiled at him, “I can’t wait.”

All in all, his cooking was better than he gave himself credit for. It tasted good, practiced.

“How often do you play piano?” Ichika asks. She should know the answer, if the way he practiced so rigorously when he was a kid said anything.

Tsukasa shrugged. “A lot.”

She sat on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through her minimal contacts. Coming here was probably a bad idea.

She wishes she spent more time with her friends. That she didn’t favor her introverted periods, that she wasn’t so reserved with them, that sometimes she didn’t choose watering her cacti over playing soccer in Shiho’s front yard. She wishes instead of watching from the balcony, she’d jumped with them.

She looked at the photographs on the shelves in the living room. Something about them made her… sad. On the top, there was a picture of Saki in elementary school. Despite Tsukasa only being a year older, he was fourteen in his school photo, the one on Saki’s left. One from that year.

The rest of the photos are all old. One from a trip to Phoenix Wonderland, their parents' wedding, holiday photos, none of them taken after the year 2012, evidently. Tsukasa’s smile is still bright and reaches his eyes and Saki is still there and she’s not crying and she’s awake and she—

Ichika turns around and blinks back tears.

Tsukasa must’ve been able to tell something was off. He’d always been good at reading emotions, something that made him a good actor, she thinks. Even when they were younger, Tsukasa was always able to tell when Saki was upset, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

She tried to ignore the fact the tea Tsukasa had set down on the coffee table was her favorite. It was her favorite, four years ago, when she didn’t like the bitter taste of herbal tea.

It didn’t help to stop Ichika’s nostalgia, but maybe that was his goal, because he sat on the other side of the couch, patiently. She didn’t say anything, but she thinks that in itself says everything.

She began to hum something, a familiar tune she couldn’t quite place a name on.

Ichika walked around Saki’s house, inspecting each plant. The rest of her friend group had gone outside to play volleyball with each other, and she’d opted to stay inside. They let her, but not without Saki saying, don’t be boring!

She decided to be boring.

Saki’s mom and dad were at work, so it was just her left inside.

Probably just her, because Tsukasa might also be inside, somewhere. No one really knew where he went—sometimes they’d think he was home, but he was actually talking to Shiho’s older sister for two hours at the neighborhood park or vice versa. Saki told them he was just weirdly independent, and her mother had nodded, attempting to conceal the worried expression on her face. Ichika didn’t know why, wasn’t being independent a good thing?

(She didn’t realize until later, until she saw him in a junior high uniform, walking to and from his own piano competitions, watching from Miyamasuzaka’s school garden, that maybe there is such a thing as too much independence.

And she wouldn’t realize until much later, until four girls are in a live house after a show, until Saki would confide in her and explain her worries, just how much independence is too much.)

She heard humming, slowly getting louder as the small pitter-patter of feet descended the stairs.

Except, this time, there was no greeting. There was eye contact, a small smile, a turn into the piano room, and a girl with black hair quietly following him.

He didn’t say anything when she entered the room, he didn’t say anything when she sat next to him on the piano bench, and he didn’t say anything when she flipped through the songbook and requested what to play on the piano. Tsukasa simply obliged with a smile on his face, eyes trained on the sheet music, and small fingers gliding across the keys.

Ichika knew he was good, she was over at the Tenma’s house more than her own, so of course she’d hear him practice, but she never properly listened. His playing was beautiful, way past the skill level of a nine year old. She supposed that’s what happened when you spent most of your day practicing like Saki’s brother.

The golden, afternoon sunlight had cascaded through the large windows. Lighting was always the one thing Ichika remembered, faces were usually blurred after a long time. She remembers the feeling of tranquility, peacefulness.

“Your humming was a nice addition!” Tsukasa finally spoke, hands folded in his lap and cheeks squished as he smiled brightly.

Ichika had felt her cheeks flush, “I— I didn’t realize I was humming. That’s so embarrassing..!”

He shook his head, “Nonsense! It added to the majestic feeling of the song, you know?”

Ichika shrugged. The back door opened, and she heard the girls giggle and take off their shoes.

“Icchaaaan! We’re back!”

“Where is she..?” She heard Honami ask.

Ichika hopped down from the piano bench, taking that as her cue to leave. “I’m coming, guys!”

“Eh? From the piano room…” Saki gasped. “Onii-chan was trying to steal my best friend!?”

Tsukasa laughed boisterously from his place on the bench, unbothered by his sister’s playful comment.

It became an unspoken tradition between the two of them. He’d play piano for Ichika whenever her friends did something she didn’t want to.

Somewhere, in the years that she grew older, it stopped. There wasn’t a reason for Ichika to come over anymore, not with Saki so frequently in the hospital, not with the building distance between Honami and Shiho.

A part of her wants it back.

Was that selfish?

The first sign should’ve been the fact Tsukasa hadn’t said a thing about shows in an hour.

The second should’ve been the fact he played the piano the moment he knew Ichika was okay.

And the third is that the faraway look on his face did not once leave.

(Looking back on it, Ichika thinks she should’ve told Saki. The rare times they were alone in the hospital. She didn’t, though. But she should’ve. She should’ve known that look on his face meant something. She should’ve known he wasn’t just playing piano for fun.

But now-

But now—

But now, Saki isn’t sure if Tsukasa truly wants to keep up with the piano again, or if something is bothering him. They were always attached at the hip, siblings that told each other everything.

Maybe they weren’t as open with each other as everyone thought. At least, she knows Tsukasa isn’t. But it isn’t Ichika’s place to tell Saki that. Maybe she already knows.)

This isn’t Tsukasa, she thought. Because Tsukasa was, above all things, strong.

Ichika wondered if that’s just what he wanted people to believe.

Tsukasa is very, very convincing.

And for some reason, Ichika found herself wishing she could change that, too.

The sky eventually cleared up. Tsukasa had offered to walk her home in that same, monotonous tone he seemed to talk in now, but she’d declined to avoid any more awkwardness.

After changing out of her rain-soaked clothes, she threw herself onto her bed.

That was, by far, one of the weirdest days of her life. But the strangest part was the fact that it shouldn’t be.

She buried her face into her pillow, cold fabric slowly warming from the contact. After a few seconds of it getting hard to breathe, she turned on her side and brought her knees up to her waist.

Why had Tsukasa let her stay? Why had he covered her from the rain in the first place?

She didn’t deserve it. Not after what she put Saki through. Saki, who was alone in her hospital bed, with no one but her mother to keep her company. Saki, who was so excited to go to Miyamasuzaka with her friends, but the opportunity was stolen from her by some unfair illness.

Ichika, who should’ve done more. Ichika, who was too scared to reach out to her friends. Ichika, who is the reason her friends stopped talking to each other. Ichika, who pushed them so much to visit Saki, they stopped.

“Saki said she misses you. I think she wants all three of us to visit.”

She’d heard Honami pause on the other side of the line. She could almost see her pursed lips, looking far too old for someone who was freshly a seventh grader. “I don’t know...”

“Please?” She’d pleaded. She still didn’t know why she even had to. Shouldn’t they all want to see Saki together, without even asking?

“I think I have something that day. Sorry, Ichika-chan. Maybe another time.” Polite as ever. Another time. She said that every single time Ichika asked.

“Okay. Okay, uh, yeah. Another time. See you, Honami.”

“Mhm. Good night.” Her voice was soft, still kind. But to someone who knew her, Ichika couldn’t help but realize how strained it sounded.

That next morning at school, she’d approached Shiho. Her outdoor shoes were wet from the dew.

“Shiho?” Ichika ran up to her, careful not to step on any of the flowers in the grass in the courtyard.

She didn’t look up from her phone. “What?”

“I already asked Honami and she can’t come, um— I was wondering if you’d visit Saki tonight with me?”

She still didn’t lift her head. “I’m busy.”

Her response was sharp. Shiho was always sharp, straight-laced, a bit cynical—but she’d always had a fond look in her eyes, always paid attention to what they had to say.

Hearing her like this had felt like a phone buzzing and the drop of a heart upon the word hospital.

“That’s alright. She wants to see you soon, though.” Ichika had started fidgeting with her sleeves. Awkward silence became the norm when they were alone.

Shiho hadn’t even graced her with a reply.

“Ichika?” A woman’s voice snaps her out of her trance. Looking up, she recognized Saki’s mom, upturned eyebrows and a soft smile. “Did you just finish visiting Saki?”

“Yeah, uh, yes, I did,” she stuttered. How long had she been staring?

The two were outside the hospital, Ichika sitting on the bench, Saki’s mother carrying a black purse from her shoulder, standing a few feet away from her. She walked closer, digging through her purse. With an “aha!” she pulls out her keys. “Did you come here all by yourself?”

Ichika shook her head, “No. My dad dropped me off, but I can’t get a hold of them because of the, um, internet.”

“Oh, I can drop you off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! It’s no trouble at all,” said Saki’s mom. “I’m even an emergency contact in your mother’s phone.” She giggled.

Ichika shakily smiled, climbing into the pristinely white car. Despite it only being the two of them, she climbed into the back out of habit. Saki’s mom didn’t say anything, picking up on her nervousness. She was similar to her son in that way.

After a few minutes, she breaks the silence. “You know, I haven’t seen your other two friends around, I hope they’re doing okay!”

“Oh. We’re…” she pauses. Does she tell the truth? Saki’s mom had always been someone Ichika knew she could talk to in a worst case scenario. But…

But she knew how close Saki was to her mom. She knew that she’d tell Saki just how distant they were.

“We’re okay. It’s not the same without Saki, definitely.”

“I get that. She’ll be discharged soon, just have hope, okay?” Her mom offered Ichika a soft smile, the Tenma-certified sincere look in her eyes that she hadn’t seen on Saki in a long time.

She continues talking, raging at people on the road, apologizing, and it’s definitely clear where the Tenma siblings got their attitudes from.

Eventually, silence falls over the two. She realized, not for the first time, that she hasn’t had a genuine conversation with any of the Tenmas that wasn’t Saki for years.

Ichika opened and closed her mouth, debating on whether or not she should ask a question. “Tenma-san?”

“Hm? What is it?”

“Do you know what happened to Tsukasa?”

Ichika realizes her mistake when her eyes, still trained on the road, widen, eyebrows furrow, and grip on the steering wheel tightens. She remains patient nonetheless. “In what way?”

“Sorry. Um, it’s just, he seems different.” Saki’s mom doesn’t talk, signaling her to continue. “A few months ago, about when school started, I think? Well, I went on a walk and, uh, it started raining, so he found me and offered to let me wait it out at your house.”

“He’s always been very kind,” she agrees.

Ichika nods. “That definitely didn’t change… but he seemed quiet. Reserved. Maybe I’m looking too deep into it? Sorry.”

Saki’s mom shook her head, expression melting into something else. Not quite fond, but not quite sad. “Don’t apologize. In truth, I definitely have noticed a… difference.“ She took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “Tsukasa makes an effort to hide it from us. He’s always been very good at it, but it’s hard to turn a blind eye from— from that.”

Ichika could tell she wanted to say more. Something that seems to have been on her mind, but Ichika was thirteen, and she couldn’t do anything, so she didn’t blame Saki’s mom for not elaborating more.

The rest of the car ride was silent. Borderline uncomfortable. That, or Ichika was just overthinking.

Shibuya was large.

Even so, it was almost impossible to avoid running into people you did not, by any means, want to talk to.

Ichika stared at the flowers inside the garden shop. Blue and yellow carnations. Blue carnations, unlike the yellow ones, didn’t exist naturally. However, they could be genetically modified. She desperately looked for naturally occurring ones when she was in elementary school, but after reading books upon books, she stumbled upon the very disappointing fact that they weren’t real.

Fluorescent lights covered the ceiling, a sight Ichika was used to. How do the flowers survive in here?

“Did you have a question?”

She whipped her head around, eyes slightly widened in surprise. “Um— I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, y’know, say that out loud,” she stuttered.

The boy who had confronted her wore the shop's uniform, but in a way that definitely did not fit the dress code. He looked… sloppy, in the nicest way possible. Long purple hair with cyan streaks that Ichika couldn’t help but wonder if he was born with them. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen, and it wasn’t for his taller than average height, she would’ve guessed even younger due to his thin frame.

He studied her with sharp eyes, yellow and cat-like, as if she was a rat in a lab, as if he wanted to pick her apart. She couldn’t help but notice the dark circles, the scarred fingers, the faraway look.

Where had she seen that expression before?

“M’kay,” he replied. The boy didn’t spare any more time analyzing her, quickly turning on his heel and returning to whatever he might’ve been doing. Brewing a new potion or something, he looked like he’d enjoy that.

Ichika’s eyes traveled to the front of the store. The door opened softly, the only alert of anyone entering being the jingle of a bell.

A black uniform, blond hair that faded into a peach, a round face, broad shoulders, amber eyes that made contact with hers, wide and a little disbelieving, as if Ichika was a memory. As if he wasn’t really seeing her, but he was seeing the ghost of a girl who died three years ago and used to request him to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star because it was her best friend’s favorite song, because it was the one he taught her at six-thirty in the morning when she thought everyone else was asleep.

Ichika stared at the ceiling.

Saki was sound asleep next to her, lightly snoring. It never bothered her, she could never really fall asleep without sound. Her mom used to say it was because she was made for music.

Tsukasa had moved out of his and Saki’s shared room a few years ago, when it was too much of a risk because of her illness. Ever since then, they’d been able to stop having sleepovers in the living room.

Ichika was grateful, but there was something fun about whispering into the night, trying not to wake her parents up, trying to see the stars from the large windows.

She looked towards the balcony, the sun just barely peeking through the clouds. They’d forgotten to close the curtains last night, not actually planning to sleep, but their scheme had failed when the clock struck two and Saki fell asleep during Ichika’s rant about what flowers grew on what cacti.

She slowly peeled the comforter off of her legs and slid out of the bed. Her feet landed on the floor silently, tiptoeing to the closed door. The metal doorknob was ice against her bare hands, cold winter weather seeping into the house and infecting its surfaces.

She carefully opened the door as to not make any noise, before quickly walking down the hallway and down the stairs.

Ichika liked going downstairs when no one else was. The Tenma’s were used to her being down before Saki, and always let her eat any food she wanted.

She wasn’t expecting to hear the sound of a lullaby from the piano room. She creeped towards the song, eventually leaning against the wall next to the entrance so he wouldn’t see her.

She could tell the song was difficult, but the player made it seem effortless. A strong melody and light harmony. Now that she was closer, a soft humming adding to the overall tone of the lullaby.

The song stopped. The same piano key spammed, and a frustrated grunt.

“Damn it… I always mess that part up!”

Ichika peeked into the room, a frustrated Tsukasa biting his thumb as he stared at the sheet music.

“I thought it was pretty.” He jumped, head flicking up in surprise. Ichika covered her mouth, embarrassed. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to pry.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t his usual cackle, more of a soft chuckle, then waved. “I don’t mind. A star is nothing without an audience,” he pauses, “did I wake you up?”

She shook her head, slowly making her way into the room and toward the bench. Tsukasa moved closer to the left edge, patting down a spot next to him for Ichika to sit. She shuffled close, hesitant. With an encouraging nod from him, she sat.

“Saki talks about you a lot. She says you’re into music?” Tsukasa tilted his head, eyes bright and curious.

She blushed at the mention of Saki talking about her, embarrassed. “I do. I can’t read notes very well, but she’s teaching me. I don’t really get it.”

He listened intently while absentmindedly messing with the keys. He didn’t respond, playing a simple tune the whole Tenma family must know all too well by now.

Ichika had quietly sung along. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was a staple in her friend group, and the way Tsukasa played it was always odd. He added more steps than necessary, maybe for fun, maybe to sound sophisticated.

The version he played then was normal. Simple. Not grand, unlike everything Tsukasa did.

He looked at her fondly, the way he’d look at Saki. He had looked so much older than her, then. His eye bags were dark, possibly from lack of sleep or no sleep at all. It didn’t feel right on a barely eleven-year-old.

Ichika put her hands on the same notes as him in a different octave, and he slowed. Repeating the same keys three times and moving onto the next, doing the same process over again, and adjusting her finger positioning when needed.

They stayed like that, the simple tune being played over and over.

Ichika offered him an awkward smile.

Tsukasa blinked a few times, before offering the same smile back. He quickly walked towards the opposite side of the store, no doubt to avoid her. She didn’t blame him.

Truly looking around, she couldn’t help but notice the odd mechanisms around the shop. Flowers that watered themselves, a light switch labeled “regular” and “sunlight”, and the boy from before, talking to the manager who was pointing at a broken… robot?

Ichika bought the flowers she wanted, and quickly left, anxiety through the roof now that Tsukasa was in a ten foot radius.

It was impossible to never see him again. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was more so that seeing him was a reminder. A reminder of the best friend she wasn’t able to help, of the brother she couldn’t figure out, of the friend group that fell apart.

They both ended up in the same place more often than not, never giving more than a smile or brief acknowledgment they saw each other via eye contact.

It was almost cartoonish, how he was everywhere. Saki used to say he was made of rubber, with how invincible he was. He could probably be shot out of a cannon and survive, she’d say.

Ichika had a habit of not believing her when it came to Tsukasa. It was hard to, especially now, when the contrast between him in junior high and him in elementary school was so drastic.

Ichika was fourteen when Tsukasa was fifteen.

She was fourteen when his smile reached his eyes again.

She was fourteen when she watched him from behind Kamiyama’s front gates, waving at a boy with split-blue hair in the same junior high uniform he had worn the year prior.

She was fourteen when she realized Tsukasa at fifteen was no different than Tsukasa at nine.

Which begs the question, what happened to him those years in between?

Ichika pointedly ignores the fact she knows the answer.

A loud, familiar laugh. Something about a new day, stardom, and perfection, suddenly reminds her she’s on her way to school. If she keeps walking, he won’t see her.

Ichika doesn’t move, though. Her feet stay planted on the ground, refusing to pick themselves up no matter how much she tries to will herself.

To her dismay, Tsukasa does turn around, and he does see her, but he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t wave. He stares at her, curiously, with a tilt of his head.

(This was not Tsukasa Tenma.)

She offers him an awkward smile, but doesn’t wait for him to give her one back, her feet finally obeying her and quickly taking her to school.

Ichika was fifteen when Tsukasa was sixteen.

It was her first year of high school, and his second.

The four of them were supposed to go together. Saki was always so excited, always rambling about the new opportunities that’d arise once she got over her illness and grew up.

She heard him greet the same split-haired boy at Kamiyama’s front gate.

“Ah, Toya! Good morning!”

“Icchan! Hona-chan! Shiho-chan! Gooood morning!”

She didn’t linger.

She should’ve told her.

Ichika should’ve told Saki just how bad it was.

How strained her friendship with Honami and Shiho had gotten.

The faraway look in Tsukasa’s eyes.

Her mom trying not to cry outside of the hospital.

If there was anything she regretted, it was not telling Saki about Tsukasa sooner.

She wouldn’t need to.

A sleepover, after everything.

After a sick girl returns to school, after a new world is created, after a reconnection, after a friend group fights over and over, after a band is formed.

After everything.

“Icchan?”

The other two were asleep. A girl with loose, curly brown hair hugging a pillow, and a girl with short gray hair lying on her stomach.

Blonde hair tied into a braid that fades into pink. Black, unbrushed hair sprawled on a pillow. Both girls on their backs, hands folded over their stomachs. Saki shifts to her side, eyes looking downwards.

Ichika doesn’t respond, but hums in acknowledgment.

“Did—” She laughs nervously. “Did Tsukasa seem… I don’t know… off to you, in junior high?”

Ichika almost forgets to breathe.

“You didn’t see him much, so I don’t really expect anything, but, uh, I think I was just dwelling on the past. He always tried his best to make me smile, but I can’t help but feel like it— it drained him.” Saki’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it was so full of emotion at the same time.

“I don’t know much, sorry. Didn’t really, aha, cross paths with him a lot.” A lie.

She can hear Saki nod against the mattress sheet. “I think I always knew. I just wished I had been aware of that earlier.”

Ichika finally turns over on her side to look at her. “Did something happen..?”

A beat.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “He doesn’t tell me. Not anymore.”

The Tenma siblings were close. The ideal, the kind you saw on TV shows. They weren’t twins, but if you told Ichika they could feel each other’s pain, she’d have believed you.

“I know more than I let on. I always did. I just wish he could trust me, like, um, like I trust him. I want to be relied on, too,” she pauses, and her breath hitches. “I don’t want him to just see me as the same chronically ill little sister he had to take care of like he used to.”

In reality, they weren’t that close at all.

Saki falls asleep quickly, after Ichika doesn’t reply. She doesn’t know how.

Because, how do you respond to something like that?

Saki and Tsukasa were two peas in a pod. There for each other when no one else was. They had a certain bond, one that couldn't be replicated nor created from just being in a normal family. They were both so alone, but in completely different ways. Ichika had the privilege to witness both.

She didn’t need to tell Saki anything at all, because she already knew.

Maybe not everything. Maybe not the expression he was so good at hiding, maybe not the way he’d pull his hair after a particularly bad piano competition. Tsukasa would never let her.

Ichika wished she didn’t know, most of the time.

“You’re using too much air during the chorus.” Nene’s sitting on the park swing, taking a break to give Ichika constructive criticism.

She nods, “Thanks. I always seem to struggle with that, ha.”

“Trust me, I get it. Try dancing during it, too,” says Nene. They share a smile.

A laugh echoes throughout the entire neighborhood, only getting closer. “Ha! Ha! Haaaa!”

“You’re kidding.” Nene’s face scrunches up into a look of mild disgust and exasperation, but behind it was something much fonder. Ichika almost wanted to say excited.

Tsukasa strolls into the park, bright with the Tenma-certified smile glued to his face and phone in hand. He spots them and waves energetically, pace immediately picking up to greet them.

“My dearest troupe mate and sister’s best friend!”

“You can call us by our names, y’know,” Nene says flatly.

Tsukasa puts his hands on his hips. “Where’s the fun in that? It’s about the whimsy, Nene!”

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t quite conceal her smile.

“It’s nice to see you again, Tsukasa-san,” Ichika says with a polite grin. Was she being awkward so early in a conversation?

His eyes light up, as if to remember something, when he hears her. “Oh, right! That’s what I came here for!” He digs through his pants right pocket and pulls out a ticket to Phoenix Wonderland in all its glory. “Saki told me to give this to you. I hope she isn’t spending all her money again…”

Ichika takes it from his hand, not offering a reply to his comment. She can see out of the corner of her eye, Nene glaring at them—no, maybe not a glare. Maybe intrigue is the best way to put it. “Thank you,” she finally replies.

“It’s no problem at all! And if you’re going to thank anyone, it should be my lovely sister. She cares a lot about you, so I have no qualms with her spending money as long as it’s making her happy.”

“Well, if anything is gonna make her happy, it’s getting another plushie from the carnival.” Ichika leans against the swing's support beam, arms crossed over her chest.

“That is very true… Gasp! I know the perfect gift, you’re a genius!”

“Gift for what?”

“Did you just say ‘gasp’ out loud?” Nene asks.

“Yes and yes to both of your questions,” Tsukasa proudly exclaims. Hers wasn’t a yes or no question, but she’d rather not embarrass him, especially in front of a close friend.

“Mhm. Well, Hoshino-san and I were practicing, so you can go now.”

Practically glowing, he almost jumps towards Nene when he walks. “Can I watch?

“No.”

“It’s like a practice audience, c’mon…”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Ichika, help me out here!” Tsukasa looks at her in a way that’s somehow stressed and happy all in one, and he looks like Tsukasa in fourth grade when the attempted pillow fort he set up for his sister’s birthday party didn’t have enough blankets to cover the entire downstairs, and third grade Saki had loved it with all her heart.

(She still talks about it. Ichika will hear her mention it to her parents, to her classmates, to Shiho and Honami, but not to her brother. She mentioned, a few months ago, “I think part of him believes he failed, that because there weren't enough blankets I wasn’t actually smiling. I wish he could see how happy he made me, back then,” and Ichika had wished Saki talked about her that way, that she’d made her happy back then, but only for a brief moment.)

“I don’t see why not. When we were younger, he used to watch my band perform shows. Well, not really shows, but they were something like that,” Ichika responds.

Nene sighs. “Fine, I guess you can watch. But no talking.”

Tsukasa makes a pretend zipper motion over his mouth, and watches them with a determined smile.

The sun is in the sky, it’s a summer, and there’s no piano, but a bit of this feels like a winter morning at six-thirty when Ichika and Tsukasa were ten and eleven, and Nene Kusanagi did not know either of them.

Ichika’s only seen Tsukasa cry once.

Never before, never after. He didn’t cry when Saki was hospitalized for the first time. He definitely didn’t cry when it happened the second time. He didn’t cry when he sprained his ankle at the park when he was supposed to be looking after them, because it was my fault, I wasn’t being responsible. He didn’t cry when he lost piano competitions. He didn’t cry when he fought with Saki.

It had been over something most would deem stupid. Tsukasa was helping his mom cook dinner for Ichika and Saki, and suddenly they heard a loud crash!

They sprinted to find what the commotion was about. The sight was—still is—foreign. Tsukasa, face scrunched up and head down, biting his lip with wet tears sliding down his cheeks. His mom was crouched down, ingredients long forgotten. She whispered different words of comfort, saying it was just a plate and they could replace it later.

If it had been anybody else, Saki would’ve immediately ran to hug them and offer her sympathies. But she had just watched. Eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed, face contorted in confusion. Ichika felt like an audience member, like she was watching a scene play out and at any moment they’d take a bow and return to what they were doing.

Tsukasa looked reluctant to accept affection from his mother, but wanted it all at once. He kept saying things like “I’m fine,” and “I’ll get over it, don’t worry,” but his mom stayed by him anyway.

He looked up, eyes locking with Saki’s, and she saw pure panic cover every one of his features. The tears had stopped as quick as they had started, and he stopped hugging their mom as soon as she’d let him. They hadn’t said a word to each other after that, or at least not until Ichika left.

She’s reminded of this after a particularly weird vocal practice, one with an unexpected visitor watching them.

It’s currently one in the morning. They’re next to each other on her bed, Nene gaming and Ichika reading a book about different types of flowers, slumped against the wall.

Nene pipes up after roughly an hour. “Hey, Hoshino-san?”

“Hm?” Ichika looks up, violet eyes locking with hers. There’s a look in them she can’t quite place.

“You knew Tsukasa when he was younger, right?”

There it is. “We weren’t very close, but I did, yes.”

The look becomes more intense, and Nene bites her cheek. “What was he like? I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was an idiot his entire life, but, y’know,” she questions.

Ichika hums, collecting her thoughts.

(A sleepover, an empty house, a piano, an umbrella, a car, front gates, a sleepover.)

“Tsukasa-san was… energetic, reliable, and responsible.”

“Geez, has he really not changed at all?”

“He definitely has,” she says, before she can even think her words though. She tries to quiet the rising anxiety quickly approaching her chest.

Eyebrow raised, Nene looks at her quizzically. “Sounds like the same old Tenma Tsukasa to me.”

“I guess so.” She wants so badly to tell Nene about the faraway glances, the awkward smiles, the quiet exchanges, the drastic change in personality that happened before and after.

Ichika never wanted to share something quite so much. Maybe it’s something in her gut that tells her she’d understand, that if she opened the dam, Nene would welcome the water with open arms. She’s never told anyone about her days with Tsukasa. Privacy, she guesses.

It’d feel like a betrayal, if she did tell someone. Tell someone about the piano trophies, the quiet demeanor, the disassociation from reality. Life revolving around one thing, one person.

The mermaid observes the lonely alchemist from the beach, unable to catch him when he falls off the cliff.

Something tells Ichika she’d understand. She isn’t sure what.

She doesn’t say anything, because of course she doesn’t. Because Ichika was a reserved person. What she says instead—

“I’ve seen him cry, once. Just once.”

“Just once,” she repeats. The silence before she speaks is agonizing. “It’s always just once.”

“Eh?”

“Oh—it’s nothing, sorry, you can continue.”

She takes a deep breath. The memory is clear in her head, significant. “He broke a plate, um, when we were younger. Really young. Maybe nine and ten? Seven and eight?” Ichika shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. Tsukasa-san was cooking dinner with his mom, broke a plate, and he… cried.”

Nene just nods.

Ichika runs her fingers through her own unbrushed, tangled hair. “It felt weird. He’s never been one to, I guess, be all sad? It felt a bit like a pot that had been boiling too long, like all the bubbles just started spilling out,” she pauses, “am I rambling? I am. Sorry.”

The other girl plays with her necklace. “You’re fine. I know what you mean, though. He’s kinda weird, don’t you think? First a plate, then a show, what’s next?” Her voice was soft, confused, like Tsukasa was a puzzle she was missing a few pieces to.

“A show?”

Nene’s eyes widen in horror as she covers her mouth. “Don’t tell him I said anything.”

Ichika laughs, quietly. It’s small. “I won’t, don’t worry.”

They continue the sleepover in comfortable silence. There was that look on Nene’s face, the one that tempted her to spill everything.

A boy in a flower shop.

Ichika is sixteen when Tsukasa is seventeen, and soon it’ll be her turn to be a second year.

She never liked the passage of time. It reminds her that nothing can last forever.

She’s sixteen when she watches a show performed by Wonderlands x Showtime, and Tsukasa is seventeen when he plays Twinkle Twinke Little Star again, this time in front of an audience.

Leo/Need manages to find their way backstage, and Saki squeals, runs, jumps, and hugs Tsukasa all in two seconds. Honami gives Emu a high five, and Shiho goes up to each of them to say you did well, good job.

Ichika compliments Nene, who gets flustered and sputters out a quiet thanks.

There’s a lot going on at once, with Tsukasa yelling at Saki for ruining his hair, Rui rambling about some prop to Honami, Nene, and Emu. Shiho is on her phone in the corner, but Saki is quickly there and drags her into the sibling fight.

Ichika observes her surroundings.

The boy that stood not too far away from her is not the same boy who bought his sister flowers when he was fourteen. He is not the same boy who filled the painfully silent house with music when he was twelve. He is not the same boy who greeted her with a smile and a wave when he was ten and every age below that.

She stands back, observing it all, and suddenly she is nine years old, watching her friends from the window with a book in her hand and a familiar tight feeling in her chest and thinking about the future instead of the present.

Nene looks at her in a way she can’t quite explain. Recognition, familiarity, curiosity, worry, all of the above. Her eyes flicker to Rui, and something in Ichika clicks.

He stands opposite to her, taking it all in. Eyebrows raised slightly, eyes soft, mouth curled upwards. An expression. A mirror.

Saki has her head turned from where Ichika stands to look at Rui, so she can’t quite see what face she’s making, but when both she and Nene lock eyes—something passes between them. She’s not sure what. A mutual understanding, maybe. Despite how easy Saki is to read, she’s just like her brother in the aspect that there always seems to be something she isn’t telling, something she’s holding back.

“Icchan! Stop standing so far away, talk to us!” Saki waves at her before holding out a hand for Ichika to take. To pull her out of the water. It always felt like her hand was too far above, that she wasn’t strong enough by herself. In truth, she wasn’t. But behind her is Honami and Shiho and Tsukasa and Emu and Nene and someone so similar to herself that she thinks, maybe this time they really can get her out of the water, if they all pulled her at once.

She giggles, “Alright, sorry.” Ichika bounces on her feet as she walks towards the two friend groups, a habit she picked up from Saki.

“Hoshino-san, tell Tsukasa that mint ice cream tastes like toothpaste,” Nene says. She didn’t seem as shy as when Ichika met her, her voice louder and playful.

“Ichika, tell Nene that she needs to have an open mind!” Tsukasa’s as loud and boisterous as he used to be. It’s nice to see him like this again. Despite how often Leo/Need is over at the Tenma’s, she hasn’t seen him around. Whether it was work, practicing for shows in his room, school duties, he wasn’t really all there.

“Do you ever get worried that people are just—That one day, they’re just gonna… leave?”

Ichika turned her head to look at Saki. “That was random. Why?”

Saki smiled, but it was wrong. “Just thinking out loud! You don’t have to answer. Actually, don’t. Sorry to bother ya.”

Ichika wishes she didn’t listen, that she’d argued.

She smiles apologetically. “Sorry, girl. I’m with Tsukasa-san on this one.”

Nene glares at her, but there isn’t any malice behind it. Ichika thinks she’d get along with Shiho.

“Ha-ha! See, I told you she’d agree with me,” Tsukasa crosses his arms and looks at the diva smugly. Nene rolls her eyes.

“I bet I have your sister on my side.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Nene smirks. “Oh, Tenma-saaaaan…”

“Stop!”

Saki twirls around two times from where she stood, previously talking to Honami and Emu. “Yes, my dearest brother’s friend?”

“Does mint ice cream taste like toothpaste?” Nene looks at her innocently. Actors, Ichika guesses.

Tsukasa pleads, “Saki, if you love me, you’ll say no.”

“Guess I don’t love you, then.”

“Saki!?”

She laughs while he stares, mouth agape.

Ichika can’t help but break out into giggles. It escapes her, no matter how hard she tries to restrain it.

Shiho stands next to her. “What’s got you so happy?”

Ichika isn’t expecting her to be there. She never really is. It’s a bit unreal for her, to have all of them by her side again. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

It isn’t the same as before, not by a long shot. There’s still times when Shiho will ignore them when she’s mad, times when Honami refuses to speak out when there’s a problem, when Saki won’t let any of them leave for another hour because she doesn’t wanna be alone. But they’re working on it.

When she finally calms herself, she locks eyes with Shiho. “I’m just happy.”

She raises her eyebrow, but lands on a smile. “I am, too. We all are.”

Ichika turns her head to Tsukasa, now yelling at Rui, who rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. Happy.

She finally sees it, now. He still stays quiet sometimes, worried glances directed at Saki. He practices acting just as much as he did piano, teaching his troupe mates like he did his sister. He doesn’t greet her with a smile and wave, but with a loud oh, Ichika! It’s nice to see you again!

That is the same boy who let her into his house when it was raining, the same boy who covered her with an umbrella and got his own shoulders soaked in the rain instead.

Ichika hopes he’s happy. Saki mentioned it was hard to know, whether it was real or not. There was always a tell, though. She just needed to figure it out.

Small fingers, gliding across black and white piano keys.

“Yeah. I think so.”