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Chapter Text

In a world where Iwakura Mitsumi doesn't come to Tokyo, Shima Sousuke skips his first day of high school. 

(And the second day, too, but never mind that–the dressing down that Mukai overheard their homeroom teacher receiving over the school's sole entrance ceremony absentee was awkward enough to endure with believable nonchalance. He's glad when the weekend comes, a brief reprieve before the third day of classes resume on Monday.) 

The proposed after-school karaoke party takes a very different turn.

It's basically Yamada–who overheard the girls bring it up–trying to rally everyone and anyone to the cause, but especially Murashige, tall and coolly beautiful and totally Yamada's type. She flicks a polite smile at the girls already nodding acquiescence, but doesn't say anything; which Mukai gets. He's not a huge fan of being peer pressured into decisions, even those as mundane as whether to attend karaoke or not. 

If Sousuke were going, Mukai wouldn't even have to think about it. 

But Sousuke is not here. No, he amends–Sousuke chose not to be here today. It doesn't sit right.

Mukai chews on his lip, packing up his desk slowly.

Some of their other classmates have no issue with leaving: like Kurume-san, who excuses herself outright. More than one person watches longingly as she marches out.

Egashira Mika is too nervous about being disliked to pull a stunt like that, even if she hasn't made fast friends yet; it's just been meaningless small talk with whoever sits nearby. Par for the course of any first meeting, but still–she is a little disappointed.

She's performed well, she thinks, but feels as fake as ever. It's exhausting.

And Yamada is being a boor. 

So for the time being, she sits silently, wishing she had had better timing than to talk about karaoke with such a guy walking past.

Then there's Murashige Yuzuki, still feeling the sting of middle school betrayal, and how she knows most everyone is looking at her out of the corner of their eyes. She wonders if this will ever be worth it.

Mukai knows himself: awkward in any unfamiliar company, let alone the confines of a karaoke room? Perhaps going off to find Sousuke would be better, he thinks as he stands. Yamada rounds on him at once, asking "are you going, Mukai?" with sparkling eyes.

He recalls his mother's words about making new friends, grits his teeth and says yes .

The other two stragglers (girls, both of them!) share a half glance when he does, then add their agreement as well.

There's a brief solidarity in that: I'm in if you are. 

He takes heart in it.

Not all karaoke, Mika chants under her breath, not all karaoke is bad.  

But this session in particular…is the worst.

In large part because Yamada can't take a hint or pull his head out of his ass–they'll be having a decent time, if the songs are good enough to have everyone singing along, and then he'll open his mouth and sink the mood with another terrible pick-up line directed at Murashige. No one wants to make the effort to rein Yamada in, so it's either ignore him or leave. By the end of the first hour (they paid for two), Mika is quite ready to excuse herself from his presence permanently.

She slips out for a long bathroom break instead, and finds it thankfully empty.

The walls are thin, and the reverberation from a dozen different rooms echoes through the corridors: loud and tastelessly noisy. Perfect.

Mika looks her mirror-self in the eye, takes a deep breath, and has a cathartic little scream. She goes again a few times, running a hand through her painstakingly neatened hair too–clenching fistfuls of it really adds to the mood, she's found–

And that's how Murashige Yuzuki catches her looking like a total nutcase.

Her shriek dies down into a gurgle. Or croak.

Mika rages internally, so embarrassed she could die. Murashige Yuzuki, of all people! She stammers, goes red and gets ready to lash out at the other girl if she so much as breathes wrong and–

Comes to her senses, thankfully, when she notices how absolutely drained her classmate looks. Like, those eyes are super dead.

She fidgets, leaning against the corner sink. 

Murashige steps into a cubicle and closes the door. Mika listens, awkwardly, to the tinkle of water on porcelain, and starts to tidy her hair.

She's smoothing it back into a short ponytail when Murashige comes out. And picks the sink right next to her. Mika darts a careful glance over.

"Um, you wanna scream a bit, too? No one will really hear, I think, over all the bad singing echoing about."

"I–it really helps when I'm stressed. Really."

Murashige musters up a weak smile. "Thank you, Egashira-san," she says. "When I'm stressed, I want to cuddle my dog. But he's not here, so–"

She huffs a sigh. "Okay, let's try it."

Mika jumps. "Wait, really? If someone else walks in…"

"I'll take that chance. Yamada's getting on my last nerve." 

They're halfway back to the room when Murashige taps her lightly on the elbow.

"By the way," the blonde says, "do you want to leave early, Egashira-san? We could go together, if you don't mind."

Mika falters. Spending time alone with Murashige, who is the worst choice of companion for her massive inferiority complex, doesn't sound like a very smart idea. But they did scream together in a crappy toilet; that's definitely a bonding experience. And she recognises this offer for what it is–a real, reciprocal gesture of friendship, too precious by far to turn down.

"Okay," she says. "I'd be happy to, Murashige-san."

Murashige smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. 

They turn the corner just as someone–Mukai, her brain supplies, Mika wouldn't forget those eyebrows ever–exits the karaoke room, slinging his bag over his shoulder with one hand as he takes a call with the other.

He nods distractedly as they pass, speaking rapidly in a low voice to someone called Sousuke. 

Mika can make out a bit of the Line icon on the screen, a profile shot of a handsome blond guy. Is Mukai friends with a model or something? She wonders; he's certainly tall enough for that sort of thing, and they sounded close.

Murashige slipping an arm through hers washes those thoughts from her head. 

They make their excuses to the room and leave for the station together, walking quickly as possible. But Murashige is antsy ("I just feel like that Yamada is going to try to get on the same train," she tells Mika, "so shall we stop by a department store first?") until she steers them into the gleaming white and cream interior of Mika's favourite high street beauty store.

Window shopping for skincare is a pleasant enough way to pass the time, and the fact that they can have an energised discussion about scented hand creams and smudge-proof lip gloss actually makes her so happy, Mika feels ready to skip down the street. She and Murashige part at the station, taking different lines home.

Mika steps into the train carriage with a smile on her face, unbothered for once by the evening crush of commuters. She's standing near the door, with an unencumbered view of the platform. 

And then, most curiously, she sees a flash of their school's distinct blue uniform pushing through the crowd, making for the train before the doors close.

It's Mukai.

He barrels in just in time, and they both lock eyes and freeze from the sudden proximity. 

"Hi," she says nervously, eyes running over his face as he pants heavily, disturbing the lay of her bangs with each expelled breath.

"Hi."

They travel a few stops in silence.

"I thought you left much earlier." Mukai blinks at the sudden statement.

"Uh," he says. "I was–with a friend. You know, the one who was absent. From our class."

Egashira frowns as the carriage crowds even further, pressing her nearer to Mukai, who does his best to keep his elbow out of her face.

"So you're friends with the guy who skipped school?"

To be honest, the question rankles. 

But Egashira has made a lot of effort to talk to people today–he noticed–both in class and at karaoke. For some fascinating reason, he wants to reciprocate, even though it feels awkward and painful. 

Yet another new thing about his high school life.

"Yeah," he says, "we're middle school friends." 

Best friends, even. They did go everywhere as a pair on campus, back then–they would have today, too, if Sousuke hadn't decided to absent himself. Mukai shakes the image of Sousuke's back from his head and thinks of his mother's first day of school advice instead.

"What about you? Any, uh, friends from middle school in our class?"

"No," she says, with a small grimace. Her hair, which was loose this morning, is tied back now, and he watches her fiddle with the elastic band holding it up. "Maybe a familiar face or two at the entrance ceremony, that's all. No particular friends."

Egashira smiles weakly at him, eyes tired. "Man, I'm pooped after all that singing."

Well, all right, he thinks.

If she wants to change the subject, he'll let her.

Just as Mukai opens his mouth to reply, the train coasts to another gentle stop, and all around them the jostle to disembark or secure vacant seats begins anew. "Yikes," he groans as he's pushed around like a rag doll.

Egashira doesn't fare much better. Mukai, looking down at her, realises how slight she is compared to him. "Woah. You okay?" 

She nods, face pale, and he smiles sympathetically.

"It'll be over soon." 

There's no more talking after that. Egashira slips away quietly when the train reaches her stop (just two away from his, he notes), and Mukai looks at her receding back pensively, unsure what to make of the whole interaction.

The train starts to pull away.

As it gathers speed, he sees the flash of uniform blue by the escalators, her ponytail whipping as she turns to meet his eye–and one hand, quickly raised in farewell. 

See you tomorrow, he thinks, as he hurries to wave back; his neck stays craned in that direction until the station is long out of sight. 

He rubs the kinks out as he walks home, wondering if Sousuke will show up the next day. 

Wondering what, if anything, will change whether Sousuke does or not.

Mukai does manage a calm greeting for her when he comes into class the next morning. Egashira is earlier than him, so already seated, and he walks to his own desk at the back; filled with the curious urge to turn around and look for her in the crowd, as he did yesterday. By the time he's set his bag down and faux casually glanced over, Murashige is standing in the way.

He looks over at Sousuke's desk instead, still empty, and sighs.

That weekend, Mika goes to see a movie by herself.

It's an English film, some new adaptation of a classic romance novel, that she saw a poster for on the way home from school. I want to go is her first, fleeting thought–before it gets drowned out by the chorus of how can you go out alone and what are you going to wear and why bother even dressing up, who are you doing it for? She mulls over it for two whole days, staring out the window and the lovely weather; at the streams of foot traffic on the street below. In the evening she goes to the convenience store wearing glasses and comfortable clothes, and pretends to browse the ice cream section while she thinks. She won't let herself eat any, but she can imagine the flavours on her tongue just fine. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, mint, watermelon.

All this anguish over a movie. She really ought to stop holding herself back. 

Now decided, she marches back home.

On Sunday, Mika wakes early. 

She takes her time picking an outfit, then ironing the creases out of each piece. She curls her hair, too, into gentle waves that she braids back loosely. Makeup, nails, perfume, bag, shoes. She steps out, spirits buoyed by her put-togetherness, ready to enjoy her solo outing in town...and promptly runs into none other than Kurume Makoto in the cinema lobby. 

The girl has her own dark hair in pigtails, like she did in class. Mika recognises her from a mile away.

She's not proud of the fact that she struggles with whether to greet Kurume or not. Stop being such a judgemental bitch, she scolds herself. Making nice with Murashige was practically an accident, you can't bring all prospective friends to the toilets and ask them to scream incoherently with you.  

Can she?

Turns out it doesn't matter, because Kurume is something of an expert at pretending not to know people–her face is so carefully blank when it turns Mika's way that it scuppers all friendly thoughts at once. Maybe tomorrow, Mika thinks, abashed. Or if we ever have to make small talk for some reason. I'll know that we both saw this film.

It stings her pride to be ignored, of course, but Mika tells herself to be better.

To try to be better. She doesn't have an opening now…

But she does get her chance in school on Monday morning. 

She blurts a greeting to Kurume at the shoe lockers, and they stand there making stilted conversation about homeroom (plus how karaoke was such a failure and Kurume was lucky she didn't even bother) until a vaguely familiar blond guy materialises and introduces himself as their errant classmate, Shima Sousuke.

Mika, dazzled by his beauty, feels her jaw drop.

"Wow." She turns to Mukai, who's hanging back inscrutably. "So this is your middle school friend!"

Mika is expecting a friendly smile, perhaps a joking comment about her undeniably red face. But that is not to be. The glance Mukai that shoots her is full of naked contempt–nothing like the soft openness from their one shared train ride.

It's galling. 

To her shame, it riles her up immediately.

Motivated purely by spite–from the rude shock of Mukai's disdain, you understand–Mika rolls her eyes and fakes a dramatic swoon for her other friend, quoting a line about wondrous beauty exaggeratedly from the movie they'd seen (not quite together, but sort of together) just yesterday. 

Much to her amazement, Kurume laughs. Aloud! And she quotes the next line back to Mika, too, with a flat, dismissive stare in a certain boy's direction. 

Mika is so grateful she nearly cries. The girls go up to class together, one in high dudgeon and the other awkwardly comforting; neither looking back.

Mukai stands there feeling all the force of his error in judgement until Sousuke nudges him into walking again.

"What was that about?"

Sousuke asks cheerfully, but Mukai can't think of a single excuse that would be a suitable answer. Nothing, he mumbles, and shakes his head. Nothing you have to worry about.

Murashige comes to Mika during lunch period, and she's pleasantly surprised. So karaoke actually made her a friend. 

Emboldened, Mika drifts hopefully towards Kurume's desk as well, but the bespectacled girl gets snarly.

"Maybe you think I'm lonely, or–or something. But I don't need pity."

"It's not."

Murashige's gaze is clear and level. "I would like to be friends. I'm the one who's worried about being lonely, and since it seems like we've both gotten along with Egashira-san, can't we eat together at least once?"

So.

They sit and eat together. 

They talk a little about the movie–"again, we didn't go together, we both went alone"–and other things, like clubs and class duties. Then Murashige straightens in her seat and leans forward conspiratorially.

"Actually," she says in a hushed voice, "I saw that classmate–Shima-kun–when I was out yesterday. I didn't realise it then, of course, I was rushing home to give my darling dog his evening walk! But seeing him now..."

Mika focuses on chewing her rice, still smarting from Mukai's wordless dismissal earlier. She doesn't think she's up to discussing anything about Shima-kun without losing her composure at the moment.

Kurume looks between them, sighs, then volunteers a response. "And what was he up to?"

"Walking around with some friends of his, I suppose. Everyone within twenty metres was staring, so my eyes just travelled to him too. But it stuck in my mind because...how shall I put it? He didn't look very happy to be there."

Mika pokes her elbow against Kurume's arm. "You didn't look very happy to see me at the cinema," she says.

"Huh? It's not like you greeted me either, did you?"

Mika gasps in offence. "Hey! I was at least thinking about it! Then I saw your blank face and was like, okay, if that's how she wants it to be–"

Kurume pops a piece of sweet and sour pork into Mika's mouth.

"There," she says stiffly, "now we've made up. I won't ignore you if we happen to meet outside in future. Happy?" Then she turns to Murashige and offers her a bite too.

Murashige gets all misty-eyed.

"So food is your love language, Kurume-san," she says with a fond laugh, then holds her arms out impulsively. "Here, let me give you a hug."

This is a dirty trick to make my brain associate you with happy chemicals! Kurume sputters, but gets swept into a cuddle anyway.

Mika finds herself folded in too, and squeezes them so tight she surprises even herself.

Shima Sousuke is the one to approach Mika about her tiff with Mukai.

This is very unexpected.

He does it smoothly, of course, by using the excuse of helping her carry class materials back to the teacher's office to talk. She blinks impassively (or so she hopes) at his charming smile. 

"You what?"

"Ah, I just want to understand what's got him feeling down, as an old friend. Maybe it's not obvious to others, but I've known Mukai for a while–I can read him well enough."

And you think I'm making him unhappy. On purpose. She can read between the lines well enough, thanks.

"Well." Mika bristles, "I don't think he and I are friends, anyway. It doesn't matter what he thinks of me."

"Come on," Shima says coaxingly, "wasn't it just a misunderstanding? I have a feeling you both want to get along."

Even so, it's not like she talked to Mukai much before then. It was literally a few day's acquaintance, which is hardly enough to decide other people's character, let alone if you want to be friends.

She's not outright ignoring Mukai, either. Mika can't bring herself to look him in the eye any more, but when she has to face him in class, or in the corridor, she'll offer a smile or mumble a greeting at the very least, whether he returns them or not. 

It's good enough for a classmate, surely.

Not to mention she doesn't appreciate this attempt at…manoeuvring, as if she and Mukai are, what, kindergarteners having a squabble who need the teacher's help to make up?

Mika nearly bites her tongue keeping that scorcher in.

"You're trying to be a good friend to him, Shima-kun."

Shima laughs lightly. "Friendship is easy enough to patch up if both parties want to," he says, a touch heavily, though she couldn't possibly know what he's referencing. "Unless what you two have is something more complicated?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Mika scowls fiercely. "We barely know each other! And besides–"

Shima turns his knowing stare on her.

"Would you rather never date me or never make up with Mukai, then?"

What a horrible tease.

Mika flushes, violently, at his presumption. She hates being looked down on, and she hates being made fun of; which is apparently all this pair of middle school friends are capable of in her presence. This is why boys who know they're handsome are no good. She has half a mind to just storm away from Shima and his insolent, expectant gaze, but she makes herself slow down and think.

"It's not a sin to have reactions to stimuli," she grinds out at length, keeping her voice cold and her eyes fixed on some distant point. Appearing too emotional is a huge no-no. Besides, Shima Sousuke isn't the one who should be hearing these words. Still, his question eats away at her–is that really what Mukai has been thinking? Is this her only chance to shut that down?

"And no," she adds, "no. I want someone clever, and kind...who I can feel secure in. You know?"

"Hmm." Shima's gaze softens, and the air about him becomes wistful.

"That sounds nice," he says, very quietly, and Mika's heart breaks for him just a little.

Shima also offers her Mukai's phone number.

"No thank you," she says. "But if he wants mine, he can ask me anytime."

Their grand chance to reconcile comes a week later, in P.E class. As the gym teacher announces that they will be doing timed sprints and baton passing in pairs, Shima catches Mika's eye and tilts his head very unsubtly in Mukai's direction. 

She fixes her jaw and looks away.

Hasn't she given him enough encouragement? It's about time she saw some from him, too.

The ploy works. Mukai skulks over to her and presents himself, looking shamefaced. 

"Egashira-san," he mutters, "will you please be my partner." 

Mika levels a glare at Shima, who is busy cheerfully pretending to much amusement that teaming up with Yamada in gym class is his life's ambition. Murashige and Kurume flank her curiously, their arms looped together behind her back. She leans, briefly, on the warmth of them; then she turns her attention back to Mukai, who looks like he wants the ground to open and swallow him up.

She does want to be friends. 

But if he ever looked at her that way–or even thought of her that way–again, she doesn't think she could stand it.

"Okay," she says. 

Her voice doesn't shake. Mukai nods jerkily, relieved, and turns to walk off. 

Mika halts him disbelievingly. "No," she points at the other pairs who've already formed. "You don't have to go back to Shima-kun over there, you, um, sit here with me."

She chivvies him into line where the gym teacher indicates, and they fold themselves into sitting cross legged on the indoor court. It's smooth and recently polished, she notes, biting her lip at the awkwardness between them; their shoes will definitely squeak on the turn.

Mukai is staunchly avoiding her gaze. 

"You sure you want to pair up with me?" Mika asks, stung. "It's okay, I can go with another girl, and you can go back to Shima-kun if you want."

He shakes his head, ears red. 

They lapse back into silence. Mika feels her chest and face burn. She sits there, thoughts whirling, unable to speak. It only makes the sound of their classmates' chatter all around seem even louder.

Then the teacher's whistle shrills, and they scramble to their feet. It's a there-and-back sprint before the baton passes between partners, so they have to decide who goes first. Mika edges her way to the front when he doesn't say anything. Mukai's a guy, and his legs are way longer, so he should anchor them, she supposes. She just wishes he would speak to her. 

If all she was getting was forced proximity in strained silence, it would have been better to run with one of the other girls–then, she could at least have watched him from a comfortable distance while wishing things were different, like she has been during lunch every day.

Her neck is so stiff from trying not to stare. Her heart aches, too.

Mika curses Shima's meddling, upset all over again; like an old wound scratched open and bleeding anew.

The running part goes well, actually. 

She didn't put herself through a gruelling sports club in middle school for nothing, and she's among the first few to turn back for the return lap. She flexes her grip on the baton, metal warmed by her skin, sweat just beginning to bead on it. 

Up ahead, Mukai readies himself, eyes fixed on her as she hurtles towards him. She stretches her arm out, reaching–

–and suffers a nasty knock to the head. Her arm, holding the baton, was raised in upswing when she reached her partner–and he, grabbing it as he took off, knocked it against her temple with one end quite hard, by accident.

They aren't the only pair to suffer a collision of sorts, but that's cold comfort to her aching head.

Mika wobbles into a crouch and stares vacantly as Mukai tears away into the distance. 

Watching boys run always reminds her how different they are. The height, the breadth of their shoulders, the narrow hips, the muscles in their thighs. And the smell of their sweat, mixed with natural musk.

One, two, three, four, five seconds. She can't ignore the stinging pain any longer.

He's back by her side in a flash–Mukai and Egashira, fourth place overall, the teacher says approvingly, marking it down on his clipboard–brows furrowed in worry.

"Hey." He's got her gently pulled to her feet before she knows it. Mika shuffles along to the equipment room at the side of the hall, where they put the baton back in its basket after wiping it down. 

There alone among piles of gym gear, Mukai turns to her. "Sorry I hit you," he says awkwardly, eyes looking everywhere but at her. 

"How's your head?"

Her face crumples quite without warning, and she whirls to face the wall, alarmed at the tears welling up. It's terribly unfair. He's just standing in front of her, saying sorry. That's nothing to cry over, she scolds herself wretchedly, tears tracking down her cheeks in silence, with Mukai and the half-open door blocking her from view of the rest of the class.

Mika gathers a fistful of his sleeve and tugs. 

He stumbles closer, bracing his palm on the wall over her head. She turns her face into his chest.

"Hey," he says, voice confused but gentle, "what's the matter? Egashira-san?"

Mukai is speaking to her again. That's the only thing she can register, the dull pain fanning out from the bump drowning everything else into submission.

The tears just keep flowing. Mika bites down on her lip, trying her best to stop.

Mukai bends a little lower, sleeve still in her grasp.

"Egashira?"

Shima pokes his head round the door to hail them, hardly winded in contrast to Yamada's huffing and puffing. 

"There you are," he says smilingly to her. "Off to the infirmary with you, there's got to be a huge bump on your head by now. I've let the teacher know Mukai will walk you there." 

Of course Shima's meddling again.

Mika still takes the out as gracefully as she can. 

Mukai hurries down the corridor in her wake, his long strides catching him up to her in no time at all. He stumbles into her path with both hands raised–not quite surrender, but enough to bring her to a halt.

The tears are still flowing: slower, but they haven't stopped.

"What is it?" She asks Mukai wetly. 

"Egashira," he says; like a supplicant at her knee. "You're still crying."

He looks so flustered, Mika can't help but stare. She didn't even know he could be ruffled by anything, with those features of his always schooled in a bland, impassive way.

"We can't go see the nurse like this. She'll think–"

"She won't think anything," Mika manages to croak. "Just bring me to the infirmary. Please."

Because Mukai still looks unconvinced, she gestures at her wet cheeks with one hand, the other already reaching out to pull him along. "These will dry up by the time we get there. Really."

He nods, accepting, and Mika heaves a sigh of relief. There and back, and Mukai just has to pass her over to the school nurse like a baton. She pinches the fabric of his gym jacket, that hideous green polyester, between her fingers, fiddling at the weave to distract herself from the pain. 

There is indeed a bump now, raised and red, and she skitters her fingers carefully over the swelling to feel the extent of the damage. It's larger than she thought.

Suddenly, there are warm fingers closing around her hand. 

"Don't poke at it," Mukai tells her mildly, bringing her captured hand back down to rest at her side. The action loops his own arm around her body, making it a hug in all but name. 

Mika blinks, stops walking, and stares up at him in astonishment.

They're almost at the infirmary, and the rest of the school is tidily locked away in their classrooms, or still dallying in the indoor sports hall. She's alone with a boy that she has had a number of feelings about, in an empty corridor with his arms halfway round her. It can hardly be helped, then.

Her mind flutters into overdrive.

"Oh?" Mukai makes a little sound, pulling her back to earth. 

He's peering into her face, smiling wide and relieved. "Look, Egashira–" and he swipes a careful thumb over her cheeks, damp and sticky things; "you've stopped crying."

Oh, Mika thinks, pressing her face into his hand. 

So she has.

Mukai doesn't realise how tense he's been holding himself–until the moment he is back in Egashira's good graces, and his whole body sort of settles. 

He's so relaxed that he just lolls against the infirmary wall like an oversized rag doll, watching as Egashira gets her head gently inspected by the nurse's careful hands. He takes her back to her friends, Murashige and Kurume, with a little patch of gauze taped over the swell on her temple; feeling a little bad about the injury. 

Egashira sticks close to him on the walk back. She's silent, but dry-cheeked. 

Mukai lets her hang onto his sleeve as she wishes, keeping his steps slow, then slower, till he comes to a stop. Egashira makes a questioning little noise in the back of her throat, and he swallows as he turns to face her properly.

"I'm sorry," he says, pouring all the sincerity in his body into those words.

His eyes catalogue her face, paler now than it was on that crowded train home, the first time they shared space with each other. 

She looks tired, he realises. Worn. Like she hasn't been eating and sleeping well.

"Uh, that I hurt you…forgive me."

Egashira's grip on his sleeve slips down. Her fingers are probably clammy, just like his, where they hover above his wrist. She nods, eyes flicking up to him.

"I do." 

He gives in to the urge to curl his hand around hers. Just a brief squeeze for encouragement. Egashira flushes, startled, and snatches her fingers from his.

"So we're friends?" He asks to be sure.

"Yes," she says. "If you'd like."

His voice nearly cracks. "I–of course."

Mukai looks down at her, and the twitch in his empty hand, then turns and continues walking. Egashira doesn't; not right away. He stops at the foot of the corridor and waits for her to catch up.

I missed you, he thinks.

Straight out of left field.

Sousuke invites himself over for dinner that same day. Mukai, still caught up in dissecting his reaction to making up with Egashira, doesn't think much of it. 

Though perhaps he should have been more wary: the fact that Sousuke doesn't often pry doesn't mean he doesn't know things (or want to know things). 

"I wonder," Sousuke says casually when they near his house, "what you got out of this whole thing with Egashira-san."

Mukai frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You've never bothered to make friends with a girl before," Sousuke shrugs. "I guess I'm just wondering what's so different about this one. Both of you could have moved on easily if you wanted, right?"

"Girls don't bother to make friends with me if you're around, Sousuke." 

He can't not say it. 

"Maybe Egashira and I wouldn't have had anything to fight over if you didn't skip the first day of school. You ever think about that?"

"Though," he adds, "it is true that we could have just moved on. That we didn't…"

Mukai stays steady, mulling over how much he should say. Many of his thoughts feel too private to be shared. 

He doesn't really know how to phrase it; but dare he say, unlike him, Sousuke hasn't exactly earned the privilege of understanding her.

"I mean, no one enjoys being looked down on. But…I know Egashira-san works hard to be liked. It matters a lot to her," and he pauses to glance at Sousuke, wondering at their similarities. "I didn't expect her to take it so hard, see? But I've really thought it over–" 

And this was his crowning realisation, mind you, "it must mean that she thought well of me. Like, much better than I expected. To take it so hard when I, uh. Dismissed her as just a–"

"Well, anyway. It was cruel of me."

(Which is to say, he knows better now. And the stray, fleeting thought from the back of his mind: that maybe, just maybe, he was jealous.)

"I just–in the moment, you know, without thinking. I didn't mean to–and. It's not like you never have that effect on girls–"

Sousuke faces him, unblinking.

Mukai runs a hand roughly over his hair and sighs. "You know what I mean, I think."

Sousuke pats him gently on the back. "I'm glad you two are friends, Mukai." There's a soft smile on his face, which is turned up slightly to catch the breeze whispering through the neighbourhood. 

"You can't have me as the only person you're close to for the rest of your school life."

Mukai grumbles. "We have made other friends."

"You said we," Sousuke smiles, eyes crinkling up at the corners. "I'm talking about you."

"Why do you think I went to karaoke even though you weren't around, huh?"

"Was it really that bad, Mukai?"

He doesn't even know, Mukai thinks, holding back a curse on Yamada's general existence. That first day of school karaoke party was even more excruciating than the one time he was terrorised by Ririka-san in regards to sharing Sousuke's friendship. (Thirteen year old him will never forget.) He doesn't even know.

"I'm telling you, Egashira-san bailed right after I did. With Murashige-san. I know because Yamada spent the whole next day whining about it. And they went, like, makeup shopping or something."

Sousuke slants him a look. One that says: You know this because?

Mukai averts his eyes, abashed. "Ah? We ended up on the same train home. There were swipes of some coloured stuff on her hand. Y'know, I could see cause she was, uh, holding the handle up near my face."

Being so near a girl is still alien to him. 

He'll never be as at ease as Sousuke is conversing with others, but even striving for the middle ground of comfortable silence is…difficult. 

Because silence is not comfortable by default. He's been a little spoiled by Sousuke's friendship, starting to think that it was always like that. But the truth is; silence can be loud, awkward, rude, and questioning. It can be cold or warm; apologetic, on occasion. 

Hopeful, too. 

And sometimes, around some people, it'll make his chest tingle in the strangest way.

Like touching a live wire.

"Mukai."

Sousuke's voice brings him back. They're standing in the entryway of his home, half out of their outdoor shoes and half into house slippers; wind at their backs.

He hasn't closed the door, which is where the breeze is coming from.

"Mukai?"

He claps Sousuke on the back, ushering him inside. "It's nothing," he says, wondering if he can share this safely. 

Sousuke puts a hand over the one on his shoulder, briefly. The touch is warm, reassuring. He ceases to struggle with the words bubbling beneath his tongue, eager to be spoken aloud at last.

"Just–that I keep thinking about her."

Mukai makes his confession in a nervous whisper. 

His chest is tingling again, the way it did during gym, when Egashira grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards her without a word. He remembers, vaguely, her face hovering near his chest; how it crumpled the instant he said sorry. The way she'd been watching him run his lap, even through the pain. 

It makes him flush.

Sousuke's eyes are knowing. Amused, too. "You're doing it right now, aren't you."

"Yes," Mukai mutters. 

"I can't help it. And I don't know what to do." 

This behaviour persists all through the rest of April, and indeed through May. By the time the weather turns fully into summer, Mukai is quite sure that it's here to stay. 

Sometimes when class is particularly tough or boring he'll find himself staring at Egashira's head, tracing the way she's chosen to arrange her hair on that day with his eyes. Occasionally he's stared so long that the shell of her ear becomes an alien shape, the very way words warp into strangeness when repeated too much.

Sometimes Sousuke catches him looking, and that'll be Mukai's signal to snap out of it. 

But more often than not, it's the ringing of the lunch bell that shatters his abstraction. 

And even then Mukai's gaze follows Egashira across the classroom, reluctant to let go, until she's folded into the circle of her friends and out of sight; never quite out of mind.

Chapter Text

Tsubame West High School isn't a place that would be advertised for chance celebrity meetings in any universe, ever.

Still, it happens to Mika in this one. She's walking to the school gate, mentally planning out her evening homework schedule, when a statuesque girl in a sailor uniform strides up to her. Her hair is dyed a vivid red violet, and her eyes are the same striking shade. Teen model Saijou Ririka, Mika's brain supplies. Okay. What the hell is she doing here?

But she shouldn't stare. Mika tracks to the left, but someone steps into her path. Mika looks up.

"Excuse me," Saijou Ririka says, shoulders drawn up regally. "Can you direct me to Shima Sousuke's classroom?"

Ah.

"Sure," Mika says, blinking at the directness of the request. Shima was still sitting with Mukai in the back of the classroom when she left, clearly not in any hurry to leave. He's certainly the most likely person in this school to have celebrity friends, being practically a celebrity himself (like, Mika is pretty sure he has an actual, organised fanclub). She wonders if he was expecting this visitor today. 

It's kind of hard to tell, Mika thinks, as she retraces her path into the school building. Ririka-san stays an even two paces behind her as she walks, at all times. It's as if she's too used to walking in this fashion, accompanied but alone, always with a manager or bodyguard or hanger-on stationed around. 

When they reach their destination, Mika steps aside and gestures towards the classroom door. "Here."

But Ririka-san only stares at her blankly. Clearly, her celebrity escort duty is not over. Mika slides the door open, amused. "Shima-kun," she announces. "You have a visitor." 

Ririka-san doesn't storm in or anything. She marches to the threshold and plants herself just in front of the entrance, pinning Shima with her gaze: as if he's a bug in a jar that might find some way to escape.

"Sousuke," she says coolly. "And… you."

She sneers at Mukai, and he shrinks back in his seat with a scoff of his own. Geh, he says, as Mika slips into the classroom herself and closes the door, aware that Ririka-san isn't technically allowed to be on their campus. It would be awkward if a teacher were to walk by and catch them.

Shima is flustered, she can tell. But he doesn't go red–instead, he pales, his face leached of colour in an almost ghoulish way. Like seeing a ghost from the past, though Mika doesn't know that yet. 

"Ririka," he says, sombre. "I told you to wait outside. You shouldn't be in here."

Ririka-san narrows her eyes. "Let's just go," she says, no spit or fire in it. Her face is pale, the corners of her mouth tight and drawn down. It's a tired command, one that Shima follows without objection. 

"Chris is waiting," she adds, as Shima shoulders his bag, his eyes regaining a little life.

"Well, I'll be off. Mukai," he nods, "Egashira-san."

Shima grasps Ririka-san by the elbow and leads her down the corridor.

Mika hangs back, watching, until they've turned the corner, then slides the classroom door closed again. "So," she turns to Mukai. "Is Shima-kun a model too? I thought he was at first, you know."

Mukai literally jumps out of his seat. "Um," he says nervously. "Did you?"

"Yeah," Mika grins, amused by the sight of Mukai all worked up. It's so rare to see him jolted out of apathy. "Remember when you left karaoke on the phone? His profile pic was on your screen and I saw–thought he was a model friend of yours just from that."

Mukai gapes at her, speechless. 

"What?" She says, prodding him. "I mean, you're tall and fit. It wasn't a huge leap of logic."

There's a funny look on his face, even though he tries to hide it with a hand over his mouth.

"Okay," he says at length, doing his best to suppress a raging blush. "Okay. I'll take that as a compliment, Egashira." He scoops his bag up and stands in one smooth motion, pushing his hair from his eyes. "Are you going home?"

"I was, yes."

She adjusts her bag straps, a little conscious now. "Ririka-san waylaid me before I got to the gate."

Mukai nods, crossing to the sliding doors in three large steps. "Cool. Want to walk to the station with me? Since Sousuke got kidnapped."

She doesn't really need to think it over, but Mika pretends to anyway, cocking her head as she slips into the corridor after him. "Aren't we taking the same line from there, too?"

Mukai's face brightens–it makes a stunning picture, the afternoon sun slanting over his face in profile; one thick, dark brow framing a kind eye as he turns to laugh at her ready quip. "That reminds me," he says, falling into step beside her. "Your station's only two stops down from mine. Did you know?"

"How would I, Mukai?"

He laughs. "Fair enough." Then he comes closer and fixes a look of intense concentration on her forehead. "How did that bump heal, by the way? Did the baton leave a scratch or anything?"

She's not quick enough to fool him, and his face falls in dismay. "No way," he groans, "but I haven't seen any–oh–"

A quick snap of his fingers. 

"You've got it covered with some cosmetics, haven't you."

Mukai keeps his tone light, but he's still frowning.

Mika dredges up a smile, wanting to put him at ease. Much as she likes getting to see new expressions on Mukai's face, she can't deny that his trademark cool impassiveness suits his features best. "Here," she says, stepping into a better-lit section of hallway. "It's small."

Mukai takes her temples in hand, gingerly, and tilts her head this way and that. His frown doesn't fade.

"Hmm," he says, "I dunno. I don't like that I scarred you permanently, Egashira."

She lifts his hands from her head and turns towards the shoe lockers. "It happened, Mukai. Let's just go home, okay?"

Mukai nods, changing into his outdoor shoes without further comment. They walk to the station making small talk about likely pop quizzes for next week, and the lack of copies of a certain literature reading in the school library: very Tsubame West of us, Mika thinks, as they board the train prattling about the reliability of supplemental sources. The high school students depicted in shoujo manga would never be caught dead talking about such unromantic things.

She runs an eye down the railway route infographic, noting Mukai's stop and hers. Tokyo is a large city, and two train stations away isn't what she'd call nearby for a friend's house–but he isn't far, either. 

They pass the time until she has to alight with an exchange of English cue cards, because she finds it useful to see how her classmates take notes. And then, to her surprise, Mukai shoulders his way out of the train with her.

"Eh?" Mika looks up at him, dumbly. "This isn't your stop."

Mukai looks rather dumbfounded himself. 

"I know, I know," he says, flushing to the tips of his ears. "But I feel…I mean…" He gestures weakly in the general direction of her forehead. 

"I can take a bus back from somewhere around here. Let me walk with you a bit."

Well, he probably wasn't suggesting that he walk her home, so she thinks fast. Somewhere nearby, with a bus stop, and on the way…Aha! Mika takes him to the playground she passes by on the walk to the station every day and lets him stew, settling on the swings herself. 

The chains creak and groan as she pushes off and swings forward, wind tousling the loose bits of her hair. She closes her eyes and soaks in the sounds of passing traffic and children at play, of leaves rustling in the trees. 

Mukai sits silently on a bench, watching her for a few long minutes; then he gets up and walks over to her. Mika searches his face. 

The furrow in his brow has unwrinkled itself a little, she supposes. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," he says, looking for the scar again, as if to reassure himself that it can barely be seen. "Ready to go home now. Um, thanks for the company."

"No need to thank me, Mukai."

Mika waves him off once he's boarded the bus, and walks home in the calm quiet of mid-afternoon. Her, Shima Sousuke, Saijou Ririka, and Mukai. It doesn't seem real that all four of them were standing in the same room, breathing the same air, less than two hours ago. She goes straight for the June copy of her monthly girls' magazine when she gets to her room, knowing what to look for already. 

Saijou Ririka's face fills the cover, that pair of striking eyes slanted up through her lashes in a coy glance. 

Very come-hither. 

And yet–the corner of Ririka-san's mouth is ever so slightly drawn down. Mika smooths a finger over the glossy print, wondering.

That fine June day is the first time Mukai goes home from school with Egashira, but it is far from the last.

It doesn't happen often, perhaps two or three times a month, so Mukai is surprised when people around him take notice. Like Obuchi, who he knows from the Earth Science club, mentioning off hand that "Egashira-san is in the English Conversation club with me, too! So I just wondered, haha, if you guys were close…" 

"Oh," Mukai says. "We're just classmates?"

"I see," Obuchi says, eyes going soft and starry. Mukai doesn't pay any attention to that. 

He's thinking about something Sousuke said–that Ririka-san told him–the other day, also about himself and Egashira. "Well, I mean, Ririka didn't see you herself," Sousuke explained. "It's just that some photog she knows took street shots of the crowd at some stations, and she recognised you and Egashira in one of them. So when that person showed them to her she called me right away and…are you listening, Mukai?"

Mukai had blinked, unsure what to say in response. Was being seen with Egashira really such a big deal?

"I'm listening, Sousuke." He'd scratched at his neck, feeling fidgety. "But when was this, anyway? I don't go home with her that often." 

Sousuke had shrugged. "Recently, I suppose? I just thought you might like to know."

That was about a week ago. 

Mukai files all these encounters away, for further looking into at a later date, when there's less things on his mind. They're soon joined by another, because even his mother finds something to say about the situation, albeit indirectly.

"Tsukasa," she asks after dinner one night. "I've been finding bus tickets in your laundry every now and then. Don't you only take the train?"

He freezes, never having prepared himself to answer his parents about this. He has no idea what to say, because to his mind the fact that Egashira is a girl will make them suspicious no matter what. And his mother knows he takes the train to and from Sousuke's, too.

"Um," he begins, uncertainly. "Sometimes I get off two stops early and take the bus back."

"Yes, dear, but why?"

"Because…" Mukai hates that he goes red, but he can't stop it from happening. "I'm going home with someone who gets off at that stop. On those days."

"Oh? Really." 

His mother looks a little thunderstruck, like she's not sure she ever expected him to say such a thing; let alone whether to be pleased with this development.

"Well," she says with a sigh, ruffling his hair, "I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later! Let me know when I should congratulate you, okay, Tsukasa?"

"Mum!"

But she only laughs when he insists it's not like that, and makes sure to tell his father that their son is 'growing up well'. 

Mukai throws his hands up in exasperation.

Mika is, more thoroughly than she ever expected possible, enjoying her high school days. 

Her lessons are engaging and challenging. She has a decent skincare routine that's managed to hold all potential acne outbreaks at bay so far, and she has a section of the day devoted to reading up on fashion, without it eating into any of her serious study time. She spends far more of her time with Murashige and Kurume, of course. They're on a first name basis by now, so it's Yuzuki and Makoto. They have lunch with one another daily, meet after club activities, and even go walking Yuzuki's dog together.

Truly, having friends who've seen her at her lowest moments has its perks. 

Rather than struggle to keep up the perfect, unsullied image, Mika allows herself to relax when it's just the three of them. All their inside jokes are absolutely off colour lines about screaming in toilets, or parodied movie scenes, and she adores it. (They revel in the confused looks they get from Mukai, Shima and even Yamada. Boys.) 

She's not laughed until her sides are in stitches since forever.

Meanwhile, Makoto nags her to eat more whenever she sees her bento. "Mika," she says, "growing girls need sustenance. Look at me, for instance." And she shoves another piece of bread into her mouth, as if to say, "see?"

Mika shakes her head, because she just can't. 

Makoto sighs. "You should eat more meat, at least. Tell her that, Yuzuki. We're only looking out for Mika's dietary health. Protein is important."

Yuzuki laughs around a mouthful of onigiri. 

"We can't make her, Mako-chan," she says. "Maybe if I begged, though?" And here she bats her lashes at Mika flirtatiously. 

Mika flushes, warmed to the core. She must have been extraordinarily lucky the day she landed these girls for friends. It's an honour, she realises, to have people so reserved around others open up fully for you, like a flower in bloom. Some days it all feels like a dream. Horrible people don't deserve to have nice things handed to them. She certainly doesn't think she'd have the courage to do what Yuzuki did, befriending a strange classmate she found yelling into a bathroom mirror. Or Makoto, who so boldly came to her rescue even though they weren't close yet, when she was feeling put down by the boys. 

Anyway–Mika forces her thoughts away from such maudlin territory–speaking of Murashige Yuzuki, she loves her dog.

Like, she really loves her dog. 

And she loves her two friends, too, so getting them all to hang out together has become a burning goal of hers.

Yuzuki has no qualms about getting her dad to drive them and Chiffon to each of her friends' respective neighbourhoods so they can walk around together every other weekend. Long, looping walks with stops at nearly every convenience store in sight; for a drink or snack or just to sit and enjoy the breeze for five minutes. Yuzuki's dog is an adorable little ball of fluff, and Mika is happy to cart him around when he tires from the heat. For the most part, he trundles along with them, sniffing at everything while his owner makes lively conversation.

They even see Mukai, once, shooting hoops in the park with other boys. The park in Mika's neighbourhood. He doesn't even live here!!! She yells inside her mindscape, but it's futile. 

"Ooh, look." Yuzuki is already pointing. "It's your friend, Mika. Chiffon, wanna say hi?"

"Leave her alone," Makoto says, popping the tab on her can of pocari with a sympathetic glance at Mika's reddening face. 

"Unless Chiffon goes for the ball or something…"

"Ha ha," Mika snaps. "Very funny."

Except Chiffon does choose that moment to start yapping up a storm. 

One of the basketball players shoots wide, spooked by the sudden noise, and the girls watch in patent disbelief as the ball careens off a lamppost and ricochets towards the hedge they're standing behind.

It flies well over Yuzuki's head, crouched down as she is to soothe her beloved pet. Mika is the one who almost gets brained–unfair, considering she has the best reflexes of the three of them.

"Well, well, well," Makoto says from beside Yuzuki. "Look who's coming." She has the nerve to giggle at Mika's glare.

Mukai jogs over, cursing under his breath. "Oh shit," he says, when he sees it's her. "Don't tell me you got hit in the head again?"

"I did not." 

Mika grits her teeth and fetches the ball for him.

It's rolled itself into the underside of a rather prickly bush, and she takes her time extracting it, willing the blush on her cheeks to disappear quickly. Her heart's pumping from adrenaline, not whatever else anyone thinks. And Mukai's been sweating a lot, so his shirt is clinging to him in certain places that draw her eye, and–

Mika swears, praying to the heavens. She's just a girl, trying to get through puberty unscathed. Can't the universe spare her a little?

"Egashira?" 

Mukai is calling to her. "You okay there? I'll hop over and get it out, you can just, uh, leave if you want. Don't worry."

"No, I've got it." 

She claws the basketball from the bush and stands, holding it out. Mukai smiles as he takes it from her, small and awkward, but real. "Thanks," he says, "sorry for the fright. Is the dog okay?"

Makoto and Yuzuki are standing a little way off with Chiffon between them, sitting on his haunches and wagging his little tail. They wave. 

"He's fine," Mika turns towards the girls. "We'll be going now. Bye, Mukai."

"Ah–"

"Yes?"

Mukai's got the collar of his shirt pulled up over the bottom of his face, as if to wipe sweat off. But Mika can see, in the late afternoon light, a dusting of pink over his cheeks. So she isn't the only one affected.

Good.

"Have a good weekend," Mukai says gruffly. "I–um, see you in school."

"You have a good weekend, too." 

Mika doesn't look back at him as she leaves. Mainly because Yuzuki and Makoto are watching, ready to over-interpret the slightest thing, and she doesn't feel ready to talk about her and Mukai yet.

She keeps her gaze on Chiffon instead, his tiny furry paws and wagging tail leading them away.

As sports day approaches, excitement in the school mounts. Everywhere Mukai goes, he hears talk about what events people are most looking forward to, or whether they think their class can clinch top spot.

But for him, the most important question is really: will Sousuke skip? 

Even in middle school, Sousuke constantly seemed on the verge of flaking, though he did turn up on the actual event days, always alone. None of his family have ever showed up.

Most of the excitement used to be over things like the scavenger hunt race, with Sousuke's admirers all screaming hopefully on the sidelines as he grabbed a paper slip and started looking around for whatever he was supposed to fetch. Tsubame West, evidently, is more militant about stuff like that, with every single sports day event being no-nonsense and practical. It's all straight up competition. Not a whiff of romance in the air. Which is good, Mukai supposes, given that they're all here to study well and enter a top college. Love has no place in the curriculum and all that…

Either way, he and Sousuke are signed up to play basketball like always. That hasn't changed. 

Egashira is playing volleyball, which Mukai was not expecting. She doesn't look like a sports club girl to him, but his opinion means nothing, as he finds out when he spots the girls practising during lunch one day. Egashira knows exactly what she's doing; so what if she's not at the level of a sports club starter? 

He turns away, a little ashamed that he assumed she would suck. She didn't suck when they teamed up during P.E. either, come to think of it.

And so, feeling guilty, Mukai rings up a few middle school friends for a couple of games in the name of practice. Spread out over a few weekends, and a few different neighbourhoods, he judges this innocent enough–if one of the boys should just happen to live in Egashira's rough vicinity, well, it's a coincidence. 

One that pays off for Mukai, because he does get her to see him by chance. 

While walking Murashige's dog, of all things. It was such an unexpected picture that it made his heart squeeze in the strangest way. 

He had to pause and wonder if maybe, just maybe , he'd been exercising too hard in the heat. Egashira was a little flushed from exertion too, he recalls. She'd dug their ball out from under some bush and passed it back to him with rosy cheeks, not looking him in the eye; and he remembers being so relieved that he wasn't the only one acting weird from the bloody hot weather. 

He'd watched furtively as the three girls walked off, following the little dog, before the game resumed. (She didn't look back, but–)

Have a good weekend.

How could that make him feel funny? Mukai shakes it off and gets back to practice.

The days continue to roll by. Nothing else of note happens between him and Egashira. She spends all her time with the girls, and he sticks close to the boys, throwing himself fully into sports day preparations. 

He meets Sousuke at the station on the morning of the event itself, and they walk to school together. It's a nice bit of quiet before the chaos of the day.

Sousuke tries to grin and bear it through the whole tournament, but it's hard, with the hordes of girls who come to spectate his every match. There's students from their batch and seniors of all levels, even some who made cheering materials with Sousuke's name on them. He almost looks like he'd prefer to subject himself to twenty-four hours of Ririka-san's company, with how miserable the crowd is making him. Not that it's at all obvious to others, Mukai thinks. Everyone else takes Sousuke's tired smiles to be just as valid as the happy ones. 

Anyway they win, and keep winning. 

And then they're in the final match, and Sousuke sinks another basket at the last second. The crowd goes wild.

When the final whistle blows, Sousuke is mobbed at once. A bunch of spectators stream onto the court, making a beeline directly for their Shima-kun, and Mukai winces sympathetically as he slips away to the outdoor sinks. Yamada is making a bunch of loud, envious noises, which Mukai ignores. He just wants to cool down in peace. 

Besides, it seems none of the girls from their class bothered to stay till the end and cheer. He figures they probably popped by and realised there wasn't a decent spot to stand and watch that wasn't already occupied by Sousuke's fanclub, then left. Which is reasonable, but still. He's heard the girls came in second for volleyball, anyway, so maybe they're all relaxing somewhere, enjoying the quiet. 

They worked pretty well together, from the passing glimpses he got of their training sessions. He might have liked to see them play for real.

And he might have liked it if Egashira saw him play for real, too.

Mukai splashes his face liberally with cool water from the tap, hoping it'll snap him out of this funk. He can think about this problem logically. Reason it out. 

So he's disappointed that Egashira wasn't in sight, which means he'd like to see her. The class matches are over, so he could text and ask where she is, then go there; rather than just think about it. 

Except…that makes it sound like he likes her, which isn't true. 

This is purely about friendship, Mukai tells himself sternly. Just because he's new to being friends with a girl doesn't mean that he should get carried away and read too much into things. 

Even the fact that Egashira's cheeks get pink in his presence doesn't mean much. He's seen firsthand just how red she got the first time she saw Sousuke in the flesh–now that was an unmistakable indication of attraction, rather than the way she is around him. Their relationship is platonic, and that suits him just fine; Mukai can treasure it as it is. After all, it's simply not possible that she likes him.

Is it?

The universe puts his resolve to the test right away.

Mukai lifts his face, freshly washed, to the sight of Egashira stepping out of a side corridor. She has a banana in one hand and a can of soda in the other, and she perks up when she sees him.

"Mukai!" She hops down a step onto the tessellated brickwork of the courtyard. "Heard you guys won first place. Congrats."

"Thanks," he says.

It's all he can manage without mentioning Sousuke. "Where's the banana from?"

"Oh," she flushes guiltily. "I haven't eaten all day. Makoto gave it to me just now, before I came down to get a drink."

All day?!

"You should eat," he says hurriedly. "Here, I'll hold your drink while you…"

Egashira thanks him and makes quick work of polishing the banana off. He watches her take quick, neat bites of the fruit, ignoring his own hunger pangs. She certainly needs it more at the moment, though he wouldn't have minded taking it off her hands.

When she's done, Mukai pops the tab on her can of soda and exchanges it for the banana peel. 

Then he takes a gulp of tap water, to quench his own thirst. Egashira is eyeing him contemplatively when he turns back to her.

"Wanna borrow my spray deodorant?"

"Are you saying I stink, Egashira?"

She clicks her tongue at him. "If you don't want it, just say no," she says peevishly. "Honestly!"

"No, I mean–" he flounders, unsure in his response. Maybe offering to lend someone your deodorant is a girl way of being friendly, and she's offended that he took it as an insult? He can truthfully say he didn't know there were any such social cues behind it. 

"All right," he caves at the sight of her frown. This is setting a terrible precedent. "Lend it to me, then."

"It's in my bag," she says. "In the classroom."

"...Okay." 

"Come on."

He loops his towel around his neck, wiping his mouth dry with the corners, and flicks Egashira's banana peel into the first general waste bin they pass.

"How was volleyball?" He asks as they turn into the main stairway leading to the classrooms and begin to ascend, step by step. Egashira keeps one hand on the railing and her soda in the other, swinging by her side. She wrinkles her nose at the question, gesturing with the soda can.

"Well, it could have been better. But it also could have been worse? I'm a bit surprised we came in second, actually." 

Egashira has her hair in a tight ponytail today. Her bangs are clipped back to keep them out of her face, too, though a good chunk of it has come loose by now, after the games. Mukai takes it in idly, from the corner of his eye; just the same way he would look at Sousuke, if they were walking up to class with each other. 

Except Egashira is nothing like Sousuke, from her height to her hair to the sound of her voice.

"It was fun." She beams up at him–a wide, genuine smile–and he feels something in his chest sort of tingle and melt. 

Very platonic, chimes a mocking voice in his head. 

It's the same voice that recites the exact brand and fragrance of the deodorant Egashira uses into his ear when he goes grocery shopping with his mother, and nags him into picking a can up.

Mukai doesn't put it into their basket. 

But he does take a moment to remember how good it smelled, hanging in a cloud around them both, all the way home.

July brings the start of the rainy season. 

Mika wakes to many an overcast morning, listening to the patter of rain on her window from behind the shelter of her curtains. It takes more effort than usual to throw her blankets off and get up on those days; gentle sounds all working in concert to lull her back to sleep. Rain means she's more sluggish than usual. 

Rain also means a chance she'll see Mukai at the station. He usually takes a later train, but on days where it's pouring, he'll come early–not eager for any marks on his record about lateness, inclement weather or not. Shima cares less, and tends to skip completely; he must have the highest amount of sick days logged in the entire school. But Mika can count on Mukai being there, slogging through the driving rain under an umbrella with the rest of them.

On particularly chilly mornings, the green polo he so favours is retired for the usual summer uniform shirt and light sweater. 

She'd laughed at the gooseflesh on his exposed arms, once, and almost jokingly offered the use of her spare cardigan, before she thought better of it. Sharing clothes is a little too intimate for friends of the opposite sex, somehow. A line that shouldn't be crossed without thinking. Which is why it's the stuff of fantasies about first love: a couple getting drenched in the rain together; the boy peeling off his outerwear to drape over the girl's shirt, which is transparent and soaked through. There'll be a charged moment when his arms move to drape the garment around her shoulders–and electrifying eye contact; a mutual blush; a heartfelt confession. Mika sighs, lost in her daydreams.

Someone clears their throat loudly.

Oh. It's Mukai, staring right at her.

"Hey," he says, "your shoulder is getting wet."

"So it is," she mumbles, righting her umbrella again, from where it sags in her grip. That's right, she tells herself. You're standing in the rain on the way to school, and you should be looking out for traffic.  

Not–well–

Mukai brushes off some of the water beading on her cardigan, over her left shoulder. It soaks into the cuff of his sweater and he grimaces, wiping them down on his uniform trousers. His hands are so big compared to hers…truly, Mika almost loses herself in another daydream.

"You didn't have to," she says to him, flushing. 

Mukai opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and he stands frozen for a long moment. Mika wonders what he just stopped himself from saying. 

Perhaps I wanted to. Perhaps not.

"Uh, it's okay."

He doesn't speak further as they reach school and shuffle inside, glad to be somewhere warm and dry. They fold their umbrellas away quickly before going to their shoe lockers, like every other student in the crowd milling around them. A few seniors are airing their umbrellas out, playfully spattering raindrops on each other and giggling. Mika startles when a shower of them hits her in the face, courtesy of a beaming Yuzuki. 

"Good morninggg!"  

She sings the greeting, blonde hair swinging damply in the most attractive way. 

Mika, busy rueing the frizz in hers, is swept off to study hall before she even has time to greet Yuzuki back–or see if Mukai has found Shima yet, because he doesn't have any other close friends–who does he spend all these self-study periods with? 

(Yes, she has wondered. Often.) 

Makoto meets them in the library, surreptitiously stuffing the last of her pocky into her mouth behind her textbook, before the librarian catches her eating.  

With exam season on the horizon, the whole school throws themselves into cramming test material. The library is full even though it's only the first period, and they slip into separate individual cubicles to work on their revision. There isn't a table left unoccupied; a soft chorus of pens scratching and paper flipping fills the air, crisp with the scent of the rain.

Mika, after forty minutes of laser-like focus on her maths notes, gives herself a small break. The wet patch on her left shoulder has mostly dried by now and she plucks at it idly, running the pads of her fingers over the weave of the fabric. There's a stray bit of navy thread stuck there. 

From Mukai's sweater, she realises. 

Mika rolls it into a ball and returns to her books. This is the last hurdle before the summer holidays, and she's going to make the best effort she can. She and the other girls file back to class after an hour and a half of productive study, looking out the windows at the rain, which is finally petering to a stop. Already the air is getting humid.

She trails in last. Mukai is there, perched on the side of Shima's desk, sleeves pushed up to bare his forearms. 

"Hey," he says, folding his legs in politely when she passes. "Your shoulder all dry?"

Mika ducks her head, recalling the stray thread from his sweater. Stuck to her.  

"Yup," she dances around Shima's enquiring glance, and directs one of her own at Mukai's bare wrist, or his cuffs, scrunched up as they are. She's not really sure where to look. "You too?"

"Yeah." 

Mukai gives her a tiny, pleased smile. As if he's glad that she bothered to ask after him, even with Shima right there and glowing; artfully arranged bedhead falling over his forehead in soft curls, eyes crinkled from sleep. He'd look exactly like a golden retriever if he shook water from his hair, Mika thinks.

A golden retriever with very sad, soulful eyes.

She blinks, reminded of Saijou Ririka all of a sudden. 

When Mika gets home later that day, she sits herself down in front of the computer, steeling her nerves. She wants to know. If this is the only way she has to find out…then so be it.

And so, she finally does an internet search for Saijou Ririka and Shima Sousuke's names. Separately, then together. And then she knows, but now what? 

Mika tucks the information away into the corner of her mind for now, because exam season is looming on the horizon and she doesn't have time to unpack anything complicated. All she knows for sure is that her heart aches–for them both, and the children that they once were.

There's a huge thunderstorm on the last day of tests. Mukai has a seat in the back near the windows, and he has to pin his answer sheet to the desk with his elbows, writing as neatly as possible while the wind from outdoors whips around the room, snatching at any stray sheets of paper it finds. It's biology–the last paper of the last day–which is admittedly not Mukai's strongest subject.

He spends many a long moment frowning down at one question or other, peripherally aware of how fast his classmates are going through the same sheet.

Like Egashira, who's seated a fair bit in front. 

Mukai can see her shoulders moving as she writes, the little up and down motions of it. He rather envies the confidence with which her hand moves over the page, sure and steady with her answers.

At the front of the room, the teacher passes another glance over them. Mukai hastily bends his head back down–it wouldn't do to be caught staring.

It's over before he knows it, anyway.

Then there's nothing left for him to worry about until the marking is all completed. At the very least, he is sure there won't be any failing marks on his report card. In the meantime, everyone gathers for one last session of club activities before summer break. 

People are chatting about their plans for the holidays whichever way he turns, and Mukai tries to relax into himself, on edge for some reason. 

One whole month off school, he thinks. 

He wonders if he'll be spending most of it at home with games once his summer homework is all done or–well, if his company will be wanted elsewhere.

Sometimes it feels like he has to fight with Ririka-san just to spend some one on one time with Sousuke; she always counters that they spend every single school day with each other, so Mukai has no right to quibble if she wants to monopolise Sousuke during the holidays. Still, she's never once wanted to come along to an end-of-summer festival, so he has some hope that those will be enjoyable.

Food and fireworks would be nice, Mukai muses. In middle school, his mother always laid out a jinbei set for him to wear. Sousuke would pluck at the sleeves curiously, looking at his own t-shirt and shorts, and wonder aloud if wearing traditional clothes was very hot. 

It was, and yet–summer festival clothing is about the spirit of the event, isn't it? 

To mill in a crowd of hundreds of others, decked out in their best lightweight yukata and jinbei, sweaty and jostling for a good vantage point before the fireworks begin; or trying your best to balance your food in one hand, with your prizes from the stalls in the other. Going home with at least one blister on your feet, and a goldfish too. Cotton candy in a riot of colours, melting on your tongue; having someone's shaved ice drip onto your toes; takoyaki selling out before you can get a second helping. 

Mukai is brimming with fond memories. 

Perhaps it's selfish of him to want to make more, but he does. With Sousuke. And maybe Egashira, too. He holds off on asking either of them for now. Mukai can make all the plans in the world, and they can still be pulled from under his feet at any moment. 

Later, he thinks, tuning back into the general chatter of the other Earth Science club members. 

When Obuchi, a fellow first year, asks if he has any particular plans with his classmates for the summer holidays, Mukai says no with all honesty. 

At the moment, he really doesn't.

Summer arrives with no fanfare but the spectacular heat, ushering them into the holidays with sweat all down their backs. Mika holes herself up in her room, desperate not to leave the comfort of air conditioning if she can help it, and determinedly works her way through her summer assignments. It's homework and readings both before and after lunch. Then perhaps an afternoon trip to the pool or convenience store, to cool down a little, before helping her mother with dinner, most days.

Yuzuki has ordered the resumption of their evening dog walks together too. "No arguments!" She'd exclaimed on their three-way video call, holding Chiffon up to make puppy eyes at them. "See, he misses you two."

"Of course, of course," Makoto said, sticking her tongue out. 

Yuzuki had grabbed one of her dog's little paws and made a mock rude gesture in return. Makoto snorted. And Chiffon–Chiffon made a little yip, as if offended, which sent Mika into such a fit of giggles that even her parents came over to have a look at what was so funny.

Since they can meet more often than every weekend now, they've settled on doing it twice a week. Chiffon indeed seems happy to see Mika and Makoto again, snuffling cutely around their feet and pressing up against them for pats. Yuzuki cradles him in her arms and passes the leash to one of them to clip on, and then they plonk his little paws on the ground and let him go off.

It's fun to walk aimlessly behind a dog, Mika realises anew. 

She's done nothing but study for the past month or more, and the rainy season would have gotten in the way of these walks, even if it weren't for the exams. She's glad they'll be a regular part of her life again.

Yuzuki and Makoto chat with her about homework and weekend brunch plans; new cafes opening near the station; old bookstores closing in town. They talk about the sunblock they've got on, how much Chiffon has been eating lately, and how often his fur needs to be brushed; whether they should take turns going to one another's houses for dinner, or eat out. The sun is baking her brains into clay. Mika wonders how to bring up the summer festival naturally. 

"Hey." Makoto gently bumps her side. "What are you thinking about so hard, hmm?" 

She looks up. Chiffon has led them to the expansive park in Yuzuki's neighbourhood, one of his favourite haunts, and is at the moment happily cocking his leg against a tree as he does a tinkle. Yuzuki beams at them from under the shade of said tree, waving them over. Mika takes a deep breath.

"Um, I just wondered, are you two going to any of the summer festivals?"

"Oh," Makoto says, "we haven't made any plans yet. Have we?"

Mika flushes. "Ah, I mean…um, you and Yuzuki haven't?"

"Yeah," Makoto says again. "We haven't. Not without you, silly. Come on. The dog's done peeing."

They find a large pavilion with shelter and collapse into sitting, letting Chiffon amble about to investigate any fallen leaves on the floor within his reach. Yuzuki takes a little dish out of her doggy paraphernalia tote bag and pours him some water too. They watch his tiny pink tongue lapping in fascinated silence for a while.

"Yuzu," Makoto brings it up. "Mika was asking if we could go to a summer festival together."

Yuzuki lights up, her smile full and radiant.

"Of course!" 

She claps excitedly, a flush on her cheeks. "I've been dying to ask you guys, too, you know. I even have a little yukata for Chiffon this year, so we can all take a nice picture together and have it framed–"

Yuzuki cuts herself off at the stunned looks on their faces. "Oops," she laughs. "Got carried away. But really, I bought Chiffon a yukata just for this. He'll look super cute, just like you two will be. You won't mind having your picture up in my room, will you, Mako, Mika?"

"I-I'd be flattered," Mika says, blushing hotly. Makoto seconds that. Yuzuki is so sweet to them. 

"Should we come over to your place and get ready together, too? Like, I was thinking we could do each other's hair and stuff."

"Yes, let's do that," Yuzuki says warmly, taking one of their hands each and clasping them close. "I can't wait, I'm so excited!"

She pulls them into a hug, much like the first one the three of them shared in class, back in April, the first time they ate lunch together. Makoto doesn't grumble this time, just slips her arms around their backs and pats gently. It's a nice, warm hug.

Too warm, in fact. 

Mika peels herself out of it gingerly, smiling as she goes. She flops onto the ground next to Chiffon and lets him lean against her leg, both of them panting in the heat. You're a darling, Mika tells him, bopping him on the nose; already imagining what their little family picture with Chiffon will look like.

It'll be nice to add a photo of her high school friends to the others in her room, too.

In the end, Mukai almost gets his Ririka-free festival day with Sousuke. Almost. He waited until the middle of August before texting Sousuke the poster of the same festival they'd gone to every year since the first of middle school, with the very concise caption '?'. Sousuke replied with an equally brief '👍🏻', which should have settled it. 

Apparently not, however. They've only just met up at the station near the festival grounds when Sousuke's phone starts buzzing ominously. 

"Eh? It's Ririka."

Mukai mutters a curse under his breath, wondering how Sousuke will deal with this situation. It's not very fair to any of them, he thinks, the way things always play out. Sousuke and Ririka-san act as if they're stuck looping the same script, time and time again, one where the conflict can never be solved. If their 'friendship' were an anime, it would deserve to be cancelled halfway through the first season for lack of plot development. 

Sousuke shoots him a pleading look, and Mukai gets ready to hear his friend beg off. 

"Let's just walk over first," Sousuke says instead. "It'll probably be a while before she gets here."

"Huh?" Mukai is thrown. "You mean instead of calling you to where she is, she said she wants to come to the festival?"

"Yeah," Sousuke says, puzzled, but starting to walk off all the same. "Strange, but…we can all be there. I suppose it's better than me having to leave."

Mukai makes a noncommittal hum, turning to follow Sousuke out of the station. His mother left a yukata out for him this year, which was a bit of a surprise. It feels kind of strange to wear one, like he's no longer a child allowed to wear jinbei or something. He's far from being the only guy in yukata, though. That's a relief, because he already feels awkward enough.

The crowds making their way to the festival are lively with excitement, faces bright under the streetlights; many an eye raised to the big round moon, floating high in the sky above their heads. Mukai keeps half his focus on Sousuke's golden head as they walk on. Already there are people darting sneaky glances at Sousuke's face and pointing. They'll have to buy him a mask of some sort before walking around. 

For some reason, Sousuke only goes for the smiling designs. It's like he physically can't bear to be seen with any other expression on his face, even with his actual face covered. Well, it doesn't matter, because it isn't like he would ever say that to Sousuke's face. Their friendship might be over if he ever did, and he's not one to rock the boat.

So they walk there in silence, get Sousuke his mask, and wait. 

"Are you okay?" He asks Sousuke just once, while they stand in line for ramune. 

Sousuke raises tired eyes to him. "I'm fine," he says quietly. "Sorry about Ririka."

Mukai claps him on the back wordlessly. 

Ririka-san chooses that moment to materialise next to them, face covered by both her surgical mask and a bucket hat pulled low. Chris is there too, sweating so much that his curls are practically dripping. He gives Mukai a greeting, at least, because Chris has always had manners. Still, whether they mean to deliberately exclude him or not, Mukai never feels like he belongs when all three of them are present. They split after paying for ramune, the child actors club going one way and him another.

Even if he said, "shall I go off alone?" to be polite, knowing how they would answer, it stings.

Feeling aimless, Mukai shrugs and goes for the food first. He's not in any mood to play games right now. The queue in front of the takoyaki stall is already reaching epic lengths, too, and he's determined to eat at least one serving today. Then the yakisoba, perhaps, and corndogs sound good too. Or the cold noodles. This heat is crazy, and the press of bodies only makes it worse. 

He lifts his head at the slightest whisper of a breeze, hoping for some relief from the stifling humidity. 

That's how Mukai catches sight of his classmates, entirely by chance. He can see, standing in a little circle by the side of the road and sharing a candied apple, Murashige, Kurume, and Egashira. All three of them are decked out in yukata brightly patterned with fish and flowers and the like, hair pinned up in a way he's never seen before.

Oh, he thinks bitterly, as Kurume makes a comment that gets the other two to burst into laughter. That's what he'd wanted. To come to the festival with his oldest friend and have a good time together, not be left alone like this. 

Mukai swallows the lump building in his throat and looks away from the girls, shuffling forward when the line moves. They're terribly easy to spot once he knows they're there, thanks to Murashige's height and bright hair. They hover in the periphery of his vision like three dots of colour, passing their candy apple around; he can almost mark his progress to the front of the queue by the speed they demolish it. He's within sight of the counter when one of the dots vanishes from their spot on the side of the road and starts weaving through the crowd, homing towards his location.

Mukai turns, breath bated.

It's Egashira who's making her way to his side. He shifts without thinking; angles his body to face hers in unspoken welcome, almost eager to reach out and pluck her from the surging crowd. In fact, he realises later, he may even have smiled.

"Hey, look over there," Makoto says suddenly, still crunching on her last bite of candy apple. "Isn't that Mukai in the takoyaki line?"

Mika peers into the crowd, blinking in astonishment. Makoto is right. 

That is Mukai standing in line for takoyaki, wearing a dark-coloured yukata. He looks unexpectedly good, is her first instinctive thought. Seeing him in yukata is eye-opening, certainly, and Mika finds herself looking over every visible inch of him, at this distance, even with a sea of human traffic between them. 

Another image for her daydreams of future romance: some guy, tall and statuesque, filling out his yukata with those broad shoulders, obi tied low on his waist. And her, in her goldfish patterned yukata, squatting by his side at the goldfish scooping game; cheering him on as he does his best to win her one. 

If only.

She forces herself to pay attention to what Makoto is saying, nearly yelling to be heard over the crowd.

"Go ask Mukai if you can queue with him, please? I know you don't want to start from the back of that monster line, and I'm not going to leave this festival without eating at least one serving of the stuff."

"And why me…?" Mika says, resigned.

"Well, you know, Yuzuki and I aren't really friends with Mukai. You're his friend, Mika."

Yuzuki smiles encouragingly at her. "He'll be glad to see you, Mika. Shima-kun doesn't seem to be with him. He could be lonely."

Mika bites down on her lip. "Are you sure?" She eyes Yuzuki dubiously, and Makoto too. "I don't think he looks like he wants to be approached." 

Makoto pats her shoulders firmly.

"C'mon. It's hot and loud, and the yukata itches. If I was alone and standing in a long queue like Mukai, I'd be looking really pissed off too." 

Mika gives in then. She does want to go over and say hello to him, anyway. 

To her surprise, Mukai sees her coming–and from a long way off, too. He must have known where they were standing for a while, because there's no way he just picked her out of the crowd that fast. He doesn't exactly smile, but the tenseness on his face melts away as he turns to look at her, both surprised and glad that she is the one coming over to him. 

"Hi," he says when she reaches his side, out of breath from wrestling her way through the stream of bodies thronging the street.

"Hi," she pants.

Mika waves back at Yuzuki and Makoto, and Mukai sends a nod in their direction. Then he looks her over, starting from the hair she's carefully arranged to hide her scar, as usual; taking in the goldfish pattern of her yukata with amusement. Mika raises a brow, and Mukai shakes his head and coughs into one hand, hiding a laugh.

But he likes it. She can tell.

"So," Mukai clears his throat. "How's your summer been?"

"It's been good," she says. Or more like yells. 

It's so noisy, and he's a whole head taller than her, so his ear is a little out of reach–frankly speaking, if Mukai wants to have an actual conversation with her here, he'll need to bend down to her height. 

She tugs lightly on his sleeve, hoping he'll get it. But rather than just bend his head, Mukai shifts his whole body closer to her instead. 

Mika stands there, confused, feeling the heat of his skin through the layers of both their yukata. Why on earth would Mukai assume…? Then she remembers the last time she tugged on his sleeve: in the gym equipment room, just the two of them, with her about to bawl her eyes out; when she'd wanted to hide her face in his chest for a bit.

Ah. 

She knows she's digging her own grave, but she lets herself lean into the contact anyway. Her upper arm is flush against his chest, and one of his own hovers behind her back, staying close without touching. It's nice. Like one of Yuzuki's hugs, all encircling warmth.

"Two servings of takoyaki," she hears Mukai say. 

Mika blinks, slowly realising they've reached the front of the queue. Mukai leans down to her. "Unless they asked you to buy more than one?"

"Uh, no," she stammers, flushing under the stall attendant's keen gaze. "Two is fine."

Mukai straightens back up and makes payment. She shuffles after him automatically, moving to the side to wait for their order to finish cooking. By unspoken agreement, he follows her back to where Yuzuki and Makoto are waiting, grabby hands outstretched for the takoyaki.

"Thank you, Mika," Makoto says, lining up her first bite. "I knew you could do it. These are to die for."

Yuzuki and Mukai are busy exchanging greetings. Mika spears one of the takoyaki too, making sure to get a good amount of bonito flakes with it. 

"This is good," she mumbles, high-fiving Makoto. "I see what you mean."

They chew in bliss for a while. Then Makoto bumps her in the side.

"So. Mukai in a yukata, huh? Very fresh."

"Right!" Yuzuki chimes in. "We were all surprised to see you in one, weren't we?"

"Ah, don't praise me," Mukai says drolly. "I wear whatever my mum picks out."

Mika chokes around a laugh, almost swallowing her bite of takoyaki the wrong way. It's times like this that highlight the contrast between him and Shima, and how they make such a funny matched pair. "You're here alone, Mukai?"

Mukai shrugs dismissively. "I came with Sousuke like I usually do. But he got dragged off by other friends, so yep, I'm alone."

"That's a shame," Yuzuki says, because Makoto is too busy inhaling takoyaki to do so. (Mika glances over, and sees there are only two pieces left. Mukai very thoughtfully offers her one of his.) The other two girls swap places eating and holding the box to continue talking to Mukai, which is hilarious.

"I know, right," Makoto says, "I'd have just gone home if it were me."

"Right," Mukai agrees. "I'm not really in the mood to play games anymore, and all these queues…"

Makoto sees her chance and takes it. 

Mukai is summarily recruited into their party to assist with the acquisition of festival food, with a promise that they all stick around for the fireworks because it would be such a waste not to see them, after coming all this way. The four of them split to get the rest of everyone's combined to-eat list–yakisoba, shaved ice, anmitsu, and grilled skewers–before meeting back up at the festival landmark, which is a giant stone statue of a very ugly frog.

Mika is the first one back, with her takeaway cups of anmitsu. She pops one out of the bag and starts in on her portion, savouring the cool slide of jelly and chilled fruit down her throat; the subtle sweetness of the matcha soft serve. 

It's good. She props her back against the side of the frog, the better to look out into the crowd. 

Mukai comes into view after a few minutes, wading to her side with steaming yakisoba in hand. Instead of separate servings, he's got it all heaped in one big carton– much easier to carry, he says, when he sees her goggling at the sheer size of it–and a bunch of disposable chopsticks stuffed into his obi.

"Here," he says, passing her a pair of chopsticks. He sets his own between his teeth and splits them with his free hand, then splits hers too. Mika puts her half eaten anmitsu away.

She hates to admit it, but she is hungry, no matter how much she pretends not to be. She's had nothing to eat since breakfast, really, apart from the shared candy apple and some fruit juice, so she tucks into the noodles, stomach aching with relief. 

It's a bit embarrassing, but Mukai has to hold the carton a lot lower for her. Even with her geta on, their difference in height was getting in the way. But Mukai didn't make a snarky comment upon noticing the noodles were at her eye level when he held the box up to eat, just smoothly moved his arm down. 

He ferries each small heap of yakisoba precariously up to his mouth and chews slowly, unlike her small, quick bites. 

How courteous of him. Honestly, half Mika's focus is on the anmitsu quietly melting in the summer heat; she feels like they ought to finish with the noodles and get on to dessert as quickly as possible. Makoto appears just as they've started shuffling the yakisoba around to get at the anmitsu, because the poor matcha soft serve can't withstand much more neglect.

"I'm back!" Makoto crows, triumphantly brandishing her haul of grilled skewers. There's an empty skewer stuck between her teeth, too. 

Makoto accepts the yakisoba reverently with both hands, the bag of skewers hanging off her arm like Mika's anmitsu. "Skewers can keep," she says as she starts in on the noodles with gusto, then pauses. "But where's Yuzu? I swear mine had the worst queue."

Mika finishes her anmitsu, thankfully not yet reduced to soup, and watches Mukai demolish his as well. He takes the skewers from Makoto and passes Mika one, humming under his breath. 

"Do you think we should go look for Murashige-san?"

From under Mukai's eyeline, Makoto sends Mika a speaking look. Yamada, she mouths, in between big bites. 

Mika edges closer to her. "For real?"

"I think so," Makoto says. "She sent me one of those silly Chiffon stickers she made on Line–you know the SOS one. That she always uses when he's bugging her."

Oh dear. Mukai is looking at them strangely, and she remembers they haven't answered his question. 

"Maybe we should," Mika frets. "I am worried."

This is Yuzuki they're talking about. If not Yamada, it's almost certain she's been waylaid by someone else trying to pick her up, someone who doesn't know how to take no for an answer. 

They've just cleaned up their trash and gotten ready to set out when Mukai's phone begins to ring.

"Oh?" He looks at the display, surprise written all over his face. "It's Sousuke."

The boys have a bit of a hoarse conversation. Mika can hear snatches of it – Ririka what – Murashige's with you guys? – okay  – what do you mean you don't know the frog statue, dumbass?

Mukai attempts to describe their landmark to Shima, rolling his eyes when that fails. 

"You come to this festival every year, Sousuke," he says into the phone. "You've got to have seen it. It's that ugly lump of stone near the big shooting stall and the paper fan stand. Ring any bells yet?"

"..."

"Okay. Good. See ya."

It takes a while more before they spot the two blond heads they're looking out for. 

Shima Sousuke walks over sheepishly, smiling their way. Yuzuki trails behind him, sending sad glances at the remains of her shaved ice. Mika understands, as the only other person asked to buy desserts. Rest in peace, she thinks wryly, passing Yuzuki her anmitsu. Sugar is the quickest fix for low spirits.

"So what happened?" 

That's Mukai, asking Shima. Mika tilts her ears that way.

"Honestly, I don't know for sure," Shima says. "I only saw the end, which was Ririka butting in and scaring like, four guys off? Not including Yamada, who just kind of slunk away after a bit."

Well, Mika can guess from there. 

Yamada saw Yuzuki and said hi, and then while he was trying to impress her, some other guys decided to jump in and make a move on Yuzuki as well. 

Probably while insulting Yamada or something…and then tempers rose and got a bit violent, enough for Ririka-san to notice and step in? 

That seems likely.

"Where's Ririka-san?" She asks Shima, who blinks in surprise.

"With Chris, I guess. They went to…cool off." Shima hesitates, eyes darting to hers. "Did you want to say hi?"

"Yes, actually," Mika says, ignoring Mukai's gagging motions behind her. Or not. She swats him on the arm. "Stop that."

Shima laughs. "I'll let her know, Egashira-san."

Before he leaves, avoiding questions about why he can't stay with them for the fireworks from Yuzuki and Makoto, he turns to Mika and smiles gratefully.

"Thanks for spending time with Mukai," Shima says, eyes contrite. "I've never not spent this festival going around with him, you know, and I feel bad that–but at the same time–"

He runs a hand over his hair, the bright disordered gold shining like a halo. "Anyway, thanks."

"It's no trouble."

Mika says this because it's true. "Mukai's pretty good company."

She watches Shima go, digging a crumpled surgical mask out of his pocket and slipping it on. Then she wanders back into the circle of her friends, where Makoto's just decided to go get more shaved ice with Yuzuki, since the previous batch melted into water before they could even get a lick in. 

"And you, Mika?"

"Me?" She thinks it over. 

"I'm going to go catch myself a goldfish."

The rest of Mukai's evening passes in relative peace. He trails after Egashira to the goldfish scooping stall, aimless yet not wanting to go home yet. Just until the fireworks, he tells himself. Following her around will be just like following Sousuke around.

Egashira eyes him with some concern as he slopes along in her wake.

"You sure you don't want to do anything else? Ring toss? Shooting targets?"

"Nah," he says, "just killing time."

"Okay," she says, "but I'm actually just going to find somewhere to sit down. All right? My feet are dying."

"Sounds good," he mumbles, zoned out. 

Sitting down is more than fine with him, really. Mukai knows where the quiet spots can be found because he's been coming to this summer festival every year since he befriended Sousuke, who always needed somewhere to slip away to for a breather before the evening was half over. He sinks further into quiet despondency, wondering if Sousuke shared any of their quiet spots with Ririka-san and Chris tonight.

When Mukai blinks back to attention, they've walked way past any of the carnival games. This confuses him, because goldfish scooping is the last thing he remembers being talked about.

"Hey, wait," he says, catching Egashira's arm. "We're not catching fish?"

"We aren't," Egashira says, patiently. "I just came up with something so Yuzuki and Makoto wouldn't feel bad about wanting to go off alone, you know?"

"Oh." 

Is that how it is? She's even more perceptive than he thought. A discomfiting notion, given his inner unrest. Mukai releases her arm, and Egashira smooths her sleeve out. 

He gropes blindly for something to say, to break this moment where she's looking up at him with too much understanding in her eyes. After all, he's more used to seeing than being seen. 

"I, uh, I know a place."

Egashira cocks her head. "Where we can sit down?" 

Even the fact that she has to finish his sentence for him is too much. 

"Yeah," he says. "That."

Egashira keeps a firm grasp on his obi as they walk through the crowd; she'd be swept away otherwise. Mukai anchors himself into the tugging motions as they move, careful not to stop too suddenly or step on her feet. They reach the spot he had in mind without incident: a quiet street that houses a 24-hour convenience store, with a low wall separating rows of manicured hedges from the stretch of cobblestone leading to the festival grounds. There, they spend a peaceful thirty minutes sitting down, passing a bottle of water from the convenience store back and forth. 

Then it's time for the fireworks: a blur of colour and sound. 

The girls make a chorus of appreciative noises as each different shape or variety explodes across the night sky, leaving him to his own devices. 

Mukai glances at the sea of heads around him, all shadowed and hazy. In this lighting, he can't pick out Sousuke's blond hair, Chris' dark mop or Ririka-san's magenta waves. They're simply part of the crowd, if they're even still present, all looking up at the same spectacle. His loneliness looms again, yawning wide, ready to swallow him whole. 

Egashira nudges him out of its path by tripping over her own geta and falling against his side. 

"Oops," she whispers, flustered, when he catches her by the waist and sets her upright. "Thanks for the save."

"It's fine," Mukai says, feeling pathetic. He's the one who was saved. "How are you getting home after this?"

She tells him that Murashige offered to have her dad drive all of them home, to be safe. "But," she adds, "if you're taking the train then I'll go with you. My house is a little out of their way, to be honest."

It warms him inside, to be relied on like that. 

"Well," Mukai says, "I am taking the train."

Egashira brightens, like she'd hoped that would be his answer. Mukai pushes any remaining thoughts of Sousuke from his mind. 

Murashige and Kurume enthusiastically wave them off after the fireworks wrap up, telling Egashira to message them when she's home. 

Then it's a hot, sweaty walk to the nearest station, during which Egashira has to latch herself to his obi again; before wrestling themselves onto the train. Standing beside Egashira, he can pretend for a while that it doesn't bother him how the last bastion of his alone time with Sousuke was breached by those two. Being taken in by his classmates was actually really nice of them, in hindsight. Getting to go home with Egashira is the cherry on top. He curls the warm feelings over his heart for later, to tide him over the walk home alone in the dark.

And yet, something else is eating away at him. Mukai doesn't realise until the moment arrives. 

"It's late," he says, when the train reaches Egashira's stop. "I think I should walk you home."

"Do you?"

Mukai flushes, reminded of the first time he hopped off with her, acting purely on a whim, and ended up brooding at a children's playground while she sat on the swings and waited for him to get it together. He can picture it crystal clear; the start of a friendship–it was so new to him. Mukai can barely recall what he and Sousuke were like at the beginning. 

"Um, yes?"

"Thank you, then," Egashira says. 

He can see their blurry reflection in the panes of the automatic doors as the train streams into the station, slowing to a stop. Two young people in yukata, going home after a fun night out at a summer festival. 

They look like a couple to everyone else on the train, don't they? See, the thing is, he doesn't mind that at all.

Mika really has to pause and marvel for a moment when she and Mukai reach her front doorstep.

Who'd have thought–she actually managed to get a boy to walk her home alone, after spending a whole evening in each other's company. Middle school her would be reeling in disbelief, with one of her wildest dreams fulfilled. 

Not that this is anything approaching a date, mind you. 

"Thanks for walking me home," she says. 

"Ah, no problem. I'll go now." Mukai straightens with a lopsided smile, holding his phone up for her to see. "Mum's calling me already."

"Want me to do the explaining for you?" 

Mika can offer, safe in the knowledge that he will say no, because this is Mukai's mother on the other end of the line. Very different from Shima, or Yamada, or even Ririka-san.

"No, no," Mukai says, as hastily as predicted. "She already asked me about the bus tickets, you know, and I had a hard time with that–" 

"–ahaha!"

Mika can't help it, she bursts into laughter. He looks so chagrined, because he knows exactly how he got himself into that situation but still wished dearly that no one would remark on it, ever. It's adorable. It's a memory she wants to keep, too, close and precious to her, like Yuzuki and Makoto and Chiffon. 

She whips her phone out smoothly.

"Mukai, let me take a picture."

He freezes. "Of me?"

"Yeah." She smiles convincingly at him. "This is a friendship milestone for us. We should document it properly."

"Uh, well…" Mukai shifts awkwardly, hiding his still-ringing phone behind his back. 

"Fire away, then."

Mika clicks away, giggling. "You should see the look on your face. It's like you're being held at gunpoint."

Mukai pulls an aggrieved face. 

"Oh yeah? Send the pics to me, and I'll see."

"Oh, I will," Mika says. "Now go home. You don't want to miss the last bus or anything."

Instead of leaving, however, Mukai hangs back. Mika pauses on the doorstep, reaching for the handle, to look back at him; silhouetted against the dim glow of streetlight, a question brimming in his eyes.

"Yes?"

Mukai starts. He takes one step forward, then a step back, glancing down at his feet. "No, I…"

"What is it?" Now she's getting worried.

"Can we take a picture together?" He blurts it quickly, the words tripping all over each other in haste. His face must be burning; she can see the blush even from this distance. 

Mika softens. 

Mukai must have taken Shima's abandonment at this festival harder than they thought, to be so grateful for her company. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to ask for keepsake photographs otherwise. "Of course we can," she says, flipping her phone camera out and taking a selfie right away. 

The light is bad, so it's kind of grainy, but her makeup and hair have held up well. Mukai stands stiffly in the background of the shot, looking lost. 

"Oh, come here."

She goes back out into the street and pulls him into the circle of light from the nearest lamppost. "Smile," she prods him.

Mukai looks down at her, flustered, like he doesn't know how. Mika takes another selfie. Angled up high, because he's so much taller. The reach makes her face look small, so she isn't going to complain, but Mukai is just so visibly stiff that it's not working.

Mika takes a step back and considers, seriously. 

This is Mukai Tsukasa, Mr Indifferent, showing her that he doesn't want to go home without a picture of them together. But she won't be happy unless they take a good one, because that's one of the things she finds validation in. Therefore, they're at a stalemate.

Decisively, she reaches out and places her hand on his back. It's getting too late to drag this on. 

"...what are you doing?" 

His voice is small and hesitant. Mika pats his back without thinking, like she's soothing a child.

"Taking a picture together, like you want. But Mukai, you need to relax."

"Ah," Mukai says. "Sorry. I'm so–"

"It's okay," she says, still patting his back, waiting for the tension to drain from his shoulders. "You don't have to force yourself to smile, you know."

He looks grateful, relieved, and some of the stiffness melts from his features. Mika acts quickly, tucking her face under his chin and making a V-sign as she snaps another selfie.

"There," she says, "one photo together." She holds it up for his approval. 

Mukai nods in silent thanks and steps away from her. 

"Call your mum back," she yells after him as he goes, footsteps fading into the dark. 

He turns and waves once. 

The glow of his phone screen blurs the motion into a streak of white, searing its imprint onto the backs of her eyelids; like the fireworks. Mika makes her way into the house, finally, where her mother is patiently waiting up for her, to help peel off the yukata and unpin her daughter's hair. 

Welcome home, she says, I'm glad you're back safe. 

She doesn't ask any questions about the voices from outside the door as she gently unties Mika's obi, then combs through her hair, fingers unweaving every last knot and tangle. Mika relaxes into the touch, sleepily reciting the evening's events to her mother, until she can no longer open her mouth without yawning.

One hot shower later, she falls face first into her bed and right into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Mukai goes back for the first day of September term feeling refreshed. 

The holidays ended pretty well for him, the summer festival a high note despite the way it went down with Sousuke; his assignments were all done with plenty of time to spare, and his parents took him out to eat at a nice restaurant before school started.

Egashira surprises him in class with an apology gift. 

"From my parents," she explains, "for your family. As thanks for sending me home after the festival. And for keeping you out so late."

"Uh," he flushes, eyes darting about. "Don't mention it."

He stuffs the nicely wrapped package under his desk before any of the boys can ask. Egashira skips back to Murashige and Kurume, flashing them a double thumbs up. 

The hem of her skirt swishes against the back of her knees; Mukai tears his eyes away, guiltily, and meets Sousuke's calm gaze. 

"Hey," Mukai says, taking it as a reprieve. 

He remembers telling Sousuke, once, that he often had Egashira on his mind. It's still true now, all these months later, and he hasn't made a proper attempt to analyse any of it yet. 

Egashira is an independent variable, but Mukai has no way to isolate her effect on him. An experiment with no control group–that's what he is–can yield no conclusive findings. He can record his observations all he wants, but to draw meaning from them, which is what he really needs, seems impossible. Perhaps time will demystify the phenomena. 

Mukai used to feel like he could afford to wait, but waiting makes him impatient.

It would be nice to know.

"How've you been," he asks Sousuke. It sounds kind of inane, but there are plenty of dumber things he could say, like I'm glad you didn't skip today, or do you think I stare at Egashira too much?

"I've been well," Sousuke says, smiling warmly at him. "Are you looking forward to changing seats?"

"Not really," Mukai mumbles. 

His current seat is good enough, not too near any of the doors, windows, or the teacher's desk. And he'll probably be asked to swap with someone no matter which seat he actually draws, because he's tall and well behaved in class and thus easy to move around to the back or edges of the room without giving their homeroom teacher a potential headache.

Mukai ends up between Kurume and the window overlooking the courtyard, with Sousuke marooned on the other side of the room. 

It's not so bad, all things considered. 

Egashira is two rows in front of him. He'll be able to continue observing her and her myriad unquantifiable effects on himself, and maybe–one day–they will resolve into something that makes sense.

The biggest event of their school year is arguably the cultural festival. This would be true of any school in Japan, but in a top academy out of Tokyo, like theirs, the expectations on them are on a much bigger scale than simply exhibiting what they've learnt to their parents. Tsubame West goes all out to dazzle the general public and reel in potential new students with positive news coverage–something they succeed in every year without fail.

Before that, of course, are the midterm examinations, to remind the students of their real end goal.

It does nothing to stop the excitement from whipping into fever pitch. 

The class representatives in particular are very enthusiastic about this, Mika notes, halfway through the third brainstorming session they organise. 

Homeroom is a loud storm of chatter, with people floating ideas and being shot down all at once. Still, there's a shortlist on the blackboard by the end of the period, and all that's left is for them to choose.

Mika considers their three options.

First, she'll have to vote against the maid café purely on principle–because she's friends with Yuzuki, and Yamada was the one who suggested it. For reasons she can say aloud, well, accidentally giving a guest food poisoning is a straight path to a bad review, so it's only right that they should avoid selling food that they can't reasonably be 100% confident in.

Next. A haunted house? Perhaps, but it seems so very overdone. Besides, the festival will be held after Halloween itself has passed. They could do better.

Finally, the musical. The stage play. Asano-san made a very impassioned pitch for it, which visibly moved a good portion of the class. It sounds novel, fun, and well within their ability to pull off; it's the option in the lead. The one flaw that this project would have, Mika supposes, is the particular reaction it is inspiring in one Shima Sousuke: mounting panic, thinly veiled, all across his face.

Mika casts a glance across the classroom at Shima. She's not the only one–Mukai is looking, too. And so are many others, eager for the class' most popular member to throw his support behind the scheme and cement it as their choice of activity for the cultural festival. 

Shima twitches in his seat.

But it's too late to reverse course. He must realise that, because he capitulates with a shaky nod, his smile a thin scaffolding over his real emotions. 

Amidst loud cheering, Shima buries his head in his hands. 

Mika looks away, stamping out a tiny spark of guilt.

Sousuke being casted in their cultural festival play was basically a sure thing, but Mukai is surprised when Egashira, too, lands a speaking role. 

It's almost like the time she shocked him with her middle school volleyball past. He's tried to imagine Egashira on stage–her in costume; her reading lines off a script–since finding out, but he can't picture it properly. 

The Mother Abbess, she tells him, in self-deprecating tones. 

"Does it suit me?"

"Well," Mukai says carefully, knowing this is a loaded question, "they gave you the role because you suited it. Right?"

Egashira fiddles with the hem of her vest. She's got the green one on today, instead of her usual pink. It doesn't really make a difference, Mukai just notices because he never changes his uniform unless the weather does. It makes him wonder what guides her in the small choices like that, on a day to day basis.

"Hmm," she says, flipping to the character summary on her script. "The Mother Abbess is well-loved. A guiding figure. Someone that all the nuns can rely on and look up to…I don't know about that."

Whether Egashira feels reliable isn't the issue, he points out. It's all about how other people perceive her–or, to be precise, perceive her acting. 

"Clearly you've done well with that," Mukai points out. "I mean, you were picked for the role with no fuss."

"You think so?"

"I know so," he says. "You'll be fine."

"I dunno," Egashira says, with a wry twist to her lips. 

Mukai looks at her properly. With a sort of scientific interest, he'd say. She's sitting in a square of golden sunlight, back to the window, shadows falling like a veil over her face. The braids of her updo light a halo round her head where the light catches; she's only missing a habit and rosary beads to complete the picture. The Mother Abbess, indeed. 

It's almost a movie scene in his head. Mukai the poor sinner in a confessional, with Egashira on the other side of the wall, listening to every word he pours out with pious attendance. But wait! For the holy woman then opens her mouth to ask a sacrilegious question, in a plot twist for the ages.

"I wonder if it would be okay to ask Shima-kun for acting tips?"

His runaway imagination screeches to a halt. Mukai has no answer to that. 

(He also only realises, much later, that it sounded like Egashira knew something–even though neither he nor Sousuke ever told her.)

Separately, Ririka-san has a fight with Chris. 

It happens in the lead up to the cultural festival but after midterms, when rehearsals and set building are in full swing. Sousuke has been present for all their practice sessions, which is a little strange to Mukai, but definitely not unwelcome from their classmates' perspective.

It's just Sousuke, who would usually be disappearing at the single crook of a finger from Ririka-san. She summons him irregularly, but often enough. 

Yet Mukai knows Sousuke hasn't gone to see either her or Chris for weeks. 

He isn't sure how to broach it either; Sousuke is an expert at weaselling out of conversation topics when he finds them uncomfortable to answer. After much deliberation, Mukai simply asks outright. 

"Sousuke," he says, while they walk to the station. "Anything the matter? You seem down, lately."

It's evening, and the light is fading, shading the sky in hazy greys tinged with purple and blue. Sousuke's hair still shines, though it lies lank on his scalp. 

"It's nothing." Sousuke sighs. "Well, technically nothing."

Mukai tries his best to look calm and understanding, though he's always found that hard when Ririka-san is involved. "Did you guys fight or something?"

Sousuke tries to smile. "I didn't, Mukai," he says. 

And that's the end of it.

So Mukai has to extrapolate from an incomplete data set–that is, what Sousuke won't say–but he's pretty sure he comes to the right conclusion: that the other two had a fight over Sousuke himself, and that's why none of them are speaking to each other now.

That's right, Mukai thinks, Sousuke's always hated child-of-divorce dynamics in his friendships–because they reminded him too much of how his own family unravelled; everyone has to try their best to be a big happy family. It's the main reason Mukai keeps his tongue to himself so much: because he didn't have the self control not to get into a spat with Ririka-san whenever he opened his mouth at thirteen, and the heartbroken look in Sousuke's eyes each time that happened was too much to bear.

It slowly became a habit. Nowadays, Mukai can open his mouth around any girl just fine, be they friend or fan of Sousuke's or not, and have nothing come out. 

Egashira being the notable exception, of course. 

Though he got off on the wrong foot with her at the start. 

In fact he ought to thank Egashira–she'd reminded him that girls, friends or fans of Sousuke's or not, are people too. People who can have their feelings hurt; people whose thoughts and motivations cannot be visible to him; people who will blush at Sousuke simply because he is the most beautiful person they have ever seen in their life, without bad intentions. 

That's something he should keep in mind always. 

Rehearsals continue. The days roll by. 

The weather gets chillier, in small degrees, as they inch ever closer to winter. Mukai changes his polo shirt out for the school uniform long-sleeve button down and a navy sweater, while Egashira stays in her pinks, seeing as she has them in both vest and cardigan form. 

Sousuke's friend situation seems to resolve itself at some point, as his phone starts buzzing nonstop on certain days once again. 

But Sousuke doesn't skip out on a single one of the play's rehearsals. 

Mukai thinks they can call that growth.

The cultural festival opens, at long last, with great fanfare.

Amidst the whirl of class and club duties, Mika barely finds time to sit down, let alone eat a proper meal; which gets the image of Makoto and Mukai's quietly aghast expressions from Sports Day stuck in her head. She takes a moment between duties, then, to pause and at least drink some water and scarf down a bit of bread. Starving herself is uncomfortable, and it wouldn't do to make her friends worry. 

Yuzuki nearly drags Mika and Makoto to the art room the moment they're free, to admire her masterpiece: a full oil painting of Chiffon, having an afternoon nap in one of his little dog beds. They coo over it, praising the brush strokes, composition, and lighting in turn while Yuzuki beams happily.

"It looks so life-like, Yuzu," Makoto says. "If I saw it through a window from the other end of the corridor, I'd think there was a real dog sleeping there."

"Oh, yes," Mika agrees. "It's like he'll twitch his nose any moment!" 

Yuzuki sighs. "It makes me miss the real Chiffon more," she says lightly, eyeballing a guy who's just drifted in and is awkwardly pretending to admire the paintings, while constantly looking her way. "It's a shame I couldn't bring him along today."

Mika pats Yuzuki on the arm, understanding. 

"You can cuddle him when you get home. I can't wait until our next doggie day." 

Makoto offers a nod of agreement and food. Perhaps because of this, Yuzuki manages to smile when she gets hit on, again. The three of them share a bag of churros in the corridor, then Mika leaves the other two.

Having her middle school friends arrive is pretty nice. Showing them around is fun because Tsubame West has a great many things to be proud of, festival or no festival, and Mika gives an enthusiastic tour of the class and club booths. 

She's not wearing their class shirt (sweater, really), but Mukai is. 

Mika spots him easily at the basketball club's booth, the yellow catching her eye as she looks around while her friends browse some craft jewellery. He's talking to some upperclassmen, all kitted out in their competition jerseys, as he sits behind a desk heaped with medals and pamphlets. She whispers a word to her friends and slips over.

"Hey," she says, as Mukai leans forward to greet her. "I thought you were in Earth Science?"

Mukai snorts. "Surprise," he says, flashing a peace sign with the flattest expression ever. "I'm in three different clubs."

"You're nuts," Mika says, disbelieving.

"Someone's gotta make up for Sousuke only being in the go home club," he jokes. Then he gestures at the booth she came over from. 

"Are those your middle school friends?"

"Oh, yeah," Mika says. One of the basketball boys offers her a chair next to Mukai's, and she takes the seat with a mumbled thanks. 

"From the volleyball club?"

"Eh? Uh, one of them. But all classmates, really." Mika peers at Mukai, wondering. "Why ask about volleyball?"

He props his head on one hand and smiles. "I was really surprised when I found out you used to play," he says. "You know? When we were practising for sports day." 

"Oh. It was fun," Mika says blankly, remembering the truth of those days, "but mostly stressful. I decided not to continue in high school."

She can see her friends are done with browsing little trinkets, already exchanging cash for a couple of cutely wrapped packets that they gleefully tuck away. Mika stands and returns her chair to Mukai's club senpais, waving to her friends as she does. 

Mukai himself stands to see her off. 

"If I ever become a regular, you and Sousuke have to come and watch my matches, yeah?

Mika laughs, but it fades when she meets his eyes. He looks serious. 

"Of course," she says, meaning it. "I will."

Twenty minutes into the drama club's first afternoon show, Sousuke gets a call from his mother.

He wouldn't even have seen it but for a quick grab for breath mints in his pocket, since he and the other actors have kept their phones on silent mode since the morning rehearsals. His hand twitches, eyes darting to the stage–it's been so long since he let himself enjoy any theatre, not to mention television, and the drama club has this senior who is good–

After a second's hesitation, he moves to the side of the hall and calls her back. His mother answers on the first ring, and Sousuke feels his heart clench. 

Already, he has a bad feeling.

"Sousuke," his mother says, voice tight and strained with worry. He hasn't heard her sound like this for years, not since the divorce. "I'm so sorry to say this, but Kei-chan has gone missing. We were getting something for him to eat, and he wandered off while I was making payment. Please, if you could help keep an eye out for him?"

"Oh," Sousuke says, feeling as if he's floating in the air, watching this unfold from a distance. 

He's sure his voice rings hollow.

"I'm at the auditorium right now," he tells his mother, moving on autopilot down a quieter corridor. "Where were you buying food from?"

They were in the main courtyard, Sousuke registers, which means a place full of people all milling about. Perhaps Keiri wandered off to take a closer look at a performance or signboard that caught his eye–he knows that dance club is there, from Kinomoto-san's passing mentions, and many others. 

That was some twenty minutes ago; right around the time the drama club's performance began.

"I'll go and take a look," he promises. "I'll go now, but it'll have to be a quick sweep–I've got to be on stage within the hour. You'll get them to make a lost child announcement?"

"Yes," his mother says, noting his hurried directions to the student council booth, which is functioning as a visitor's help centre. "Thank you, Sousuke."

He spends a fruitless few minutes weaving through the crowd in the courtyard. It feels like penance, for never paying his little brother any proper attention. 

Empty handed still, he turns and starts making his way back to class.

Because Shima Sousuke can't afford to disappoint that many people, waiting on him in order for the curtain to rise. 

Kei-chan will just have to wait. If his little brother truly needs him, Sousuke thinks, he'll be waiting for them somewhere even after the performance is over. He shoves down on the spiral of worry: Kei-chan is so small, so easily carried off. How could they know if he was even still on the campus?

Sousuke looks down. His phone is clutched so tightly in his hand that it's left marks on the fleshy part of his palm. The screen lights up, and he glances at the caller's name.

It's Mukai. 

He picks up, fingers numb.

"Hey," Mukai says. "Where'd you run off to? Got a kid here saying he's your little brother."

"I-I'm on my way back to class," he stammers. "He said his name? This kid?"

"Shima Keiri, three years old," Mukai recites. "Has a bowl cut, black hair. That sound about right?"

"Oh, yes." Sousuke has to pause and wipe his palms on his pants, they're so sweaty. "I'm on the way back to class already and–oh, I have to call mum back–"

He can hear Yamada's voice in the background, loud and cajoling, before the call cuts. There's no sound of tears or wailing, at least. Sousuke rounds the last bend in the corridor back to class, already tapping at his call history to dial his mother.

As before, she answers on the first ring, before he's drawn enough breath to speak evenly.

"Okaa-san," Sousuke croaks. "He's here. Kei-chan is here. At my class. But I–we're on standby."

Her breathing rattles over the line. "...I'm still at the student council booth," she says. "Shall I wait here, or–"

Sousuke swallows, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. "I'll send Mukai over, kaa-san. He can bring Kei-chan with him."

It's harder than he thinks to ask his next question.

"Will…will you be going home right away?"

"Oh," his mother says, "no, we can stay and watch."

She sounds fond and flustered, and Sousuke hardly knows what to make of it. 

"He got himself to your classroom with no trouble, after all. Kei-chan must have been looking forward to seeing you, to remember your class so clearly."

His mother hesitates, then presses on. "This will be the first time he gets to see you act, Sousuke. I…I wouldn't have him miss it for anything."

"I see." 

His voice is raw. 

A scrape against his throat. Sousuke coughs and takes a swig from the nearest bottle of water; actors have to manage their condition in order to perform at their best. It wouldn't be good if he made his voice hoarse.

"Right–then–Mukai will take you guys back here. I'll see you later. Goodbye."

Sousuke hangs up and dashes to his position in the wings. He's the last of the actors in place. Egashira gives him a cursory glance, and he pulls a smile out to show her everything's okay. Mukai, he mouths clearly, asking, where is he?

Egashira gestures behind him, at a tall figure running one hand against the side of the biggest background panel, checking it over for cracks.

"Mukai?" She calls out and he turns right away, eyes nearly crossed. There's a towel wrapped around his forehead. 

"Yes?"

"Shima's here."

"Ah." Mukai slips over to his side. "Your little brother's with Yamada for now," he says. "He's quite good with kids. Is your mum coming over to get him, then?"

Sousuke shakes his head. "No, no."

"I told her you'd bring Kei-chan to the student council booth, Mukai. She's waiting there." 

He gulps.

"And then…then they'll both walk back here with you. To watch whatever's left of the play."

Mukai looks surprised, but he doesn't remark on that. "Okay. I'd better go swap out with Yamada," he says, disappearing behind a swish of curtain fabric. "See ya."

Egashira waves to Mukai as he goes, and he returns it. Sousuke drifts, wondering when precisely that developed. The two of them really have grown close.

A hand on his arm brings him back to reality. 

It's Egashira's. Sousuke takes a deep breath and lets it seep out of his lungs slowly, then again, and again, until his heart rate is back to normal. Shima Sousuke is one thing; Rolf can't go onstage for his first scene with his heart rabbiting in his chest. Rolf is cocky and charming when he encounters his love interest, in a way that always makes Sousuke feel patently like an imposter, even though he's acting.

He blinks, still conscious of his breathing. Egashira is speaking to him.

"Are you okay?"

Sousuke opens his mouth, unsure, and she goes on.

"You know, you can go and see your brother quickly, if you want. There's a whole two songs between the start and your first appearance, right?

Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps it would help.

"Could I really?" He mumbles this, almost to himself. It just seems preposterous that he can, even though what Egashira said is perfectly sensible. She tips her head and steers him out the back with a quick word to the stage manager–as the Mother Abbess, she's needed much sooner than him–and an encouraging smile.

"Off you go, Shima-kun," Egashira says as she slips back to her standby position, pushing him through the door. The audience is already filing in, eager for the show to start. 

Sousuke catches a flash of magenta. Ririka? He slips away quickly, in the direction of the stairs.

Mukai is just turning down the landing by the time he runs to the top of them. 

"Hey!"

Sousuke scrambles down, and Keiri begins to squirm in Mukai's hold, reaching for him. He feels his eyes begin to sting.

This child. The small face, trusting hands, trembling chest; tiny body being transferred into his arms, like that long-ago day in the hospital. He clutches Keiri close, putting a palm on his brother's back. 

Mukai has his own hand on Sousuke's back, moving up and down in broad, calming strokes. "All right there, Sousuke?"

Both he and Keiri are crying, he realises. 

"I'm fine," Sousuke says, pulling away. He plops Keiri back into Mukai's hold a little awkwardly. "I've got to go now, I just ran out quickly."

Keiri sniffles. "Nii-chan," he says. "No go."

Sousuke places a hand on his little head, smoothing the dark hair. "I have to," he says. "You have to go to kaa-san first. Then she'll take you to see me. Later."

"Later…" Keiri mumbles, pressing his weight into Sousuke's side. 

"Yes. I promise."

Sousuke turns, already flying up the stairs, pulling the mask of his character into place. 

Mukai waves Keiri's little arm at him when he pauses for a look at them, then continues down the stairs. Sousuke hurries on. The stage manager ushers him in through the back door with alacrity–Sousuke is pushed into the hair and makeup station for a quick touch-up, and he flushes, knowing the tear tracks must seem obvious through the layer of foundation on his face. And then, suddenly, it's time for him to perform.

His mind is a mess of static, and he nearly forgets all his lines when he sees his mother and brother slip in and take a seat in the last row, but it goes off without a hitch.

Sousuke is smiling normally by the time it's curtain call, and he goes up again to clasp hands and bow to the audience. Ririka and Chris are seated right in the middle of the room, missing only a spotlight–his eyes go to them right away. 

They must have made up, Sousuke thinks, because otherwise Ririka wouldn't even be here; she's not the sort to do anything alone. The rest of the audience is standing up and leaving, but they stay in their chairs, staring straight at him.

He can see, behind them, his mother and Keiri, also still in their seats. Oh. They're all waiting, Sousuke realises. For me. He slips out of the actors line, accepting some congratulations as he goes, to head down from the stage.

And then, in dreadful slow motion, he sees Ririka turn her head and make direct eye contact with his mother.

Mika is standing on the makeshift stage, chatting with Kinomoto-san about the quality of finishing on their costumes, when she catches sight of Mukai's face above the crowd. 

She's just about to wade across the classroom to talk to him when he pales, pushing himself off the wall. 

Mika looks around, confused. 

Shima, onstage like her, is doing something strange: a sort of panicked flailing in the direction of a stocky boy with dark curls, who's sitting next to a tall girl with her hair hidden under a cap–though Mika can see a few strands of magenta have escaped, curling at the top of a pale neck. It must be Ririka-san, and Chris, whom Mika's never met, next to her. 

They're sitting right in the centre of the room, and yet Shima is the one looking like a deer in headlights as he scrambles down.

Not Ririka-san, who's pushed herself to her feet and is glaring at Shima's mother across the room. 

Oh? 

Mukai slips over to Shima's mother and exchanges a few words with her, then scoops Shima's little brother up and carries him out.

Like Mika, everyone else lingers uncertainly where they stand, their jubilance at pulling off a successful performance thoroughly doused by the ill will swirling in the air. Shima's mother turns to watch Mukai go, gripping the straps of her handbag tightly as her younger son leaves her sight. 

Her older son and Ririka-san have both reached her. They stand in tense silence, locked in a three-way stare off, waiting for everyone else to leave.

Even Chris doesn't hang around–Shima gestures for him to go. The air is thick and heavy. Mika takes the hint and ushers Kinomoto-san out, along with the rest of their classmates and sundry well wishers, with the excuse that they'd like to begin cleanup as soon as possible.

As she closes the door behind her, she can already hear them starting in on each other – wow, ma'am, so you're forcing Sousuke to act for your sake again? – leave my mother out of this –

Then she goes to Mukai. 

He's brought Shima's little brother–Keiri-kun–to the landscaped flower garden by the back gate, probably juggling the boy in one hand while he answers her call with the other. She can hear Keiri talking in the background, half to himself and half to this nii-san; babble about leaves and butterflies. It's very cute. 

Mika stalks over the concrete paths to where they are, looking down at the black fabric flapping round her ankles with each step. 

Ah. She's quite forgotten she still has the nuns' habit on. But it's a little too cold to take off, because she only has her gym shirt and shorts on under it. 

Mika shrugs and shoulders her way into the garden, trying not to be conscious of the picture she makes. 

A nun in a black habit, head bowed, walking through a maze of green hedges and white sculpture. She's seen it in many an old film, often parts of a montage to feelings of sorrow, of remorse; La Pietà; mercy, Mother, mercy!–it makes her think of Maria the girl, sent away from the convent where she grew up to a stranger's home, in a country on the brink of war. The Sound of Music isn't so happy and light hearted as all the singing makes it seem.

Mukai is on a bench just off the main path, watching Keiri toddle around with a leaf in hand. She trots up to them and plops herself down next to Mukai.

"Hey."

"Hey."

They sit quietly, soaking in the peace and quiet. 

Shima Keiri occupies himself very well, playing little games with stick soldiers and leaf shields wielded against dandelion swords; not once needing her or Mukai to join in. It strikes Mika, quite suddenly, that the kid must be used to playing alone a lot. His only brother is so much older…and a stepbrother, too? She doesn't imagine they're very close at home. 

She wonders, too, if it's a different sort of loneliness from being an only child and outcast at school. Keiri is three, after all. Not so far from elementary, in the grand scheme of things.

Mika glances over at Mukai, wondering if he's having the same thoughts. But his eyes, though open, are focused on something very far away.

Surrounded by greenery and the occasional breeze, Mukai falls into something of a daze. Autumn has crept up on them, and soon it'll be winter break of his first year. Time has flown so much faster than he'd expected. He's still only fifteen.

A strange sound breaks his contemplation of the browning trees. 

Keiri is tugging at Egashira's costume habit curiously, lifting the hem in a chubby fist and flapping it up and down, then giggling at the noises it makes.

She laughs. "Want to try it on, Keiri-kun?"

Keiri nods, and Egashira obligingly lifts the garment over her head. The wind chooses just that moment to sluice through the garden, and Egashira shivers in her gym clothes, goosebumps rising on her arms.

"Yikes," she says aside to Mukai, hunching against the cold. "Hope they're done fighting in class. I want to change."

She slips off the bench to costume Keiri. They drape the habit on his tiny frame as best as they can, and Keiri flaps about like a little ghost, making hissing noises like a vampire.

Mukai bends over, suddenly hysterical. 

He just has to laugh, so he does–the loud, wheezing, cackling, sputtering kind of laugh. This can't possibly be the rest of my life, Mukai thinks; having to babysit Sousuke's younger brother while he and Ririka-san yell at each other about their childhood trauma, with his mother a trembling spectator to the scene. 

It can't.  

He has to believe that things will change as they get older. Maybe thirteen to fifteen isn't enough, maybe it'll take them all the time until they reach thirty. 

But it has to get better, or one of them will snap. 

Mukai doesn't want it to be Sousuke. Truthfully, nor does he want it to be Saijou Ririka.

Speak of the devil–and she appears.

Just as Egashira places a careful hand on his arm, and Mukai lifts his eyes to meet his classmate's concerned stare and Keiri's frightened one, Saijou Ririka comes stomping past the garden on her way to, he presumes, the back gate, outside which her car waits.

Mukai registers several things at once. 

First, Ririka-san is going to pass directly behind the bench he's sitting on. Second, Egashira's hand is icy cold; he can feel the chill even through the fabric of his sweater. Third, he is still laughing.

"Oh shit," he gasps, sliding off the bench and onto the ground. Keiri, hiding half his face behind a cape of black fabric, toddles closer and looks at him very seriously.

"Nii-san?"

"Mukai?" 

"I can't fucking do this," he mumbles. 

There's a sound of crashing leaves, like someone's just kicked a bush in, right behind the bench. All the humour slides right out of his body, seeping into the soil faster than rainwater.

He looks up. 

Ririka-san is frowning over the fence at them, face blotchy and eyes streaming. Great, Mukai thinks, I'm not the only one losing it. 

"Yo," he calls out.

"What the fuck?" Ririka-san says.

"Language," Mukai says, glancing at Keiri. His small hands are clapped over his ears, as Egashira mimes the action to him. 

"Hello, Ririka-san." 

That's Egashira, wretchedly polite even in this joke of a situation. She looks at him, at the empty space on the bench, and then at Ririka-san.

"Wanna sit with us? We can, uh, scream together or something."

Egashira's face contorts for a brief moment as she says the last part, like she's laughing at an inside joke they don't know. Then she hacks a cough, and Mukai immediately sobers, remembering how cold her hand on his arm was. 

"Take my sweater, Egashira," he says, pulling it over his head as he stands. "You're a bit chilled."

Egashira flushes as she accepts it, eyes averted. 

He's a little confused, until he realises she's looking away from where his t-shirt rode up. The sweater is so large on her it makes him conscious, too, of the physical difference between them. Mukai has to bite back a smile– Egashira, swimming in his shirt. He's never seen her in yellow before, either. It's new. 

Ririka-san has taken this time to stalk back around to the garden's entrance and come over to where they sit. Honestly, Mukai is surprised that she of all people took the invitation to sit with them seriously; but then again, he doesn't actually know her as a person. 

Mukai levers himself down, slowly, into the space beside Egashira. She's sitting in the middle, which is good. 

Saijou Ririka plops herself down on Egashira's other side. 

The fact that Shima's little brother is there with the three of them just adds to the hilarity. The kid, seeing that they've calmed down, has returned to his solitary play. Mukai takes a deep breath, pressing closer to Egashira to steal some warmth. Because of the wind, it really is a bit too chilly to be wearing only a t-shirt.

"Wow," Egashira says, to break the tension. "I'm sitting next to a celebrity."

Both Mukai and Ririka-san snort at the same time, then glare at each other over Egashira's head.

Ririka-san speaks first. 

"What are you staring at? Got something to say?"

Mukai rolls his eyes on reflex. He has a lot of things he's wanted to say to Saijou Ririka since he first met her, Sousuke's Important Childhood Friend. "Do you really need me to say it?" He grumbles, not wanting to be straight up mean. Mukai's already learned his lesson about hurting a girl's feelings carelessly, thank you very much. 

Ririka-san scowls. "Spit it out." 

She fiddles with a magenta curl, and Mukai realises her cap is gone, the sun brightening her dyed hair even more. "I doubt we'll get another chance to speak like this, without Sousuke around."

Sousuke. 

Indeed much of Mukai's world is made up of Shima Sousuke, but he's never stopped to think how much more that must be true for Saijou Ririka herself. Still.

"You know you can't keep doing this to him," Mukai says measuredly. 

Ririka-san rounds on him, spitting nails. "Know? Of course I know! But everyone else has no problem doing it to me–"

She cuts herself off, furious. Mukai turns to face her, properly. Egashira is doing the same.

Where's bloody Chris when you need him, Ririka-san grouses to herself, though Mukai and Egashira can both hear her clearly. She seems to struggle with the words for a long moment, then exhales and slumps against the bench. "I just–I can't lose Sousuke. And I don't know what else to do, you know. This shit is all I can manage," she says, voice raw. 

Egashira doesn't say anything, just puts her hand on her lap–right next to Ririka-san's leg, palm facing up, fingers loosely splayed: an invitation to hold hands.

Ririka-san takes it. 

She laces fingers with Egashira and squeezes so hard her knuckles turn white.

"And you?" Ririka-san turns to Mukai, eyeing him somewhat balefully. "Anything else to contribute after hearing that?"

Mukai puts a hand under his chin, thinking. "Well," he begins, "I'd suggest group therapy…"

"Cover the kid's eyes," Ririka-san snaps, flashing him the middle finger right that instant. 

"Ririka-san," Egashira gasps, scandalised, as Mukai folds over laughing once again.

"You're a celebrity."

Finals pass. Winter break approaches. 

Mika becomes more and more convinced with each passing day–Obuchi-kun from her club has a crush on her. 

She hadn't noticed before now, because class three was so full of eventful happenings that everyone in the English Conversation Club tended to fade into the background of her mind, but Obuchi-kun recently began to be very obvious about it. Mika picks up on how he always drifts over to her conversational circle during talking time. The way he'll try to linger by the vending machine if he notices her walking that way; or is always the first to offer his pen when she needs one.

Obuchi-kun even asks, of all things, about her plans for Christmas. 

Oh, he uses the rationale that 'English conversations round this time of year would be all about Christmas' as his excuse, of course, but Mika is smarter than to buy that.

It's exactly the way she'd have tried to get closer to, say, Shima Sousuke, if she had a debilitating crush on him and didn't have the balls to confess directly. A slow working up of courage, hoping that each degree of friendly interaction allowed would signify a chance her feelings could be reciprocated. 

Not that Obuchi-kun has a chance, because Mika's brain is, unfortunately, already full up on its quota of boy thoughts.

That sounds much nicer than saying Obuchi-kun has no chance because he's short and ugly, doesn't it? Mika can be brutally honest with herself–despite how poorly she thinks of anyone who would express an interest in dating her fake ass self, she would have been flattered to be liked by someone who was tall, handsome, popular. That Obuchi-kun's interest is not particularly welcome says enough about her hideous inner thoughts. But they're real thoughts. They exist, stripped bare and held close to her chest; a story in which she is Quasimodo's mother, running from the church guards with her monster baby at her breast, desperate not to have his face uncovered. 

You see, while it's a fact that she'd have shunned her childhood self, does she not only think that way now because she was shunned as a child herself? 

It makes her head spin.

Mika pauses. 

If she goes that deep, then she has to acknowledge another set of feelings–her own, for Mukai. 

He's a good friend to her, yes. 

She thinks it would be nice to be something else than a friend to him, also yes. 

Is she going to bring it up with him? No, probably not. Probably never. Unless it became irrevocably clear that he had feelings for her or something. Mika isn't sure she could even tell if Mukai had feelings for her, because he's just so…so unused to interaction with girls. 

She'd looked up some communication theory online, back when she first became interested in learning English–people use signs and symbols and actions to communicate, not just spoken words. A sign that means X to one person could mean Y to another, and Z to yet another. So there's no way to be one hundred percent sure of the messages you send and receive, precisely because the lived experience of each individual lends different meanings to what may outwardly be the same object. Or action.  

Like her tugging on a sleeve and him stepping closer, you know? 

In any case, Obuchi-kun may have a crush on her now, but it could fade with time. He could drop vague hints and never outright confess to her, not even at graduation. There are so many possibilities. 

In any case, Mika cannot turn him down unless he asks. 

"... Egashira-san?"

Oh. Right. Obuchi-kun was talking to her.

"My plans for Christmas?" 

Mika pastes on a smile. "Oh, I'll have a party with my friends, of course. It's the seasonal thing to do."

That's not a lie. Yuzuki is very excited to host her and Makoto for Christmas dinner. It'll be like the summer festival all over again, except they'll have Chiffon with them this time. Knowing them, Yuzuki will have plans for another themed photo; one she'll print and frame and put up in her tastefully appointed bedroom. 

Mika has her own copy on the side of her study desk, and she's already started looking for a good spot for another frame.

(Yuzuki's given spoilers: Chiffon will have a little hat. And boots. All in red velvet with white trim.)

So Mika presents herself on the evening of the 25th at Yuzuki's house, sweating down the back of her best winter outfit with gifts for Yuzuki, Makoto and Chiffon in hand. Her parents gave her something for Yuzuki's parents too, since it's her first time visiting, and Mika is strangely reminded of the time they'd done the same for Mukai. 

She's the last to arrive. Makoto is already there and being given a festive hair makeover; so Chiffon and Yuzuki's dad are the ones who greet her at the door, both kitted out in little Santa hats, and usher her into the warmth of the house.

Mika smiles at the streams of holly and tinsel woven into Makoto's long black braids, then offers her own up. Yuzuki gets to work on them gleefully, humming a carol under her breath. Mika can just about make out the mumbled English lyrics, something about a White Christmas…

It is, in short, lovely.

They have chicken and cake and doggy snuggles and more; then Mika goes home. 

She takes her time walking from the station, looking up at the grey skies. It's dangerous to be out alone late, she knows, but it's Christmas and she wants to linger for some reason. Her steps take her past the playground with the bus stop, boots crunching on the gravel lining the flowerbeds. 

Mika wobbles on an uneven patch and looks around, embarrassed, as she finds her balance. 

There, like fate ringing a bell madly over her fortune, she lays eyes on Mukai Tsukasa, whom she always seems to bump into by coincidence. 

And–as she stares–it begins, very lightly, to snow.

Mukai spends his Christmas with family, as he does every year. Christmas Eve is spent at the basketball club's party, which he's happy to attend and mingle with others. Club is one of the few spaces in his life that Sousuke isn't a part of; he realised that recently. The hypocrisy of lecturing Saijou Ririka about her crippling overdependence on Sousuke, when he too is guilty of it, burns. Mukai is making more effort to socialise independently as of late.

For so long his close friend sample size has been pathetically small: there was only Sousuke, after all, and now arguably Egashira. 

Spending time with other people his age is pretty eye-opening for Mukai. He doesn't even have to talk to them directly, either, just observing the whirlwind of interactions around him is plenty informative. But he hasn't learned to tell a lie with any degree of comfort, which is why he's extra confused when his parents, on hearing him say he wants to go out for some air after Christmas dinner, exchange a rather long look before agreeing.

Like they think he, their son, has an ulterior motive. A secret gift exchange in the dark, or something.

His father even claps him on the back.

Mukai blinks flatly as his mother looks him over, as if wondering where on his person he's been able to conceal a present. 

"Surely you're not going empty handed, Tsukasa?"

"Sorry to disappoint," he snarks, "but I'm really going out for some fresh air. Not a secret meeting."

"Of course, dear," his mother says. "We just wonder. That girl from the summer festival…"

Mukai flushes. "I told you, we're just classmates."

"And the pictures you took together?"

"I didn't get to take any with Sousuke before he got dragged off by that Ririka-san, okay? And I knew you'd want to see at least one photo of me in yukata, so I got Egashira to take some of me. Okay?"

His mother raises a brow in challenge, and he quails. 

"All right, all right." His father cuts in, thankfully. "Go on, then. But take care. It's already dark." 

Mukai mumbles agreement and flees out the door, taking his wallet and commuter pass with him. 

Rather than stay within the neighbourhood, his feet lead him to the bus stop; the one he always alights at on days when he goes home with Egashira. It's dark and quiet. His ears catch the scrape of a lone bit of rubbish on pavement, tugged about by the brief gusts of wind that sluice through the buildings; the stray yowls of a cat in the distance. 

Acting on a whim, he crosses to the opposite side of the road. 

When he looks up, there's a dim shine moving through the darkness: a bus, headlights on, trundling slowly towards him. 

Mukai extends his hand and flags it to a stop. Then of course he has to board, so he does. He sits in the mostly empty bus, his face pressed to the window; peering through the gloom until that by-now familiar playground comes into view.

No one's there when he gets off. 

Mukai trudges over to the swing set as the bus pulls away, exhaust a visible cloud in its wake. He plops himself down on one of the seats, swinging back and forth. He doesn't much feel like walking, anyhow.

Instead, Mukai thinks about how it's already winter of his first year in high school. 

Time is a construct, he once read this somewhere. 

Time as man understands it is a construct, that is, all the days and hours and minutes and seconds. Time is in essence a flow, unceasing. Unquantifiable. 

Mukai's only fifteen, and he already feels unmoored by this. It makes him wonder how his parents feel about the days passing relentlessly, as they watch him grow up. He swings, freely, peace undisturbed except for the occasional passerby coming from the station, vague silhouettes in the dimly lit street. 

The skies are a dull grey, even in the encompassing darkness. Mukai tilts his head up. His eyes roam the expanse above; tracing in measures the fall of some piece of flotsam through the air, down, down, down, towards his feet. It melts into nothingness as it hits the ground.

Snow, he realises. 

That's rare in Tokyo. 

The sudden crunch of gravel scraping underfoot pulls him from his introspection. Mukai looks up abruptly, cheeks pink from the cold, and locks eyes with the one person he'd been hoping to see here. 

She stands by the edge of the playground, where the barren flowerbeds are–it seems she slipped on a wet patch of gravel. 

Egashira's eyes go wide when his gaze meets hers.

"Oh! Hello," she says with a little jump, dusting her coat off. 

"Merry Christmas, Egashira." 

Mukai can't help but go red, pleased that he got his secret wish to see at least one friend on Christmas Day. It warms him from within. He saw Sousuke over video call, and little Keiri greeted him too; which was better than nothing–but now he gets to see his other close friend in the flesh. 

"Merry Christmas, Mukai," Egashira says, giving him a puzzled look as she wanders over and sinks onto the other swing. "But what are you doing here? Were you out somewhere in the area or…"

He shakes his head. "Nope. We had dinner at home. Then I came out to get some air."  

Now she's closer, he can see tiny sprigs of holly and strands of tinsel woven into her braids. Fascinated, Mukai reaches out a hand to brush at them. Egashira twitches, but holds still and lets him inspect the holly.

"Yuzuki was having fun," she says in explanation. "And Makoto had them in her hair, too. Does it…um, does it look fine?"

"Yeah," Mukai smiles. "Very festive." 

She beams. "Thank you."

A beat, and then–"aren't you going home?"

Mukai shifts in his seat. 

"I am, but–not yet? You can go home first, Egashira," he says. "I want to sit here a bit longer."

It's nicer to be lonely outdoors, with fresh air stinging his face, than to be lonely at home alone in his room, Mukai thinks. 

"But it's Christmas," Egashira says. "I can't leave you brooding alone on Christmas!"

"What. And any other day would be fine?"

Egashira sticks her tongue out at him and catches a stray flake on it. "Ugh," she makes a face. "Come on, Mukai. It's late. Walk me home."

"Fine," he says, the words coming easily. "It'll be my present to you."

"So practical," she says drolly, "I love it." 

"You're welcome," Mukai says, pushing himself off the swing. Egashira stands and joins him, and they tromp out of the playground and down the streets, walking in tandem.

He notices, as they walk along, that her winter coat is as light as his own is dark. It makes a nice contrast. Around them, the snow is falling slowly, with the odd flake melting into their coats and scarves. 

Egashira's hair glitters, flecked with white.

"What would you like?" She asks as they approach her house. "Another picture?" 

"No need for that," Mukai says, reminded of what his mother just had to say about their pictures together from the day of the summer festival. "But it would be nice to…I guess." 

"Just say yes or no, Mukai."

"Yes," he says. 

Egashira smiles. 

(His mother smiles, too, when he finally gets home, fingertips nearly frozen stiff because he forgot his gloves. "Did you have a good time?" She asks, and he flushes without comment. Already she's extending an arm, hoping to see the newest pictures on his phone, and Mukai silently hands it over, spine going rigid as his mother coos over Egashira's clothes. "Isn't she cute," she says, patting him fondly on the arm, and "I'm happy for you, Tsukasa.")

Merry Christmas, indeed. 

He's so fucked.

There's one more event before they all go back to school: hatsumode , the first shrine visit of the new year. The rest of winter break is spent studying, of course. There's no one enrolled at Tsubame West who doesn't study, they're just built that way. 

But Mika can look forward to gathering with her friends at a shrine at midnight on New Year's Eve, to pray for a good year ahead. She's had plenty to be thankful for over this past year as well.

She's wrapped up warmly on the day itself, because temperatures at night are so much more unforgiving than during the day. Her mother waves her off with a hot pack, which she tucks into her front pocket. Mika keeps touching her fingers to it through the wool of her coat. 

It's bitterly cold.

"This is crazy," Mika says, when she finally waddles up to Yuzuki and Makoto outside the shrine grounds. It's a large one, famous in Tokyo, and so absolutely swarming with visitors–especially today. "There's so many people. And my fingers are about to fall off."

Everywhere Mika looks, clouds of white hang in the air, exhaled breaths frozen in time. 

"Here," Makoto says, pressing a paper cup into her hands. Mika cups its warmth gratefully. "Amazake."

Mika mumbles her thanks and takes a bracing sip. 

Makoto's hair is completely down today, instead of in her usual neat braids. Mika raises an inquiring brow as she tucks a few windblown strands back behind Makoto's ear. 

"Hmm? Oh," Makoto says, catching on quickly. "The back of my neck just refused to go out exposed, so I took the braids out." 

"It's cute," Mika smiles. "I don't think I've ever seen your hair out of braids. And it's been months!"

Makoto grins back, flapping the ends of her hair around. "It's nice sometimes, I guess." 

Yuzuki leans into them for a hug. 

"Mika-chan," she says, "I can't believe you ran into Mukai on Christmas Day. Like, what are the odds?"

"I know, right?" Mika thinks back to that day. "Mukai does things for the oddest reasons. He said he was out to get some air after dinner, but he wasn't even near his home."

Makoto hums around her mouthful of sweet saké. "So you think he took the bus over?"

"Well," Mika says, "I don't think he walked, see."

"Let's go line up," Yuzuki giggles at Mika's nonsense reply; Makoto rolls her eyes. "The queue only gets longer anyway."

They link arms and shuffle to the back of the prayer line, ready to brave the long wait. Purchased saké aside, Makoto has come armed with a large variety of snacks–concealed in all her coat pockets–and she fishes a new one out at regular intervals. The three of them munch as the line moves along, chatting to stay awake. 

They're still in the line when the clock strikes twelve. "Happy New Year," they chorus, clinking their soggy paper cups in a toast. 

"To a banging mock exam score. And good food."

"To Chiffon's continued health and happiness."

"Mmm…to another great year," Mika says. "And my sincere thanks for the last one."

"Nice," Makoto says. "Your phone's got mail, Mika."

"Ooh," Yuzuki says. "I bet it's Mukai." 

Mika checks, and flushes Yuzuki's way. "How did you know? I mean, we–uh, I–"

Mika doesn't even know why she's panicking. Maybe Mukai just has fast fingers. It could have been one of her middle school friends who was the first to wish a Happy New Year to her, instead. 

"You two are friends, silly," Yuzuki says, smiling. "It's normal to send a message if you aren't meeting face to face, right?" 

"Yeah." Mika relaxes a little. She replies Mukai with a simple Thanks. Happy New Year. 

There. Nice and impersonal, no stray hints dropped. Mika doesn't want to do to Mukai what Obuchi-kun does around her, vague wording and hopeful cow eyes and all. 

And there's no need for her to be so uptight around Makoto and Yuzuki, too, even if it's over Mukai and what she may or may not have going on with him. After all, they're pretty astute. They can probably tell that Mika has…a thing …for Mukai. Probably.

Just then, Yuzuki's phone buzzes, too. 

"Bet that's from Yamada." 

Makoto says it like it's nothing. Mika snorts.

"The prophecy is true," Yuzuki narrates gloomily. "Let me just find that generic copy paste reply…"

Makoto goes over to help Yuzuki craft her ominously platonic response to Yamada's New Year greetings, but Mika is interrupted on the way. By a reply. From Mukai Tsukasa. 

Are you out at a shrine, Egashira?

Yes, Mika types, barely hesitating. And yourself?

Mukai sends her a picture. A wooden coffee table, with three saké cups and three bowls of ozouni on top of it, TV blaring in the background.

At home, Mukai captions. 

Not out with Shima?

Sousuke's at home with his family, too.

I see.  

Left with nothing else to say, but not wanting to end the conversation just yet, Mika decides she ought to send a picture as well. 

She snaps a quick shot of herself in line–with Yuzuki and Makoto smiling cheerily in the background–and sends it off. 

Almost there, she writes.

Take care, Mukai replies. Don't fall sick. It's cold out.

It's a lovely start to the new year.

Chapter Text

Last year, Mika had a clear New Year's Resolution: to make sure her high school debut went even better than her middle school one, no matter what it took. 

This year, however, is different. She's no longer filled with nothing but the burning need to prove her worth as a person, a friend; a girl. Mukai has been solidly reassuring on all those fronts, actually. 

Funny how Mika ends up using him as a yardstick for so many things. Even though she's objectively closer to Yuzuki and Makoto, it's Mukai's view of the world that she thinks the most about. 

In it, whatever is meant to happen will happen, and he'll let go of whatever doesn't without a struggle. 

Mika, struggler by both nature and nurture, certainly can't face her life with the same equanimity–perhaps it would be easy if she lived like Mukai, with parents who earned enough for regular vacations overseas, able to escape to a sunny beach on the other side of the world during the worst of the winter months–but she tries. If she hears tittering behind her back in the corridors, rather than stiffen up, Mika consciously relaxes her posture. Water off a duck's back, Mukai said once. It can't be possible that every pair of giggling girls she encounters is specifically making fun of her, so Mika must learn to let such things go. 

Mukai always demonstrates it for her himself. When he's telling Mika about how his mother praised her Christmas outfit, for instance, ears unmistakably red, his shoulders stay down in a perfect imitation of nonchalance, no tensing up or hunching. 

Mika chalks it up as another bizarre Mukai thing. She wonders, sometimes, where on earth he picks up his oddball pieces of advice. They're so unlike anything she'd expect to come out of a teenage boy's mouth. 

And even if they aren't, well. 

The way he'd told her to keep warm on New Year's Day…she's melting over it even now, like a puddle of forgotten snow.

There's just something about Mukai–the way he was nurtured, she might say. He was raised comfortably, but he was also raised to be calm, to be questioning, polite, to think more than twice before he spoke; and it endears him to her, to an impossible degree. He's so nice under all the awkwardness Mika sees, one of those children so subtly loved all his life that he goes about his days with easy indifference. 

Like, Mukai probably never dreamed of reinventing himself. It makes her disgustingly envious. 

Each of them, she thinks– them being people, them being Mika's friends in particular–bring a different kind of light to life in general. And then there's her. What does Egashira Mika even bring to the table? Run of the mill bitch. Wannabe Miss Popular. Former fat lump who others always assumed had no proper feelings–

–God she wants to scream.

January passes just like that, and Mika finds herself staring February down. 

"Mika, Mako-chan," Yuzuki starts saying to them at every opportunity. "Have you made sweets before? How about making sweets together this year? Shall we do that? Shall we?" 

Makoto takes her time mulling it over. 

"I dunno, Yuzu," she says. "Like, we could just go to a café together instead, right?" 

Yuzuki pouts. "It wouldn't be the same," she says, "I want to have something homemade."

"Ehh," Makoto says. "Then does that mean you'll be the one to sacrifice your kitchen for this?"

They squabble playfully as Mika fidgets in her seat, toying with her food. They're spending lunch break in the classroom today, at Makoto's desk, even though Mika's is also near the window. Yuzuki has taken the chair in front of Makoto's, which leaves Mika the one at the side. Which happens to be Mukai's seat. 

Mika's sitting in the chair he uses, feeling a little too aware of everything–the warmth of the seat, the bag slung over the table hook, the books neatly arranged in the space under the desk. 

The way her skirt folds under her when she sits, too, exposing the backs of her thighs to the same spots Mukai's own have pressed against. 

It's winter, thankfully, so any contact with his fading body heat is passed through her sensible but cute knit leggings. Mika doesn't know how insane she might be about this if it was summer, and it was her bare skin soaking up the memory of his firm thighs. (They are firm, that's a fact. She's seen Mukai in his flimsy basketball shorts, hem flying up as he jumps to shoot–)

Mika shoves a huge bite of stew into her mouth and turns her attention back to what Yuzuki and Makoto are saying.

They've both turned to her expectantly. Yuzuki looks hesitant, and Makoto conflicted. Mika leans forward in her seat, all ears.

"Are you preparing any obligatory chocolates for the guys? Like in class or club or…"

Mika wrinkles her nose, reminded of Obuchi-kun and his enduring crush on her. "Uh, no?"

"Yeah, chocolate costs money. And you don't want to give anyone the wrong idea." Makoto speaks briskly. "I don't think you have to do that, Yuzu. Even if many people are, say, hoping to get some from you." 

Mika drums her fingers on Mukai's desk. "I suppose giving some is expected, for classmates. But it's not like all the girls will. We can opt out."

"Mika's right," Makoto says. "We're okay to opt out at least. Don't pressure yourself, Yuzu."

Yuzuki smiles at them softly. 

Makoto reaches out.

Mika looks away as they lock hands, swallowing her deceptive answer into the pits of her stomach. Yeah, she said no obligatory chocolate, but nothing about honmei. 

She's still thinking about it, though. It requires plenty of thought. For adjacent to thoughts of chocolate are thoughts about Valentine's Day confessions. Mika's never been bold enough to attempt one herself–in fact she swore off them in elementary school, after seeing the exercise in public humiliation it had the potential to be–but maybe, all these years later, she'll have grown past that? 

Mika kind of wants to test it.

Because lately, she can't help but feel that the timing seems right. 

Her unspoken hopes are answered when Mukai hails her after club activities, his hair still wet from the gym showers. 

That's how Mika knows today was his turn with the basketball team, instead of the other two clubs he's in–this is the only one that involves sweating. And he was with Earth Science yesterday, they went out on some field trip; Obuchi-kun had a bunch of pictures he insisted on showing her earlier. 

(Obuchi-kun also awkwardly asked if she'd give him some chocolate on Valentine's Day, but she shut that down by saying she wasn't doing obligatory gifts. 

Okay, so Mika neatly cornered herself by saying so: now, if she decides to give Mukai some, Obuchi-kun will know she lied. Unless she gives Mukai chocolate so blatantly un-obligatory it'll be as good as shouting a confession from the rooftops.

It feels like standing on the ledge, coaxing herself to jump on 

three, 

two, 

one.)

"Egashira!" 

Mukai jogs up to her, and she waits at the gate for him to pull abreast. 

"Hi," she says, "did you want to go home together?"

"Yeah." Mukai's cheeks are still red from training; all that blood pumping around his body, surging under his skin. "It's been a while." 

Mukai is strangely shifty today. Mika doesn't dwell on it, though, as they take their slow walk to the station, drinking in the late afternoon light while it lasts. 

The world is wrapped in a soft glow as the sun sinks lower, and the breeze picks up, causing a shiver. She huddles closer to Mukai, not noticing the twitch of his shoulders; or their stiffness. Instead her eyes are up on the trees and their bare, dark branches; the wood all twisted and wet.

Winter still clings to the city. 

The grey cold will see them through to the middle of March at least, Mika thinks, with White Day as a neat little marker of the season's end. Then, spring. She'll be able to see the sakura bloom with Mukai…

"Say," he begins, rubbing his palms on his pants. 

Mika blinks back into the here and now. 

"Hmm?"

"It's February already, huh."

"Yes," Mika says, stamping down the nervousness in her voice. "Why ask?" 

"Do you…um, I just wondered. If you had any plans for Valentine's Day? Since it's, y'know, coming up."

Mukai has gone scarlet; his jaw visibly clenched. She can feel her anticipation grow wings and take flight.

"Not really," Mika says. "Just going to make sweets with the girls. We'll have our own little exchange."

Maybe this is it, she thinks to herself–no, this must be it–the greenest of green lights. Why else would he ask? A boy wouldn't approach a girl and enquire into her Valentine's Day plans unless he wanted to be a part of them. 

"Oh," Mukai says, relaxing his whole body. "That, uh, sounds nice."

"Does it really?" 

Mika tilts her head to look up at his side profile. His features are really quite cohesive; the strong brow, straight nose, thin lips. 

Mukai catches her stare and coughs.

"Kinda? Ririka-san always gives Sousuke something handmade," Mukai says. "But she makes them super ugly on purpose. Guess it's fun for friends."

They're already on the platform, waiting for the train. 

One streams into the station, and the crowd presses in close; like iron filings drawn to a magnet end. Mika relaxes her shoulders and submits to being buffeted from side to side, arms up to shield her chest. Mukai keeps one hand firmly locked around her upper arm, and they board with no trouble sticking together. Mika stands as close to him as she dares, happiness bubbling in her heart. Champagne fizz feelings, with the cork set to pop on Valentine's itself. She's far too conscious of his body beside hers to speak, let alone breathe, without breaking out into her best smile and worst blush. Mukai stands silently beside her, looking deep in thought. 

She lets her eyes linger on his reflection, guilty with the thrill of it. 

Him catching her stare wouldn't deter her, if she were to confess successfully. But it feels a little naughty to be sneaking looks when they aren't officially dating. 

Mika fidgets, anxious for the future already. 

The train rushes on, towards all things yet to come.

Mukai is sweating bullets. 

He kept a discreet eye on Egashira's body language after he asked about her Valentine's Day plans, but it's not helping. He can't get a read on what exactly she's feeling, and it's destroying all his careful mental preparation leading up to this moment. 

They're in a crowded train, as they often are, and so standing close to each other. But there's a bit of extra space on Egashira's other side, which means she is standing closer to him than she has to. 

On purpose.

It's making his knees go fucking weak. 

She even looks excited. Like she's trying not to make a big deal out of it–but she's obviously happy, happy that he asked her about her Valentine's Day plans. It feels so strange; her excitement is so contagious that it's washing over him, stirring a foreign feeling under his skin. Mukai hasn't felt anything like this before; a force, alien and uncontainable, moving within him.

Another puzzle the world's throwing at him? Mukai's at a loss all over again.

Like yesterday, after club activities were over, when Obuchi pulled him aside to ask him something. Just a quick whisper into Mukai's ear (a tad strained, with Obuchi on tiptoes, because of the height difference) and then the other boy was darting away, happy with himself for getting up the courage to ask– indirectly. Because his request was for Mukai to ask Egashira something on his behalf, and then let him know the response. After Obuchi left, Mukai sat for a long time in his own silence. 

It was couched as 'just a small favour', so he didn't want to say no. But Mukai can't deny that it feels like he's done Egashira wrong by agreeing. 

In a way, he only agreed to help Obuchi because he feels, deep down, quite confident that Egashira will say no–if Obuchi does confess, that is. 

Anyway, she isn't the type to say yes to anyone who asks.

Without that assurance, Mukai really…he can't wrap his head around it. This already feels like a betrayal of their friendship, and he's a little afraid of what will happen if–or when–Egashira finds out. Point in her favour is that she didn't abandon him when Sousuke came along, but that begs the question: what's the point in his favour?

Egashira doesn't have the same issues as Sousuke, but Mukai's been around long enough to know that both of them always have their guard up; it shows in the way they smile and talk, like they're trying their best to ward something off. Mukai's the only guy they both allow close…probably because they like him as a secret-keeper. They won't say what their biggest secret is at all, but still, that counts for something. 

Mukai only hopes they all make it through Valentine's Day unscathed. He clings to it, because he has to, or the ominous feeling in his gut will consume him. 

The faster it's over, he thinks, the better. 

The girls gather at Yuzuki's house two days before Valentine's Day. It's chocolate making time! 

Yuzuki's kitchen is, frankly speaking, palatial. 

Wide open space with generous countertops, plenty of room to manoeuvre around the kitchen island, a gleaming sink, and all the utensils are quality. Mika looks around admiringly, feeling like she's in a condo showroom. The only thing that sets it apart from one is probably the pet gate. 

Chiffon has been banished from the kitchen for his own good, especially since they're making chocolate. He's curled up right outside the kitchen entrance, his nose pressed against the bars. Whenever he makes a pleading little woof sound, Yuzuki darts over for a  cuddle, only to be reeled back and thoroughly wiped down of any chocolate flecks by Makoto. 

It's a hilarious tableau. 

Mika does her best to hide her sniggers, but she gets caught by Yuzuki eventually.

"You laugh," Yuzuki says with dramatic flourish, "but if you loved him as much as I do, you'd get it!"

Mika breaks out into a fuller laugh. "Not when the chocolate could poison him," she wheezes. "Oh, why is this so funny?" 

"You could just make Chiffon some separate treats," Makoto suggests. "Plenty of home cooking recipes for dogs online, I'm sure." 

Yuzuki perks up.

"That sounds good," she says. "And you, Mika-chan? Are you making something else other than our share of sweets?"

Mika clears her throat. Playing dumb is part of the fun. "Huh? Who else would I make chocolate for?" She affects the most airheaded lilt as she tips her head to the side, then breaks character to laugh at Makoto's full body shudder.

"For Mukai, of course," Yuzuki waggles her brows. "Your other close friend." 

"Well, Mukai's not a girl," Mika pouts, head ducked, as if it'll do anything to hide her flush. 

"He's, uh. I mean, he's…"

Makoto tacks on an ending when she doesn't, warm eyes on Mika's face. "Special to you?"

"Yeah," Mika says. "He is." 

She forces her head up, to look Yuzuki and Makoto in the eye. 

"But I'm still thinking about it, okay?"

And just like that, because she has kind and lovely friends, the topic is shelved. Mika turns her attention to the double chocolate cupcake recipe she printed out yesterday, hands busy with the flour cups and mixing sticks and rolling pin and preheating the oven. Eating sweets is out of the question most days, but making them and feeding them to other people is fine. She can still remember childhood days by her mother's side, puttering about the kitchen with the smell of cookies in the air, before the hell that was formal schooling made her too conscious to even live like she used to.

The methodical steps of the recipe guide her through the hour. Mika pours most of her batter into the usual muffin moulds, lined with plain white paper cups. 

The rest goes into the two small pans she brought, with flatter, smoothly rounded sides. She'll cut heart shapes out of those after they're done baking, and decorate the tops with icing and whatnot. 

There, Mika thinks with satisfaction, popping the lot into the oven. 

What Yuzuki's working on goes in the oven too, and Makoto's into the fridge to cool and harden. Mika caught a passing glimpse while focusing on her own recipe; Yuzuki made brownies layered with chocolate chip cookies, and Makoto made some unholy looking chocolate-coated popsicles that she could probably use as a club if frozen solid. 

The air slowly fills with the decadent smell of melting chocolate. Time seems to slow down, then; the sun cuts a golden swathe through the scene.

Mika cleans her work area as they wait for the baking to be done, laughing along with Makoto as Yuzuki flicks a couple of stray chocolate chips around. 

There's time to clamber out and give Chiffon a few pats, too. Yuzuki and Makoto sit with their backs on the other side of the pet gate, watching Chiffon hat videos for the nth time that week, while Mika runs her fingers lightly through his fur; everyone limp and relaxed. 

When the timer sounds, Mika rises and extracts her tray from the oven, glad to see the muffins have all turned out well–nicely browned, even domes; picture perfect. She takes a few photos of those before she gets to work on her hearts for Mukai, wondering if he even likes sweets. It's hard to tell, but teenage boys will supposedly eat anything, won't they? 

Behind her, she can hear Makoto going to the fridge and checking on her calorie bombs.

"Shall I just leave them in your fridge, Yuzu?" Makoto asks. "They're not quite done yet, a few more hours should cut it. You can help pass Mika hers in school."

Yuzuki drops her brownie pan with a clatter. "No, no, no," she exclaims, horrified. "We're not exchanging them now."

Makoto is confused. 

"Huh? Why are we not exchanging them now?"

"Because you have to take your chocolate home and wrap it up nicely! And then bring it carefully to school on the day itself so you can give it to me…it's about the feeling."

Makoto blinks. "Yuzu," she says, "my feelings will be unchanged whether I give this to you now or in a few days. Whether here in your kitchen, or at school by the lockers."

Yuzuki reaches out and takes Makoto's hand, with a delicate yet firm look on her face. Mika, acting purely on intuition, silently excuses herself to the bathroom. As she rounds the corner, leaving the kitchen and its lovely smell of baked chocolate goods behind, she can hear Yuzuki begin to speak. 

Mika hesitates–then pauses to listen, wanting some help with the wording of her own confession. 

"My feelings too, Mako-chan," Yuzuki says, with a self-deprecating little laugh. 

"Sorry, this is more about, um, wanting other people to see how happy receiving your chocolate will make me." 

There's a rustle of fabric: apron string or sleeve? The scuff of a slipper on the floor, too. The light crinkle of baking sheets stirred by the wind, and a dry chuckle.

"Oh, Yuzu," Makoto says simply. 

Mika slips away, then, having heard enough. 

"All good?" She asks when she comes back, having taken her hair out of its bun and redone it entirely, all in the name of killing time.

Yuzuki and Makoto nod and smile at her, hands out for a hug. They're standing shoulder to shoulder like her parents would in a family photo; like they do in all the photos the three of them take with Chiffon. 

Mika goes to them, grateful to still be included. 

"I love you," she says suddenly, "you know? You two are the best girls ever."

To be clear, she'd usually rather die than spout a line this cheesy, but this is a special occasion. Mika just felt like she ought to say it, right here, right now. And it feels good. Even better, when Yuzuki and Makoto fold her into the hardest hug of her life. 

The day before Valentine's Day arrives. 

Sousuke being called to the courtyard and confessed to is a matter of course. But Murashige turns a senior down as well–and that makes Mukai wonder just who else in their class might be receiving confessions. It's a slow, dawning realisation for Mukai: that Obuchi is far from the only one with thoughts of confessing. 

There are hundreds of students in the school, across three grades. Statistically speaking, when it comes to getting a confession, each student has a probability of greater than zero, purely by dint of existing around one another. Egashira included.

She's a cute girl, after all. 

That keeps Mukai on edge, especially when class is dismissed and she goes to her English Conversation club activities, where she'll see Obuchi. He was quite circumspect when Mukai reported back that she had no plans for Valentine's that he knew of. 

He feels so stiff, sitting with his untruths. 

In contrast, everyone around him seems jovial and relaxed, in class and at club activities too. 

The basketball club seniors are having fun ribbing the freshmen about how first year is the best time to confess and date–no one will be doing that in third year unless they want to tank their grades suddenly; while second years should only have their minds on helping the team get to nationals, of course. Mukai tries not to take that too seriously.  

Forgive the bad pun, but he has no game with girls. Even becoming friends with Egashira shook him so far out of his comfort zone, it's hard to imagine what dating will be like. 

If he were to date, perhaps it'd be easiest to make it work with someone like her, who already knows him well. In the first place, if he dated a stranger, they would still have to do the real work of getting to know each other. (With Egashira, it wouldn't be skipping steps. This is more, he thinks, like the groundwork done before a field trip; so he can be sure of what he's doing and where he's going.) 

When Mukai blinks out of his reverie, there are a lot of red faces around. 

"None of you has a girl you'd like to confess to?"

Confessing to someone is scary, actually. Only Mukai never gave it much thought before, as Sousuke does his level best to dismiss all confessions encountered with minimal damage to the parties involved. Sort of like defusing a bomb? He supposes confessions are pent up creatures, all uncontainable emotion. 

Mukai shakes his head. He doesn't think he has the courage, in the first place. And to confess to not just anyone, but Egashira Mika –

– wait. Why are they staring at him?

"Well, what if your female friend confessed to you?"

"Yeah!" Someone clamours to add, "I thought you two had a good atmosphere, you know? At the cultural festival." 

One of the seniors who was manning the booth, huh. Mukai can't quite remember the name, because he's busy panicking inside. 

"Uhhh," Mukai says, not sure how it came to this. "I don't…think that will happen? She said she was only going to exchange chocolate with her girl friends."

His seniors boo good-naturedly. 

"Wait, hold on," one of them says. "How do you know that? Did you ask her?"

"I did, actually." 

Mukai hesitates, wrong-footed again. Egashira is, to be honest, the only person who makes him doubt his attunement to social cues. All that time with Sousuke has taught him enough to deal with everyone else, but she's kind of special. Like Sousuke . Maybe that's the problem, that Mukai keeps thinking of Egashira and Sousuke as being on the same level; when the whole world sees it differently because one of them's a boy and the other's a girl.

The basketball club is doing an impressive parody of the drama club right now, in any case. Mukai speaks into the chaos, attempting to puzzle this out.

"Um, should I not have asked?"

Someone pats him on the shoulder. "Well," they say, "it's just that you'll give her ideas, you see."

"Yeah, no boy asks a girl about Valentine's Day for no reason. Right?"

"Righttttt."

"It's like saying 'please think of me on that day' or somethin', you know."

"But," Mukai stammers, "I didn't mean to–I mean, I only asked her because someone asked me to."

There's an actual shriek in the background.

Mukai looks up into the kind face of his retired third year captain, and all the basketball club seniors who he knows have a steady girlfriend, smiling down at him in pity, and gulps. So apparently that was a bad move, or more like the worst. There's a lot of yelling going on, so it's hard to process.

It's not even over for Mukai when he gets home. 

His mother smiles and asks if he'll be taking the bus again tomorrow, clearly expecting him to say yes. 

"I don't know," Mukai says, blushing furiously. Just where are all these people's expectations regarding himself and Egashira dating coming from? "I didn't make any plans for tomorrow." 

"Oh, Tsukasa," his mother says. "Well, go wash up. Dinner's ready." 

Throughout the meal, she keeps looking at him and drifting off, eyes going distant and fond. 

Mukai chews slowly, not wanting his mannerisms to give away clues about all the weird things he heard today. The words buzz beneath his skin, speaking themselves in loops–you'll give her ideas, they say; there was a good atmosphere; please think of me on that day–

The worst part is that Mukai does want Egashira to think of him on Valentine's Day. If she did start going out with someone else, then it wouldn't be right to go home alone with her after school anymore. The easy banter, the odd blush, the bus tickets he tucks away instead of throwing out. 

Mukai doesn't want to give any of that up.  

His father joins them halfway through dinner, back from the office later than usual, and squeezes his mother's hand as he takes a seat. His mother lifts a food warming cover off an already scooped bowl of rice. When she gestures to the side dishes, his father lights up–one of his favourites is there–and tucks in with a muttered thanks.

Mukai ducks his head, wondering if he'll ever have someone to do that with. Even if it has to involve a confession…it must be possible.

One day.

Of all the myriad ways Mika thought she might be embarrassed by her Valentine's Day confession plan, this was not it. 

She's already planned it out nicely to minimise any awkward moments, no matter the result. It's a simple and straightforward approach: ask Mukai to go home with her, then pause at the quiet little park on the way to the station and give him her chocolate; then lay her feelings out. Should he accept, they can proceed home happily as usual (okay, maybe with a bit more hand holding than usual). Should he reject her, they'll take separate trains home and just go back to being friends from the next morning onwards, after Mika's thoroughly wiped her memory of ever having nursed a crush on Mukai. 

Simple, but with one little snag.

Mika's stuck waiting for Mukai to leave, because her entire plan hinges on him going home with her.

That's why she's lurking outside her own classroom after school, alone in the corridors. Because Mukai is inside, talking to Obuchi-kun, who clearly swung by to see her. Thank goodness, really, for Yuzuki and Makoto being tall and handy to hide behind.

Hurry up, Mika wills them, hurry up. 

The tension is building and building and freezing her in place. She doesn't want to be tongue tied when he finally comes out. She has to convince Mukai, after all, that it would be nice to date her. 

It suddenly sounds much more daunting.

Mika's just straight up eavesdropping at this point, but the boys aren't being very quiet. 

"She really said she wasn't making any chocolate?"

Someone–Mukai–coughs nervously. "Uh," he says in that familiar way, "yes? It doesn't count if she makes them for the girls only, right?"

Obuchi-kun whines. "Ehh, that's different! She might decide to give the guys something smaller or leftover if she was already making something nice for the girls, see."

"Oh." 

Mukai falls silent. After a brief pause, Obuchi-kun speaks again. 

"When I asked you before winter break, you said you weren't going out with Egashira-san," Obuchi-kun says, voice muffled. "So I thought I'd have a chance, at least…"

Mukai coughs again. 

"I'll wait a bit longer," Obuchi-kun says. "Maybe she hasn't gone home yet."

Maybe she doesn't want to be ambushed by you, Mika thinks snidely. 

Then Obuchi-kun says something she can't make out. Something good? Something bad?

Mika inches closer, straining her ears, then takes an involuntary step back.

"Look, I did what you asked," Mukai says sharply. "I asked Egashira if she had plans for Valentine's Day, as a favour for you, and I'm not hiding anything from you. Just drop it."

The words register slowly, filtering into her brain like sunlight dappled through a leafy canopy.

Mukai… what?  

Mika staggers, leaning against the wall for support. She's never been prone to fainting, but better safe than sorry. 

So–when Mukai, face on fire, asked if she had any particular plans for Valentine's Day this year–all this time, he wasn't thinking of being her valentine? And she got so carried away, too. Ouch. 

The shame prickles her, thorn by thorn; slowly, then all at once. No one will ever be interested in you, the vines say, hissed out into a tightening circlet. 

Her head throbs, and she winces.

Mika jumps at the scrape of a shoe on concrete, just behind her. She turns and meets Shima Sousuke's concerned gaze with absolutely zero composure.

"Ack," she mouths, "that scared me." 

Softly, so Mukai won't realise there's anyone outside the classroom, listening to him and Obuchi-kun talk, she lets out the breath she sucked in. 

"It's just you, Shima-kun."

"Is everything okay?" Shima asks, and she can tell he's genuinely worried. 

It's rather touching.

She shakes her head, looking down at her bag, by her feet. The top is unzipped, and she can see both her share of Yuzuki and Makoto's creations, as well as the nicely wrapped one she'd made for Mukai. 

Mika plucks it out dejectedly, wondering if she ought to just eat it herself. 

To think she'd been so happy making it from scratch, imagining someone real, at last, excited to receive her handmade chocolate. Had she been delusional to think that Mukai was hinting a confession would be welcome? 

Either way, Mika has two options here.

One, just leave right now and bin the chocolate; that way Mukai would never know. Shima would keep the secret for her, she's sure.

Two, give it to Mukai anyway. Maybe she should just march in there right now and present it to him, right under Obuchi-kun's nose. 

She deliberates for a while, but her choice is already made. Mika doesn't want to be sitting on her feelings for the rest of time, squashed down and unresolved like bugs under a rock. It's too sad. And she'd never breathe easy around Mukai again, or laugh genuinely at his silly stiff expression in selfies, and so on. 

Even if Mukai doesn't reciprocate…he's nice enough that he wouldn't publicly humiliate her for it. 

She can take heart in that at least. 

Mind made up, Mika shoulders her school bag with a clammy grip and shoves the chocolate into Shima's hands.

"Here," she chokes out, before she can regret her decision and wrestle it back. "Just…give it to him for me, okay? I want him to have it but–I can't."

"Okay," Shima says gently. "To Mukai, yeah?"

"Yeah," she mumbles. "Not Obuchi-kun, obviously."

This is mortifying beyond description, just like Mika thought it would be. In a completely unexpected way, but still. She nods at Shima and turns to flee down the corridor, making her escape home.

"I'll go now. Thanks. Bye."

Sousuke waits a beat before sliding the door open, casually, like he's just heading back to his desk to grab something he forgot under it.

Both boys inside the classroom startle at the noise, the one Sousuke assumes is Obuchi-kun turning red under his scrutiny. And Mukai has turned his head to chase the sight of Egashira's twin braids flying past the windows and down the corridor, a look of mingled guilt and worry on his face.

Well, well. Sousuke considers the nicely wrapped package in his hands for a long moment. 

Then he extends it to its intended recipient, with carefully studied indifference. 

"Here," he says, "it's for you, Mukai."

"Me?"

He levels his gaze on Mukai, chiding him silently. "Yes," he repeats, "it's for you."

Mukai takes it hesitantly, glancing between himself, Obuchi, and the window in turns. 

Sousuke bites down on an unkind laugh. 

If Obuchi would just leave, he could say it plainly: that unlike all other chocolate he's passed to Mukai on Valentine's Day before now, this isn't an extra off of the largesse that he receives every year, but a specially handmade bit of confectionery. 

Something made with Mukai himself in mind. 

It's from Egashira, after all. 

He's been watching these two dance around each other since the first day he came to school–it's clear by now that they often think of the other. Ever since making up after that eventful gym class back in April, Egashira and Mukai have always had a comfortable sort of ease between them. 

He sees how they relax into each other's presence: Egashira becomes less uptight, and Mukai more sure of expressing himself. Like a safe space, he realises. 

Basically the opposite of the way he and Ririka get wound up when they're together.

It leaves him feeling a little hollow.

Sousuke thinks back to what Egashira said about dating, way back in April. Someone clever, and kind. Mukai does check those boxes, yes. As for the last part, given what he just witnessed, it'll probably take a while before Egashira can feel secure in Mukai's affections again. 

Oh, well. As Mukai would say, it is what it is.

He fishes a random worksheet from under his table and turns to leave, having no desire to stay and chat. Obuchi glances between them, aware of the tension building in the air, yet not wanting to let his previous subject drop completely. Sousuke makes brisk work of leaving, before he says something he shouldn't.

He sends Mukai a Line message right away, keeping it simple.

Your chocolate is from Egashira. 

She went home first.  

To be honest, he also types out 'don't fuck this up'. 

But Sousuke doesn't send it. He doesn't feel qualified to give anyone dating advice–not even someone as desperately in need of it as Mukai.

After the disaster that was Valentine's Day, Mika is in sore need of a pick-me-up. 

She tries to dash all thoughts of it from her brain, but can't help wondering if–or how – Shima did deliver her chocolate. Mika's chosen not to ask, because Mukai has been grave and silent these few days. 

Even…no, especially around Shima.

It doesn't seem like a good sign.

So she asks the girls out, anxious to not be alone at home on the weekend; Mika knows she'd do nothing but mope and eat all the chocolate in the house, wondering if Mukai has sampled hers yet. 

She huffs. 

He'd better have. He'd better be thinking about her as much as she's thinking of him, too. 

Either way, Mika gets her dreamed-of shopping date with friends. Yuzuki is eager, but Makoto takes a bit of convincing from both of them–even today, she's been unwillingly hauled along, she says, but she still turned up early and well groomed on a fine Saturday morning, so. Yuzuki is effortlessly stunning, and she clearly had a hand in picking Makoto's outfit as well, what with the proud way she's smiling. 

Mika glances down at her own ensemble when they gather, suddenly conscious. You chose well, she reassures herself. She's not ruining the picture.

"Clothes only, okay?" Makoto repeats. "No makeup, or you two won't stop going on and on." Yes, yes, Yuzuki sings, already herding Makoto through the store towards a piece that she could be convinced to try on. "Don't worry, we'll have fun."

Mika takes her time, trawling through the selections on offer. Of course she knows what she looks good in, but there's always the urge to try something new, rather than stick to the safe pieces. She doesn't need an entire wardrobe in the same cut and colour. 

Still, where to get some decent advice outside of a fashion magazine?

Mika casts her eyes around, desperately wanting a second opinion that isn't a fawning store assistant's. Her eyes catch on a tall, elegant figure the next aisle over, browsing the cropped blazers with a discerning eye. She saw the lady walk in just now, and…well. Dark hair sharply bobbed, dainty pearl earrings, a blouse cut to offset slightly too-broad shoulders, well tailored pants and those heels; a pale throat, with–

A pair of cautious eyes above them, ones that have caught her staring. 

"H-hello," Mika stammers, so nervous she could die, but very certain that this stranger possesses good fashion advice. She has an intuition for it. "Sorry to bother you, but are you a stylist?"

"…Miss?"

The stranger's face, formerly still and tense, relaxes into a friendly smile. 

"You have a good eye," the lady says, "I am a stylist."

Mika flushes under her regard. "I-if, um, you wouldn't mind terribly," she begins, holding up the blouses she has in hand, "could I get your thoughts on these? I just want a second opinion, and your outfit…you look really nice. I'd, um, appreciateanyadviceyouhave."

"Oh, certainly, for one who asked so nicely!"

The lady crosses over to where Mika is standing, and she can see there's a work pass looped around her neck. Iwakura Naoki, Mika reads, in plain type, under the best taken office headshot she's ever seen.

"You're in high school?"

"Ah, yes," Mika says. "I'm a first year. Thank you very much, Iwakura-san."

"Call me Nao-san," the lady smiles. "You know, my niece was considering high school in Tokyo, though she didn't come in the end." She holds the blouses Mika picked out over her body, one after the other.

"Tsubame West High School, she passed the exam and all! Imagine that."

"Now, what bottoms were you thinking of pairing these with?"

Mika jolts. 

"I'm attending Tsubame West," she says– what a coincidence!  

"And um, I was thinking wide leg jeans? Perhaps a long tiered skirt, too. I have one in cream."

Nao-san hums approvingly. "Well, this and this for sure." She pushes two hangers into Mika's arms. "Go and try them on to be sure of the fit, of course. And–"

She stalks down nearby the discount rack, plucking another out. "I think this would suit you too, young lady." 

Then she checks her elegant little wristwatch. "I do have to go now. It was nice meeting you…"

"Egashira Mika," Mika says, embarrassed that she forgot to introduce herself when Nao-san did. "Thank you again."

"It was nice meeting you, Egashira Mika."

Mika hesitates, gathering one more burst of courage. "Nao-san," she blurts, feeling her face burn, "could I have your Instagram or something? I mean, I'm interested in fashion, and I–you–um–"

Nao-san's face gentles, and she gives Mika a fond, surprised look. "You may," she says, throat bobbing as she swallows. 

She looks rather touched. 

"Here, Mika-chan. My card from work, and I'll write my socials down for you."

Mika takes it from her, smiling gratefully. Nao-san sweeps back to her office, or wherever else she has to be, and Mika makes her way to the changing rooms happily. 

Yuzuki is there, waiting for Makoto to emerge, and she turns to Mika with sparkling eyes. "Who was that lady? Someone you know?"

"Oh, Nao-san?" Mika says. "She's a stylist."

"Since when do you know a stylist?"

"Well," Mika looks down at the business card in her hand, Nao-san's Instagram handle scribbled on the back. "I do now."

Yuzuki smiles and pulls her into a hug–she loves giving her girl friends hugs. Mika has to admit that being hugged regularly does wonders to improve her mood. "So you made another friend, then?"

"Yeah," Mika jokes. "I didn't even have to scream."

"Course you didn't, Mika-chan," Yuzuki says warmly. "That's our thing."

There's the sound of a curtain being pulled back, and they both turn expectantly at the sound of footsteps approaching. However, the person who is just exiting the changing room is not Kurume Makoto. Instead, to Mika's astonishment, out comes Shima Sousuke. 

"Oh? Hello," he says, "Egashira-san. Murashige-san. How are you?"

Fine, she grits, forgetting all about her determination to ignore the chocolate incident. She needs to know, or she won't be able to rest easy. "Shima-kun," Mika says, folding the clothes in her arms nearer, needing to cling to something. "Um, how did it go?"

Shima chews on his bottom lip, face shadowed. He darts a careful glance at Yuzuki–and Makoto, who's just reappeared, then appears to realise they likely already know what's going on. 

"Well." He brings a hand to the back of his neck. "I gave it to Mukai straight away, but–"

"Um, Obuchi wasn't leaving, so I couldn't say who it was from. I texted Mukai to tell him it wasn't random chocolate from me–because I used to give him some when I had too much to bring home–but actually from you, and…that's all."

"I see," Mika says. 

It's a relief to know at last. 

Yuzuki has a hand on her back, warm and bracing, stroking up and down in soothing motions. Oh, Mika, she whispers, probably thinking of the mess they'd made cooking together, the whole kitchen drenched in warm laughs and chocolate spatter. It seems so far away now. 

Makoto presses her shoulder, too, and Mika wants so badly to just curl up in their arms forever; where nothing else can hurt her. 

She doesn't want to be so melodramatic about love, but the way her friends always make it seem safe to just break down in front of them…oh, would you look at that? She's crying already.

Mika sniffs. 

Shima isn't done speaking. 

"Mukai watched you leave through the window, you know," he says kindly, fishing a packet of tissue out of his bag and offering it to her. "Before I passed the chocolate to him. I don't know what Mukai thought after that, but–well. We'll have to give him some time to figure it out. I'm sure he's never given romance a thought in his life! But he's definitely thinking about it seriously."

"It's silly, isn't it," Mika mutters, dabbing at her wet eyes. The cursed things won't stop dripping. 

"I thought he was asking about my Valentine's plans for himself, not another person. I'm the idiot who got my own hopes up."

"It's not."

All three of her friends present say simultaneously.

"How could you have known–"

"That isn't being fair to yourself–"

"How dense is this guy to even–"

Mika picks at the skin on her elbow. "I don't hate him, you know," she says, wanting to make it clear. "Like, really. I didn't even confess properly, so he doesn't have anything to answer, I just…it would be nice."

Everyone's eyes are soft and understanding. It's almost too much. 

"Anyway." Yuzuki claps her hands together sternly. "Go and try on what your stylist friend picked out for you, Mika-chan. And then you can buy what you like, and then…and then…"

"We'll get a huge parfait and share it," Makoto tacks on. "Or ice cream? No chocolate."

"Of course," Shima says wryly. 

It turns out that everything Nao-san okayed fits her beautifully. Mika sweeps off to the cashier, her steps light, already thinking about the sweet promise of sugar. The easiest remedy, indeed. 

"You can tag along, you know," Yuzuki is saying on behalf of them when she returns, because Shima is making eyes at the clock, looking at his phone like it'll blow up any second. "Until you have to leave, that is."

He pauses, considering, and Mika fires her quip.

"Waiting to be summoned by her majesty?"

Shima jumps, startled. 

Then he bursts into laughter. "Oh, that's a good one," he says, "and yes."

Sousuke snaps a photo (I'm sending this for Chris, he says to himself–but you know Ririka, she'll look over his shoulder anyway) of them with their parfait and his, cheesy grins and all. 

Cheers, he types into the group chat. Sugar break while I wait to be summoned.

Ririka responds immediately. Oh, it's my guide.

Chris is massively confused. Since when did you guys have other mutual friends? They both ignore him.

That's Egashira-san. You know her name.

Ten seconds of the "... Ririka is typing…" bubble go by. The group chat remains silent.

He digs into his parfait, slightly in awe of how fast the girls are demolishing theirs. It's good, nice and cold, and the fruit very fresh. 

Sousuke lets his eyes flutter shut as he savours the way it slides down his throat.

His phone dings.

She looks upset, Ririka has written. And then, did that worm Mukai dump her or what?

Oh dear, Sousuke thinks.

Not exactly, he replies. It's complicated.

Complicated how???

You guys are nothing but complicated, Chris says. You know what? Now I want a parfait. 

🍧

🍰

🍨

🍮

🍦

🍹

🍩

🍭

Can you believe there isn't a parfait emoji…….

Fuck off Chris 

NO!!!

Well. 

Sousuke ignores them until he's finished eating. 

"I'll be off now," he says to his classmates as they exit the café. "Thanks for inviting me to join you."

"Bye, Shima-kun." 

Kurume and Murashige twine arms as they go, free hands brushing the creases from each other's skirts. Egashira trails a little way behind, dragging her feet; gaze on the ground.

Sousuke watches her curiously. 

"Egashira-san?"

Egashira looks up and squares her shoulders. "Oh, it's nothing," she says with a distracted air, like Mukai when he's thinking hard, trying to compute an idea. 

Her eyes flick left, then right. 

"I'm just–headed to the station, I think."

"I think we're headed the same way," Sousuke says, connecting some dots. Specifically the dots of the railway route between Mukai, Egashira, and Ririka's neighbourhoods. "Let's walk together."

Egashira stiffens up a bit, but accepts the offer. They walk mostly in silence, apart from Egashira asking after Ririka's health; or Sousuke's comments on how strange it is that she's never properly met Chris yet. 

(She gets off at the station nearest to Mukai's place, as he thought–with an extra grimace in his direction. 

Sousuke smiles and waves cheerily, mouthing 'good luck' through the window. 

Realistically speaking, those two will probably be dating by Monday.)

Mukai is still rewinding Valentine's Day in his mind, like a broken reel. 

There's a persistent feeling that he's screwed up big time, too badly to come back from, but Sousuke and Egashira are too polite to say it to his face. They've been nodding silent greetings at each other and not much else for a few days, and Mukai's actually glad to see the weekend arrive if it'll spare him from their indecipherable glances. 

Ever since he realised that Egashira might return his feelings, it's like he can't do anything right. Mukai's been caught daydreaming in class, forgetting to turn up for astronomy club, and raising his spoon to his cheek instead of his mouth at lunch. 

It turns out being in love is embarrassing as fuck. 

The way Mukai is literally on the verge of asking his parents for dating advice, because his best friend Shima Sousuke doesn't have the requisite emotional chops to steer him through this–it's mortifying, truly. This, on top of being so blown away when he read Sousuke's Line message, saying the chocolate was from Egashira, that his brain actually whited out for a moment. Then a rush of disbelief, and desperation to get Obuchi out of the room, in order for Mukai to sit down and process that bombshell. 

Chocolate from Egashira Mika, just like the seniors from the basketball club were saying he'd angled for unintentionally. If Sousuke hadn't told him, it wouldn't even look any different from all the extra chocolate Mukai's had pawned off on him over the years, since even the so-called obligatory chocolates Sousuke receives from girls are a cut above the rest. 

Mukai sat alone in that darkening classroom, holding the first honmei chocolate of his life in his hands. For a long time, he simply stared at its glossy wrapping, dumbfounded. 

Egashira Mika…liked him? 

Egashira Mika…was planning to confess to him?

Unbelievable. 

To be honest, Mukai originally persisted in thinking Egashira only gave him chocolate because he asked if she had Valentine's Day plans. To be polite. When he got home that day and really looked at his present from her, however, there was no denying it: this was honmei to a tee. To him, it looks like something out of a magazine advertisement. It's carefully handmade, exquisitely wrapped (gift bag, box, paper and ribbon), plus there's a little paper tag with his name written on it in elegant script. 

His full name, incidentally. Mukai traces the kanji with one finger, imagining her saying it. Tsukasa. 

Even that makes him feel shy. He hasn't even tested saying her first name yet, just dwelled on how she was waiting for him outside the classroom that day; only he was being a massive idiot talking to Obuchi and didn't come out and bump into her and go home with her and get confessed to by her. Instead he got his chocolate by proxy from a sharp-eyed Sousuke and Egashira probably went home alone with tears building in her eyes. He feels like an utter cad. 

Who on earth is Mukai trying to fool? 

Nothing about this whole situation is 'obligatory'. He may as well stop lying to himself and face the facts. He likes Egashira, and she (hopefully still) likes him back. There's no other conclusion to wrangle from this. Now to just make his feelings clear. Still, that's easier said than done. 

In the end, Mukai talks to his mother. 

At any rate, she's been dying to get the story out of him since he returned home with a hangdog look on Valentine's Day, chocolate in hand, and promptly shut himself in his room. 

On Friday, when school lets out, Mukai goes straight home and sits himself down on the kitchen floor, right next to where his mother is shelling peas at the table. His mother raises a brow at him, heavy and dark like his own. "Yes, Tsukasa?" 

Mukai takes a deep breath. "I need some help."

"Help with what?"

"Girls," he says. His mother hums, picking up a new pod and peeling the skin back. She shakes the round green peas out into her basket, glancing at the fridge as she does. Half of Egashira's honmei chocolate is still in there–she gave him two hearts, and he's eaten one but is saving the other piece–it doesn't feel right to finish it before he properly responds or something. 

"Is this about that chocolate you brought back with you on Valentine's Day?" 

"Yeah. Kind of." He lets his bag drop to the floor with a sigh and leans back, bracing his palms against the cool tile. "It's from her."

"Who, Tsukasa?"

"Egashira-san," Mukai says. "You know, the girl who takes those photos with me."

"Oh!" his mother says, leaning forward with interest. "So that's her name. Well, she gave you chocolate, so what's the problem? Isn't it a good thing?" 

"That's the part I need help with." Mukai bites his lip, hesitating. It sounds so silly when he lays it all out.

"See, someone from one of my clubs has a crush on Egashira. And he knew I was friends with her, so he asked me to ask her if she was doing anything on Valentine's Day."

"...and then?"

"And then between that time and Valentine's Day, I realised that I liked Egashira. And then she gave me chocolate. But…well, she's upset with me. Because I asked about her Valentine's plans, she thought I liked her. But she found out it was the other guy, not me, who really wanted to ask her that. So, um, now she thinks I don't like her back?"

His mother blinks rapidly. "This is all very confusing," she says, putting the pea basket aside and steepling her fingers. "Does she care about this other guy? Did you two break up?"

"No," Mukai says, dying inside as he absorbs that his relationship drama is harder to follow than that of a TV soap. "We weren't dating in the first place." 

He gets a look of patent disbelief for that. 

"Really, mum. We weren't. Aren't. I don't know."

His mother rolls up the newspaper she was using as a makeshift placemat and whaps him on the head. 

"Let's make it simple, Tsukasa. What's the heart of the issue here? What do you want?"

"Uh, I want Egashira to know that I like her for real," he sounds out slowly. "But I don't really know how to do that."

"How?" His mother, with palpable incredulity, adjusts her grip on the rolled up paper. " How? You open your mouth and use words, that's how."

Mukai gapes. 

"You make it sound easy!" He protests, wriggling out of reach so she can't get him with the paper again. 

"Three sentences, Tsukasa. First, thank you for your thoughtful gift of handmade chocolate. Second, I'm sorry it took me so long to reply but I have something important to say. Third, I like you; so please go out with me. Like that."

Mukai buries his head in his hands.

Easy for her to say. But him? Not a chance. 

His mother walks over and prods him in the side with her slipper, ignoring his groan of misery. "Get up off the floor, dear."

"You can help me with the peas," she says, when he finally hauls himself to his feet. "No video games for today, hmm? I can see that they've rotted your brain badly enough." 

Mukai winces at the jab. His mother looks him over, brow furrowed. 

"Or would you like to just call Egashira-san now and get that reply out of the way?"

"No thanks," Mukai says hastily. "I'll do it when I see her at school. I promise." 

"Well," his mother says, gently pushing him into her seat at the table and nudging the basket of peas in front of him. "You'd better." 

Mika considers the current situation from Mukai's point of view as she eats her share of parfait. 

Or tries to, anyway. The mental image she's getting is this: ten versions of her in a trench coat gathered round a table, bickering hotly over what they know and what they don't. Roughly, Mukai has a girl ( one girl) he's friends with (her). One day, one of his other friends (Obuchi-kun) expresses interest in pursuing said girl. How does a guy feel about that? 

The answer, Mika knows, is always 'it depends'. 

Maybe he's enthusiastic to help, if he thinks the girl and his other friend suit each other. Maybe he's a tad reluctant, wondering if he should interfere in another person's love life. Maybe he has feelings for the girl but doesn't even realise until faced with the very real prospect of her going out with someone else. Maybe maybe maybe. 

Either way, she really should talk to Mukai, huh?

She wants to know the truth of his heart; if there's a space for her set aside in it. Mika wonders if knowing will be bitter, or perhaps salty with tears. 

Or it could be sweet, like this jumbo fruit parfait. Mika digs out a generous spoonful from the side, humming around her bite of ice cream and cubed fruit. 

It's literally been years since she ate a dessert of this sort, café ordered and so high in calories that she'd sooner take a picture and throw it out than eat it for real. Far better to have friends who eat without self consciousness, so she won't have to regret wasting either food or the effort put into her figure. 

Personally, Mika thinks having to stick a finger down the back of her throat would be going too far. But she doesn't know if she'll ever be driven to it, does she? Wanting another distraction, Mika opens Instagram and searches for Nao-san's handle. The page is laid out as nicely as she expected, sort of a mix between portfolio and personal posts; magazine covers and studio behind-the-scenes shots adjacent to flatlays of several different brunch spreads. But there are no pictures of Nao-san herself, except for one very old baby photo; her swaddled in a faded blue blanket in the arms of an older brother. Mika swipes when she sees the 'multiple picture' icon at the top corner. The next image is a different baby, with the same blue blanket laid under her squirming limbs. 

The caption reads Me & Mitsumi. The niece Nao-san mentioned, Mika guesses. Iwakura Mitsumi, who in another world might have been her classmate. She wonders just where in the country Nao-san moved to Tokyo from, which the view out the window in those baby photos depicts; how old she was, or how alone she was. 

It was probably scary. 

But Nao-san did it anyway, and look at her now.  

Similarly, if Mika wants the status quo with Mukai to change, then she must initiate action. Turning up on his doorstep would be a bold move, wouldn't it? But Mika will have to ask Shima for the address, and she isn't quite ready to. On the other hand, if she doesn't have Mukai's address, then she will have to call him and ask him to come get her from the station, which would ruin the surprise. 

The others stand to leave the parfait place. Mika still hasn't decided if she ought to go to Mukai now or let it rest till Monday, when they'll both be in a hopefully clearer state of mind.

It's Shima who decides for her, in the end. 

He offers to see her to the train station, and then he actually boards the same line as her, even heading the same way. Mika experiences a flutter of panic as they get further away from the point they boarded, knowing she'll have to make up her mind soon or go home uneasily, with a bunch of regrets. Shima has fished a crumpled surgical mask from his pocket and donned it, like she saw at the summer festival they attended. 

With his mouth covered, Shima's eyes seem larger and keener. Watching him watch her watch the train route–which is lit up on the overhead display–nearing Mukai's stop inch by inch, Mika becomes resolved. 

She wants to see Mukai. 

She can. Therefore, she should just do it. 

Shima waves cheekily when Mika alights at Mukai's stop, just like they both knew she would. He even pulls his mask down to say good luck, of all things, through the window as she nods goodbye. 

Anyway, Mika doesn't dwell on it too much. 

She's already striding halfway up the escalator and pulling out her phone, finger hovering over the call button on Mukai's contact profile. Someone jostles her elbow as they pass. As she flounders to save her phone from falling, all of a sudden there's Mukai's voice (H-hello?) blaring out on speakerphone, giving her the fright of her life. 

Mika scampers into the nearest patch of greenery by the exit she's at, tense down to her last cell. 

"Hi," she breathes nervously down the line. 

"It's me."

Mukai promised he would talk to Egashira at school, which means Monday. But he wakes earlier than usual on Saturday morning, already itching to seek her out. He spends a restless day at home, helping his mother with sundry chores until mid afternoon, trying to distract himself. 

The image of Egashira–her leaving karaoke, her at the summer festival in yukata, her walking a dog, her at a shrine for New Year's, her in a photo with him–burns against the back of his eyelids.

Mukai looks at the clock. 

The hands crawl slowly, mocking him. There are still so many hours until Monday. 

He's flopped down on the sofa with an ice pop when his phone starts to buzz. It's Egashira, calling him on Line. 

"H-hello?" 

He nearly drops the fucking phone. 

"Hi," she says. "It's me. Are you at home right now?"

Mukai's nerves launch him to his feet, all the words his mother told him to practise saying flying clear out of his head. "I am," he says. "Uh, why?" 

Egashira clears her throat, sounding just as nervous as he feels. "I'm at the train station. Your stop." 

"My stop?" 

Mukai is blank. Blank. "What are you…"

"I think we should talk, Mukai," Egashira says plainly. "I didn't want to wait until Monday. Can I come over?"

Oh.

There's something stuck in the back of his throat. He hacks and hacks, but it won't dislodge itself. Mukai? Mukai? Someone's calling him, he dimly registers. The phantom blockage dissolves, finally giving him air, and he gulps in a deep breath.

"Mukai? Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Mukai drops the ice pop to scrub a hand over his face, focusing on the sensation to ground himself. "We were thinking the same thing. I, uh, wanted to talk too. Before Monday." 

A brief silence ensues.

"You could have called me," Egashira says. 

Mukai makes a sound of agreement. "I might have if you hadn't," he says truthfully, gentling his tone. "I've been antsy bout it since I woke up. Sorry."

Egashira's voice becomes less tense, too. "Don't be sorry, come get me from the station." 

"Coming, coming," Mukai promises. He cuts the call, suddenly aware that he's in a sweat-stained old shirt and track pants. He scrabbles for a jacket and scarf, nearly forgetting that the half eaten ice pop he dropped on the carpet is still there; a sad, congealed mess by now. "Oh, shit." In his haste to salvage the carpet, he lunges for the paper towels, and promptly barks his shin on the hard edge of the coffee table. Mukai goes down hissing a litany of curses under his breath.

The noise draws his mother into the living room. 

She shuffles past the sofa grumpily, roused from her short afternoon nap, a cartoon eye mask scrunched atop her bed head. 

Mukai stares, astonished. "Mum?"

"Tsukasa," she mutters, "what's the racket?"

"Eh," he groans, clutching at his left leg. "I've ruined the carpet. And hit myself. But I have to, uh, go out for a bit now. So can I, um, clean it up later?"

His mother steps carefully around the melted ice pop and surveys him, eyes bleary. "You look like a mess," she yawns pointedly. "Going out to see Egashira-san looking like that?" 

"I–well, there's no time," he explains. "She's already waiting at the station, mum, I gotta go–"

The next thing Mukai knows, he's shoved out into the cold with a coat and scarf piled over one shoulder. 

"Here," his mother says, popping the half-finished bit of Valentine's chocolate into his hands. "Take this too and eat it with her, it's been sitting in the fridge long enough." 

Then she closes the door in his face. 

Mukai stands there a minute longer, a little stunned at the speed at which he was ejected into the cold. The auto door lock whizzes and twinkles its merry tune, followed by the echoing click of the bolt sliding home. His phone starts to buzz again, and he jolts, remembering why he's in a hurry. 

Egashira's waiting. 

"I'm coming," he gasps into the receiver as he turns and begins to run, slinging his coat on haphazardly. "Hold on." 

After the call cuts, Mika stays behind the shrubbery. 

She crouches, in fact, like some lurker desperate for a cigarette, behind the bushes as she waits, taking measured breaths to calm herself–because now is not the time to be hyperventilating in public. Though fifteen minutes pass with no sign of Mukai, so she calls him once more and he picks up completely out of breath. Is he running?

Mika frowns, uncertain how far from the station his house is. When she stands, she can just about see the rooftops of sprawling bungalows like Yuzuki's in the middle distance. They squat in the company of several gated apartment complexes, towers of steel and glass rising out of the ground. 

It's so different from her own neighbourhood. She feels kind of small. 

The lactic acid buildup is burning through her thighs, so Mika rises from her crouch and begins to walk it off. Slowly, flexing one ankle at a time, she makes a circuit of the carefully pruned bush–some variety of evergreen with no flowers this time of year. When she cranes her neck she spots Mukai, coming up the path towards the station, walking fast in mismatched sweats. Over those, there's an unbuttoned coat and a scarf practically falling off his neck. 

It's the least put together she's ever seen him. 

He's also favouring his right leg a little, she notices.

Mukai flops down on a bench when he reaches the outskirts of the station, wheezing to catch his breath. He looks around, not seeing her yet, and reaches for his phone. 

Mika sucks in a deep breath and steps round into his line of sight. "Hello," she says, startling him. 

"Hey," Mukai pants, "there you are–"

Seeing him so out of breath, she's convinced. 

He must actually care if he ran so as not to keep her waiting, right? Mika didn't mean to, but she's already smiling his way. 

Egashira's smile is really something, Mukai reflects, as he sits there completely winded. 

Sprinting to the station took more out of him than the whole of Sports Day, to be honest. He has to make a concerted effort to wrestle his breath under control as she steps in, barely within the circle of his reach; in the way that tells people trudging through the winter slush on the streets that they know each other, these two pink-cheeked young people on the verge of spring. Her smile is a little fleck of summer, warming him from the inside.

Mukai breaks the silence first. 

It's not just simple courtesy. Egashira initiated the meeting, but they both know what's on the agenda, and it sure isn't blushing at each other without a word for the rest of the afternoon.

"Um. If you giving me chocolate on Valentine's was a confession, then I'd like to answer. Those feelings." 

Egashira shuffles her feet. Standing with both hands behind her back, she looks like a student being told off rather than confessed to. Mukai wonders, dimly, if he's doing something wrong without knowing again. Perhaps she didn't mean to get an answer, since she didn't explicitly ask him anything. He hastily opens his mouth again. "Oh, I mean, if you don't want me to say anything, that's fine too! Just, err, let me know." 

"Ah, that's not it," Egashira says, cheeks pinking. "I did make the chocolate for you with a confession in mind. I'd appreciate an answer, although–" 

"Okay.” Mukai breathes out a relieved sigh. “I can answer.”

But Egashira's not done talking. She starts to pace in front of him, biting her lip; Mukai waits until she stops and turns to him again.

"I'm a bit scared to put a label on it, I mean."

He thinks he knows what Egashira means. Giving it a name makes it real; saying it makes it real; making it real means it can be spoiled, broken or tarnished. It's terrifying, actually, since real feelings are involved.

The agony of the past few days has taught him that perhaps just knowing his feelings are requited might be enough. It's been a balm on his heart to get just one call from Egashira today, to hear her familiar voice speaking to him like usual; to have his mother tease him about going out to see her, even.

"And you, Mukai?"

He scratches the back of his neck, wondering how to navigate this. "Uh, I get what you're saying, I think. About being…a little scared to label us? I don't want to lose you as a friend, either, if this goes south." 

"Me neither," Egashira says, scuffing the heel of her boot on the ground. "I don't know which is worse–to not start at all or have it end one day." 

Mukai has already considered that. 

"I think I'd regret it more if we didn't do anything just because we were afraid of it ending," he says, trying to gauge her reaction and, failing that, leaving the proverbial door wide open. 

"But we are still young, so we have time to, uh, figure things out between us."

Egashira slants a look at him. "Feelings change all the time," she says. "We're nearly second years. We don't–I mean–we shouldn't wait too long." 

Put like that, is there even a reason to wait? People jibe all the time about dating detracting from studying time, but Mukai is a person who has managed three extracurriculars on top of maintaining decent grades thus far. Time management is most definitely not an impediment. If both of them are certain, then–

"We don't," Mukai agrees. 

Egashira steps a little closer. "We don't?"

"Besides," he says, shifting in his seat, "I did practise how to confess properly. Shall I just…?"

"Practise?" Egashira wrinkles her brow, as if trying to picture it and failing. "With Shima-kun?" 

"With my mum," Mukai grits out. 

"Ah?" 

Egashira is still standing, and his neck is starting to hurt from fixing his gaze on her. Then again, she's so much shorter, this might be what looking up at his face is like for her all the time–perhaps minus the shades of timidity and awe. Just the crick in the neck.

He swallows the saliva building in his throat. 

"Okay," she says, "okay. I'd like to hear it from you."

"Err," Mukai dithers, not having expected to recite the words to Egashira's face, truly; until now, faced with the inevitable moment. But she's staring at him so sweetly, even though he basically iced her out for the better part of the past week, while trying to process all his feelings. Mukai doesn't quite have it in him to disappoint her further. 

"Okay," he mumbles, standing and dusting his pants off. "Uh, here goes."

Egashira shifts expectantly, eyes wide. He gingerly takes her sleeve between his fingers, as she has so often done to him, for courage. It works.

"Firstly," he bends into a bow, "thank you very much for your gift of homemade chocolate." 

"You're very welcome," Egashira says. 

"Secondly," Mukai straightens up, "I am sorry it took me so long to reply–but I have something important to say to you. Will you hear me out, Egashira?"

"I will."

"Uh, well. I like you, Egashira." His face is on fire. "If we feel the same way, would you please go out with me?"

They're just words, really. 

No pressure. But saying the phrase 'I like you' aloud removes him from all pretence of detachment. Mukai sinks back down into his seat, tugging Egashira's sleeve with him as he goes. "We–we can take it slow," he stammers. "But this is to make it clear I like you. I really, really like you. Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea about that." 

Egashira puts both hands over her face and makes a strangled noise. Mukai obligingly raises his arm, not wanting to relinquish his hold on her just yet.

"Thank you for telling me this," she says in a small voice, face flushed. "It means a lot to me."

"So are we…?"

"Taking it slow?" Egashira draws her hands down to cup her cheeks, smile widening. "Yeah, sure. Let's do that, Mukai." 

"Phew," he says dryly, dabbing sweat from his upper lip; all to watch, with immense satisfaction, as she erupts into a ringing peal of laughter. 

Mika sits down beside Mukai. Between them, there's no need to mince words, is there?

"Also, I think you should take me to your house." 

"Didn't we just agree to take it slow?!"  

"Yes," Mika says earnestly, turning to face him fully. "But I ought to go over and greet your mum, at least! She's already seen my pictures. You even said she praised my Christmas outfit. That's–that's big."

Mukai doubles over, going green. "Uhh, I should just tell you now. Mum thought we were dating since the summer festival–no, since the bus tickets." 

"Oh?" Mika mentally rewinds to June of last year, the first time she and Mukai left school together. 

"That's a pretty long time." 

"Yeah," Mukai says. "Sorry. I didn't have the guts to correct her. She told my dad before I could even do anything." 

Mika waits, she knows there's more. But she puts a hand on Mukai's, too, giving him a gentle pat. "And?"

"And I kind of liked that someone thought that about us? Even if it was, you know, my own parents." 

Mukai is blushing freely by now, and even though the foot traffic from the station is picking up; he doesn't once try to hide his face. Mika decides that she can afford to be a little more bold. "I really like that part of you, actually," she confesses, looking as far into the distance as possible. "As in, how you seem so dense yet perceptive at the same time. The gap…it's cute." 

There's movement in her peripheral vision. 

It's Mukai, scrubbing a free hand over his face (the other stays right where it is, beneath her own; until he flips it over to lace his fingers through hers). 

Mika goes crimson, heart thudding wildly against her ribcage. The most embarrassing part about holding hands is how much she doesn't want to let go. 

"Okay, I was a bit dumb about my feelings for you," Mukai admits. "But how was I supposed to know this stuff? Of course, with hindsight, I can say I've liked you for a while," he continues, "since this isn't new. Like, butterflies and stuff when we're together." 

"Enough," Mika says, swatting him lightly. "My face is going to explode." 

Mukai opens his mouth reflexively. She elbows him in the side before he says anything mood-ruining. 

"Uh uh. Just let me use the hyperbole, Mukai." 

He relents with a theatrical grumble, and they sit in silence for a while, enjoying the whistle of the wind through the streets; huddled on a bench like they did in fall, at the Cultural Festival. Just as before, Mukai is warm and solid next to her. Mika is almost tempted to tip her head onto his shoulder and just snuggle in.

"I'll do something for you on White Day," Mukai says, "so come over for dinner then." 

"Okay," Mika whispers, squeezing his hand tight. It's warm and lightly calloused, and she can see how it's a shade darker than her own. The sensation is new; she can't quite get enough of feeling his skin against hers like this, even with an increasingly sweaty palm. 

"You'll be cooking? For me?" 

"Yeah." 

Mukai is looking down at their hands, too, red to the tips of his ears. "I wanted to, uh, make the return gift something homemade, too." 

"That's sweet," Mika says. 

Then he produces one of her Valentine's chocolate hearts out of a squashed box in his pocket and offers her a bite. She nearly falls off the bench in hysterics, giggling as she thinks of the absolute whirlwind she and Mukai have been through in the time between her making the treats and now. 

From fresh out the oven, days past, to here, cupped in her palm against the cold and gone slightly stale. Her jaw aches as she chews, but it's good. 

No bitter, all sweet. 

Of course he catches her staring. "Closure," Mukai quips around his own mouthful, "you know, I couldn't bring myself to eat it all before responding in some way. Ha ha." 

"Silly," Mika mutters back, but there's already tears in her eyes to give her away. 

"I like you too, Egashira," Mukai returns. They finish eating in comfortable silence. 

And then, since it's basically their call and response by now, Mika tugs him to his feet and says: walk me home. 

Chapter Text

Mukai dithers for a long time over whether he should be making an announcement on his new relationship status to anyone. 

His parents certainly don't require one to figure it out, even though they pretty much demand it of him, anyway. 

"Well?" 

His mother pounces the moment he gets back home that day. He steps off cloud nine into the living room and stops short at the sight of his parents, lying in wait for him on the sofa.

"How did it go, Tsukasa?" 

Can't they tell? He's pretty sure his face is still pink, as it was when he last checked on the way home. It's been stuck this way since he said goodbye and left Egashira on her doorstep, reluctantly pulling his hand from her grasp; alone in the day once again. Mukai peels his coat off slowly, rolling the words on his tongue. But he's beaten to the jump.

"Our boy was out for a while, wasn't he?" 

His father has an arm around his mother's shoulders, twirling the ends of her hair in circles. "It doesn't take that long to walk to the station and back. He probably sent his friend home." 

Yeah, his friend. 

His…girlfriend? Not yet, not quite? It's all making his head start to spin.

His mother smiles and pats the cushion next to her. "Come here and sit, Tsukasa," she says, "but really, did you two work it out?" 

Mukai nods, flushed to the roots of his hair. 

"We're all good. You can, um, congratulate me now," he mumbles, feeling the burn on his cheeks; the tips of his ears too. "I screwed up and she still likes me. It's mutual. I can't believe it, mum."

"Oh, thank goodness." 

They fold him into a hug, of course. Both of them. He hooks his chin over his dad's shoulder and lets them trap his arms around his middle, sinking happily into the warmth of the embrace. It has been a while since he last hugged his parents like this. There's a wild sort of glee in his breast, and he wants to scream a little – it's that kind of happiness: raw and unrefined. Perhaps, even, a little childlike? And his parents definitely pick up on it, because they spend the rest of the day (indeed, the rest of the week) looking him over with proprietary fondness; the way they used to when he was very young and liable to bumble his way into accidents around the house. 

(It makes him feel a little strange; being nearly seventeen and regarded like that, but it's fine.

Really.)

Sousuke has a similar sort of gleam in his eye when they return to school on Monday. 

“Good morning!” Sousuke chirps as he slopes up to Mukai's desk with a sunny smile, five minutes before the first bell. That is, suspiciously, cutting it less close than usual – Sousuke typically makes it with five seconds to go. “Ah, right.”

That earns him a pointed sidelong look. “Yes? Good morning.”

Sousuke lowers his voice, but his eyes are magpie-bright. “Hope you had a good weekend, Mukai.”

Mukai chooses to stay silent. Well, mostly. “Uh.”

“It went all right, huh? You and…”

“Mmm,” Mukai hedges, embarrassed. Egashira is literally sitting right there, two rows in front of him. Kurume’s seat is right next to his. What the hell is Sousuke playing at? “I don't know. I did think about it–like, am I really supposed to make an announcement to my closest friends and family about–uh–”

Another involuntary glance across the room stops his tongue. 

Egashira has had her head down, buried in her English vocabulary notebook, since he stepped into homeroom this morning; but she’s up and moving now. Going over, ostensibly, to pass Murashige a reference book. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail today, though she's hiding behind her fringe quite well. Mukai can feel the itch of her gaze on him in small snatches, darting out when he's turned away. He makes a great effort to not whip his head around when Sousuke clocks it and laughs. 

Still, he does angle his gaze (subtly, subtly) to meet her eye. Her cheeks are pink. 

“Yeah, see,” Sousuke chimes in. “She was definitely interrogated too. You can tell.” 

Mukai blinks. 

“By whom? She hasn't spoken to the other girls since she...”

Ah. He catches himself a second too late; Sousuke smiles like a lazy cat. “You've been watching.”

“Well,” he says mulishly. “So what about it?”

“So probably her parents noticed something, too.”

Mukai can't help it, he does a huge double take. Of course it's probable, given his own experience with parents. Just – it’s a little jarring, he supposes, to realise that he’s going to be evaluated as The Boyfriend in their eyes. And he doesn't know what Egashira's parents are like. What her family is like. What she's like around her family. Whether they're easy going or curious or uninterested or too interested…and just like that, his thoughts start flipping through all the what-ifs that exist. 

Sousuke snaps his fingers, a little snarkily. “Earth to Mukai?”

Mukai takes the reprieve with a grunt. Sousuke, he believes, knows when to be subtle. 

Especially around others, who have never in their lives seen Sousuke as anything but a laid back, effortlessly cool peer; it would ruin that image to be caught enthusiastically grilling another guy about his love life. 

Or would it? 

Mukai narrows his eyes at Sousuke, who finally shuffles off as homeroom begins. This is kind of uncharted territory with Sousuke – Really? Coming over specifically to tease him about a girl? – and he can’t confidently say he likes his chances. Leaning back in his seat, Mukai lets the background noise wash over him. Above the clatter of fellow students returning to their seats, there’s announcements from the student council about the end of term cleaning schedule. Reminders to get their report cards signed by a parent or guardian. Lists being passed around for those who want access to the library and assorted club rooms during the spring break. 

Today, they have gym first thing in the morning. 

It makes Mukai think back to last April, the start of first year; the one and only time he unglued himself from Sousuke during P.E, to pair up with Egashira Mika – not that they’ve had a chance to repeat that, since their gym teacher took a hint from all the infirmary visits that day and decided maybe staying away from close-quarter mixed relay running would be better for everyone – and that brings him to the scar he left on Egashira’s temple. Not really what people mean when they say ‘make a mark’, do they.

Even without conscious effort, his gaze drifts in her direction. When he's bored in class, body listing to the side, unable to sit up straight any longer, Mukai often finds himself staring blankly at the back of her head. Not out the window, no, or at some speck of dust floating through a sunbeam. At Egashira. 

Like now.

He locks onto the end of that ponytail, curling ends aglow in the morning sun. 

She’s got a loose strand of hair on the back of her cardigan. When she stands to gather her gym clothes (again – that green tracksuit – and he remembers the musty storeroom; the interminable walk to the nurse; her white fingers pinched around his sleeve) it shakes loose and drifts, silently, to the floor.

When Mukai next looks up, everyone is gone. 

Well, except Sousuke, who’s seized his chance as the class gets up to move into first period P.E, dragging his feet until they're the last two stragglers in an emptied room. The doors click shut, and Sousuke abandons all pretence of getting ready to change. Gym gear piled in his arms, he plops down by Mukai’s seat and leans forward.

“Well?” he says excitedly.

Mukai scoffs and raises his eyes to the ceiling. Who'd have thought he'd ever see Sousuke, currently making the most obnoxious face ever, like this? Acting bright-eyed and bushy-tailed over some common gossip; he's even steepling his hands under his chin. It's grossly unnerving. 

“Oh, come on,” Sousuke cajoles. “You knew this was coming. Just tell me already!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Mukai grumbles, shucking his uniform off to block Sousuke out. The weather’s chilly enough that they don’t have to strip completely, just change the uniform over their undershirts for the gym t-shirt and jacket. “And I've never grilled you about your gi–”

He stops himself in the nick of time. Barely. Sousuke has already scented blood. 

Mukai makes a show of focusing on switching his pants out, all the better to have a reason not to make eye contact. He's anxious to leave and, perhaps, go have a little moment with his maybe-girlfriend before P.E. 

“Just. Shut up about this and get changed.” 

His voice definitely tips higher on the end of that sentence, like a question (like a plea). Well, Sousuke graciously complies, so that’s that. 

For now.

"You look a little red, Mika," her mother says over the breakfast table, leaning forward to look more closely. "Are you running a fever this morning?" 

"No," Mika says, pinking even further. 

Her mother blinks, taking the fresh burst of colour in, then returns to her bowl of rice and nori, chopsticks clicking evenly. She nudges the miso closer to Mika's place setting, smoothing a stray wisp of hair from her temple as she does. Steam curls gently into the air. 

"I see. That's good, dear." 

It's delivered lightly, in an almost chiding manner: is there something you aren't telling me, young lady?

Mika finishes chewing and swallowing her last bite of food very thoroughly, then clears her throat. "I had–I mean, I have someone I like."

She hadn't realised how little she's shared with her mother about Mukai, until faced with all the stories of Mukai's mother cooing over their selfies and saying nice things about her outfit coordination, right to her own son's face. Mika hasn't shared much about school, actually, since she became the butt of other kids' fat jokes and then decided to fight her way out of that box. Just the light parts, the fun and happy anecdotes; things which won't make her mother concerned for her. 

Not that her moments with Mukai are anything bad. Though it seems she's been hoarding them a little, like a dragon with her gold. 

Thinking back, the only time Mika spoke about Mukai at home was just after the summer festival–she didn't even say anything about their picture together, simply that a classmate she met by chance offered to walk her home since it was late and he lived closest to her out of the rest. 

Here, now, her mother leaning over the table with a kind smile, might be the right time to finally share.

"Here," Mika flicks through her photo album until she finds it. "This is, um, us together. If you remember…" 

"Remember?" 

"He's the classmate who walked me back after the summer festival," Mika says, feeling ridiculously shy as her mother has a first look at the few pictures she's taken with Mukai, through this year and the last. "You got me to pass him a thank you gift for his famiy, remember? I didn't ask how they liked them but it was probably fine–um–" 

Her mother says, "he looks kind, Mika."

"Oh. Um, yes. He is." 

"Are you dating, then?" 

No. Mika mumbles, a little embarrassed to say she was afraid of putting that name on it. "We just, well, we know that we like each other? And w-we wouldn't go dating other people, so…sort of…dating."

The worry builds and melts off her mother's face in a matter of seconds. Now she looks gently amused. 

"All right, dear. I hope it all goes well." 

"Oh, yes," Mika says.

She's rambling now, flustered. "I mean, we're going into second year, so we'll be changing classes. And then third year and entrance exams will be here before we know it, won't they? I don't want to worry about too many things at once." She links her hands under her chin and sighs, breakfast quite forgotten. 

But I also really want it to work.

Mika sits with that last bit for while. It's not as if one's first relationship will last forever...is that even healthy? But the idea of it is so charming, isn't it, imagining themselves, twenty years from now, occupying the same spots as their parents; though she can barely imagine a pet cat, let alone a child of her own.

She gets so lost stewing in these thoughts that her mother has to remind her it's getting late.

Face hot, Mika dashes from the table with a hasty apology for abandoning breakfast, half-walking and half-running out the door.

Her mother, very kindly, doesn't mention it.

The sting in her cheeks stays with her all the way through the commute to school.

She keeps her head down as she slips into the classroom, even though Mukai is never earlier than her and thus, there is virtually no risk of bumping into him before she collects herself. 

She sinks into her seat with a relieved sigh.

But as the minutes tick by, her own neatly-inked characters swimming on the page of whatever random notebook she has open, Mika finds to her horror that she hasn’t regained her composure at all. Even worse, she’s dying to look at Mukai and make eye contact, or something; the blubbering mass in her chest isn’t clear on what will quiet it. 

And then– Shima Sousuke’s arrival, somewhat earlier than usual, cuts through the classroom buzz.

Mika stands, acutely aware that Shima saunters right to Mukai’s side, and stumbles over to Yuzuki’s table with a weak ‘good morning’; the most frazzled any of her classmates have ever seen her.

She hopes a little distance will calm her; their seats are too close for her heart not to race. And moving is, of course, a handy excuse to steal a glance at him without people realising there’s special meaning to it. 

(It works. It works! Shima keeps his back conveniently turned, and when Mukai tilts his head just so–)

But locking eyes with him like this is too much; it’s instinctive to whip her face back down to the safety of her notebook, which Mika belatedly realises is still clutched in her hand. She wordlessly shoves it in Yuzuki’s direction, too embarrassed to speak. Yuzuki, kind as she is, doesn’t ask any questions; just smiles a warm smile and asks Mika if she’s had her breakfast. 

Pressing a discreet palm to her face only makes her more convinced she’s burning up. She doesn’t like this one bit, feeling so out of control.

The moment homeroom ends, Mika leaps to her feet. There’s an awkward pause when she goes to look back at Makoto, to check how ready she is to go, then remembers that Makoto sits next to Mukai and freezes; she’s never had to overthink this before. I mean, she tells herself, he’s been in that seat since after Summer break, which was months ago. Catching a stray glance here and there has been normal.

So she steels herself and turns brightly – all for that tension to fizzle to nothing, in the end, since Mukai has his eyes fixed on the floor. 

Somehow, that feels disappointing. 

Mika doesn’t mean to mope, but she finds herself dragging her feet as she trails behind Yuzu and Mako in the corridors. “You guys go ahead,” she says as they exit the changing room. A glance up and down the corridor reveals the presence of several other classmates of theirs, but no Mukai, or even Shima-kun. How strange.

She's dragging her feet past the vending machines when someone gently snags her by the elbow, and her neck snaps up to clock their identity.

“Hey,” Mukai says, as he pants lightly, barely out of breath. “Glad I caught up to you.”

Mika is beaming already. 

“I was waiting,” she admits. Her face has gone rosy; she can tell from the warm spots growing on her cheeks. They walk a few paces in tandem, her elbow still cradled in the crook of his palm, before he drops it. Their sleeves brush against one another, and her heart skips a beat. 

Mukai dips his head and crooks a smile. It's a little awkward, but his fondness shines through. 

“I wanted to walk together, but Sousuke wanted to grill me,” he confesses sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “But. Um, there isn't really anything to reveal to him, huh.”

Mika laughs. “I guess not,” she says. The corridor they're passing through is empty, but for the two of them, and her voice echoes off the ceiling. “Mukai, I think we're late for P.E. Shouldn’t we hurry?”

“Eh.” Mukai's face doesn't change, though his tone does, just a bit. “Sousuke will be even later.” 

But he picks up the pace anyway, brisk-walking alongside her as she pops a skip with every alternate step. His legs are long, so it isn’t too hard for him to keep up.

“Don't go too fast, Egashira,” he cautions. “I wouldn't want you to trip and fall and hit your head or…”

He trails off awkwardly, and Mika stops and really looks at him, then. 

The morning light slants over them, because this corridor is one that runs the length of the main courtyard, and the windows rise nearly to the ceiling in order to maximise the light let in. 

Mukai is facing the sun, facing her; and he’s got both hands in the pockets of his tracksuit jacket. From the corner of her eye, she can see their classmates gathering off to the side of the square. But Mukai has both eyes fixed on her face as she tips it up, up, up to meet his gaze full on. 

It’s a warm, steady ray of affection.

“Thank you,” she says, around the lump in her throat. “I’ll be careful.” 

She edges away from the windows, aware that they must be quite visible to those in the courtyard below. This takes her, naturally, a step closer to Mukai. 

From there, it’s almost habit to reach out, snag one of his sleeves between her grip, and give it a playful tug.

And Mukai, surprising them both, ducks to press a kiss to her forehead. 

Oh, Mika thinks, blushing freely, that’s nice. 

He abruptly starts walking again, and she lets herself be half-tugged along where they’re still linked, by her hold on his jacket sleeve. When they round the corner at the end of the corridor, she leans into his side for a brief moment and finds herself getting shy. 

Mukai, face just as red as hers, doesn’t make a peep as he returns the contact. 

As he stalks down that endless corridor, burning up in the weak springtime sun, Mukai almost can’t believe this is his life. 

He bites down hard on his lip, using all his self control to keep a cool front. His insides are a roiling pit of emotion at the moment, and even if he were to bite hard enough to draw blood, he can’t stop them from spilling out into the world at large; as evidenced by the sting on his cheeks; the wild rabbiting of his heart louder than the distant squeak of his shoes against the floor. 

The spot – the part of him – the part of his lips that came into contact with Egashira – the part of him that touched part of her – there, right there. Mukai can feel a phantom tingling, and the way his hand unconsciously rises to press against his lips; a pale attempt to recreate that intimate touch, brings such a wave of embarrassment over him that he nearly quails. But the steel in his spine carries through, and so Mukai just keeps walking, though he might as well be walking blind. In fact, he’s grateful that Egashira keeps her hold on him, because her nearness makes him startlingly aware of his surroundings. 

When she presses herself into his side for a brief moment, he simply stops breathing altogether.

As they turn down the stairs to the first floor, his heart racing, his mind kicks into frenzied gear as well – should they really be so bold as to just walk in late together? For a moment he wavers, hand hovering over Egashira’s slim fingers; about to pluck them from his sleeve. On second thought, staggering their arrival times would be a pathetically obvious ploy. Not to mention the fact that Sousuke is definitely lurking behind them on the way to P.E, somewhere in the school building. 

Head down, ears burning, he pushes his way out the front doors and stumbles to the courtyard in a daze. She lets go of her own accord.

They end up scolded for being tardy, of course. 

Egashira stands there, squinting against the sun to find her friends, hair all aglow. 

Mukai has to shake himself out of a stupefied stare and get his brain into gear quickly – to spin some yarn about thinking P.E would be held in the indoor hall rather than the courtyard, and having to double back to the correct place, which unfortunately delayed them, to explain their lateness. 

The long-suffering gym teacher, used to swallowing tall tales due to Sousuke's penchant for truancy, accepts this relatively well thought out reasoning with nary a raised brow. He sets them to running laps, a total of ten around the whole perimeter of the courtyard, which the rest of the class have already begun. This close to the end of the term, everyone is more relaxed – going at their own pace, there’s a huge spread between the front runners and the stragglers. Mukai slips into the stream with a cordial nod to Yamada, while Egashira joins her friends. 

Sousuke finally saunters down as Mukai is completing his second circuit. 

He scans for Egashira by reflex, wanting someone to roll eyes with. There's a muted giggle from behind him, and he turns to see Murashige. 

“Hey, Mukai-kun,” she greets him as she draws abreast. “Looking for Mika-chan?”

Even without words, the panicked horror must be plain on his face, because Murashige laughs again.

He gulps, nervous. “Am I being that obvious?”

“No,” Kurume chimes in from his other side, making him jump. “Not really? We just know she likes you, and you two totally had something goin’ on, so–”

“I think it's pretty cute,” Murashige says cheerily.

The two girls throw banter around for a bit, with Mukai pretty much just…there…in the middle of that. The mood is convivial enough, though it's suddenly interrupted by a loud fake cough.

“Incoming,” Kurume says, and Murashige pulls a face. 

“Damn, gotta go,” she says, which leaves Mukai frankly baffled.

Go where?

Murashige speeds up and turns the next corner with ease, fleet-footed; long blond ponytail streaming out behind her. Mukai hears a dreamy sigh escape someone – but is it from Kurume or Yamada, who's just caught up to them? He decides not to think too hard about it.

Instead, Mukai slows his pace just enough that Egashira can catch up to him in, perhaps, a minute or two more. 

The breeze picks up, ruffling his hair, and the sun’s heat cools for a brief moment as the cloud cover shifts in the sky. It really is a lovely morning, he thinks, for the end of February. 

He jogs on, looking forward to March.

It wasn’t supposed to become such a big deal, Mika thinks faintly in the aftermath, as though the giddiness isn't keeping her smile stretched wide. 

She’s spent half the day flailing against the living room sofa, mobile phone glued to her hands, since she came back from her Sunday morning run with the burning desire to see Mukai, even though it is a weekend. It should be simple enough: unlock her phone, open the Line app, press the ‘call’ button on his profile, and speak – but Mika’s finger only hovers over his picture uselessly, darting back and forth like an agitated fly.

In the house, all is still. No accidental bump against the furniture, or being jostled by another person, to make her hand slip and involuntarily contact him.

In the end, she compromises. She can be brave, certainly, the way she called Mukai first after Valentine’s Day; but she is also shy. Rather than a call, she sends a message. 

(A sticker, actually, like Yuzu and Mako like to use. Well, Mika thinks it still counts. Just one of a cat, peering up with a hand-drawn sparkle in its eye. A subtle way to say ‘I miss you’? Though it might also be read as ‘pay attention to me!’. 

Neither is wrong.)

Barely a second later, her phone vibrates with his response. Mukai sent a sticker back – two kittens with their cheeks pressed together, all cozied up. 

Mika lies back on the cushions and does a happy little scream. Then she sits back up and dials Mukai, like it’s no big deal, and she’s certain he can hear the huge smile in her voice because she can hear the smile in his, too, especially when he says, wonderingly, “You wanted to talk to me?” and she laughs in relief and nods her head yes, yes, yes.

After Egashira gets them over the mini milestone of casually texting outside of school-related things, Mukai racks his brain a little. 

A little searching on the internet (he doesn’t dare ask Sousuke, to be honest) tells him that he and Egashira were, before they even verbalised their feelings to each other, already doing pretty much everything that new couples do when they decide to ‘take it slow’. See: occasionally going home together after school; him escorting her to her doorstep when it's late at night; the selfie-taking; sticking close to one another when others are around. 

So what’s left for him to initiate? 

Nothing comes to mind immediately, but the desire to do something doesn’t go away. So he sighs in defeat and seeks out his mother; again in the kitchen, in the evening after school, the warm gold of the sun sluicing through the room to pool at their feet. 

His mother hums under her breath as she works at the stove. Mukai watches the pot bubble over her shoulder, trying to find the right words. She sends him a smile of encouragement. Still, nothing. 

He sighs, the frustration audible. “Do you need any help here?”

“No, Tsukasa,” his mother says gently. 

He escapes to the dining room with the mumbled excuse of setting the table, and takes his time slowly laying the place mats out, then putting the plates and cutlery neatly in their spots. Perhaps, he thinks idly, as he watches the sun reflecting off the fork tines, he should ask Egashira if she wants to go to school together in the morning. He’s already so used to taking the bus between her station and his, swinging by to pick her up on the way wouldn’t be an issue. 

But would she like that? 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to spring this on her out of nowhere, either. In his opinion, this sort of thing is only cute and romantic on TV, though he wouldn’t know for sure…after all, didn’t they start going home together purely by chance? Mukai can’t remember the exact circumstances clearly – just a few strong impressions – after karaoke on the first day of school, springing into the carriage just before the doors closed; finding himself face to face with her. And then the day Ririka invaded their campus; the way his heart pounded as he casually mentioned to Egashira that she was only two stops away from him; sweaty palms slipping against the subway grab poles. The summer festival is even more of an emotionally-charged blur in his mind.

In the end, the time and place of asking are decided for him when Egashira approaches him after school on Monday. He's busy staring into the distance, thinking about homework, when Sousuke's elbow suddenly makes contact with his ribs. 

“Hello, Egashira-san,” Sousuke says, while Mukai wheezes and almost trips over her. “You two going home together, then?”

Egashira coughs and mumbles an excuse about the train timings having shifted forward. “Er, yes?” 

“Yes,” Mukai says decisively, sensing they had best extricate themselves. Lessons over; the entire first year cohort have been disgorged into the corridor, and the way some of them mill about in Sousuke's orbit is beyond obvious.

“We'll get going, Sousuke. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” Sousuke says. 

Then he turns to Egashira too. “By the way, Ririka says congratulations.”

That's nice of her, Egashira says with a strained smile as she starts forward, aiming for the nearest stairwell. She, too, can sense the latent unrest of Sousuke's fangirls around them.

Tugged along by the sleeve, Mukai slips out of the crush of bodies in her wake. 

It's a good day to be let out of school early, he thinks as they walk along the path, crossing under the dappled shade of the trees lining the entrance. It’s a rare treat; meant for them to proceed with self-study somewhere on their own time, of course, not to go and loiter at a mall or anything.

But for the first time in a long while, he’s tempted to do just that.

Egashira is shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, brow delicately furrowed, as they walk. Mukai looks down at his shoes for a moment. The concrete, usually so ordinary, is glittering in the sun, throwing little specks of light back at the universe. His fingers are cold, his palms sweaty. 

He sneaks another look at Egashira, heart racing, and swallows hard. Should he just go ahead?

It’s surprisingly hard for Mukai to unhinge his jaw – which is locked tight for some reason he can’t parse – and ask the question. 

He makes a couple of false starts; Egashira turns up to him questioningly at the choked sounds. Even though he’s much taller than her, it always takes him by surprise when she moves her face even the slightest bit closer to his. Then he ends up staring at the curve of her mouth, without fail.

“Well, I.” He starts, stops again. “You know how we go home together, sometimes?”

Egashira’s eyes on him are patient, unwavering. “Yes.”

“Well, I mean, I just wondered. Do you want to go to school together?”

“Oh.” Egashira flushes prettily. “Just once, or..? I mean, sure, I just…”

“Well,” Mukai says slowly, “I’ve been thinking I wouldn’t mind being seen walking together. By our classmates, or whoever. And it wouldn’t be every day. But, uh, what about you?”

Egashira is silent for a while, biting her lip as she thinks it over. He brings his hand up as they continue walking, side by side, wanting to sling it over her shoulder, then stops himself halfway. He ends up scratching his neck uselessly instead. 

When Mukai looks back down, he can see traces of a flush on her neck, too.

“Hey,” he says, embarrassed. “Is that a yes?”

“Oh,” she says, looking up sheepishly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” he says. Then he slings an arm over her shoulders, like he wanted to, and she lets him leave it there until they turn the next corner; just the two of them walking to the station, with a relentlessly blue sky overhead.

Mika goes through final exams by rote, all her thoughts fixed on the upcoming Spring break.

Not seeing each other every weekday will mean having to make actual plans to meet with Mukai, outside of school. She’ll miss it, she thinks – the ease of it all. Being in the same class means lots of excuses to brush arms as they walk past, or send a discreet wave each other’s way; even helping a teacher with errands is a chance to spend time alone. 

In fact, simply the thought of him present in the same building is enough for a sense of closeness.

As for her holiday plans, she has the dog-walking days with Yuzu and Mako down. Perhaps a part time job, or even part time cram school.

But the prospect of asking Mukai to come out and meet her, one-on-one, when she made all that noise about wanting to take it slow after the confession – you see, the problem lies there: she doesn’t know what that means. 

In the first place, she’s so terribly conscious of every move she makes; with Mukai clueless about interacting with girls in general, that Mika doesn’t think they could ever be accused of moving fast. 

“Hmm,” Yuzu says thoughtfully, when Mika finally caves and asks them for advice. “Why don’t you ask him if he wants to walk Chiffon with us, for a start? If you’re worried about planning a, y’know, date date.”

“Oh.” 

Mika turns the idea over in her mind, slowly. 

It does seem like a good starter activity, given that Mukai has actually seen her doing it – walking the dog – with his own two eyes. It'll be something he remembers, that she can talk about and use as a springboard to, like, deeper conversation?

Though she mostly remembers being criminally distracted by his sweat-soaked shirt. And the fact that he was wearing a headband to keep his hair off his face, which somehow made him handsome in a completely new way. The only other time she's seen him with one on is during rehearsals for the Cultural Festival, when he was working as a stagehand. 

Some subtle throat-clearing from Mako brings Mika back to the present. 

“Yeah,” she says, clenching both fists in a show of resolve. Courage, dear heart. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll… Let's do it.”

They don’t really have club activities anymore, not this close to the end of term, but everyone who wants an excuse to gather around and chit chat about inconsequential things is there. Mukai, himself, only stopped by the Earth Science clubroom to pick up a geology book of his that he left behind before the exams started, but there are plenty of others who look ready to spend the whole afternoon here instead of leaving for home as soon as possible. 

Obuchi hails him on his way out. Mukai turns, one hand already on the door frame; suddenly aware that he hasn’t spoken a single word to Obuchi since the Valentine’s Day Chocolate fiasco. 

Though it's arguably less about Obuchi and more about Egashira, who now knows exactly what went down. This guy doesn't have the full picture.

“Uh, hey,” Mukai says carefully. 

The group of fellow freshmen Obuchi is sitting with have been talking about going to see the sakura. “What about you, Mukai-kun?” one of them asks, Tachi-something from Class Four. “Do you want to come along? It’ll be just us first years, before we become second years in April.” 

“Uh,” Mukai says, again, dragging the word out. Even for someone as naturally reticent as himself, it’s obvious that he’s hedging.

Obuchi makes eye contact with him, and Mukai can practically see the nervous tension lasering out of his eyeballs – he’s obviously waiting to hear Mukai’s brilliant excuse for not wanting to go; say, for instance, because he’s got himself a new girlfriend. Mukai scrambles for the old reliable instead. Best to let him down easy. They’re only in first year, they’ll have to be friendly for a while yet; and it’s not like he hates Obuchi, they got on fairly well before; though none of that really matters, because the main point is that Egashira ended up hurt, and Mukai doesn’t like that he made her feel hurt. 

“Sorry, guys,” he says with a suitably apologetic grimace, “but you know that I’m in three clubs, right? I don’t think I’ll have any free time, but thanks for asking.”

He slips out the door with a half-hearted wave and wanders down to the gymnasium, where he lets his guard down too early. 

Basketball is very much still in session. He's roped into a 3-on-3 right away; mixed teams across year levels already dotted around the sidelines, and whenever they pass him, all those in the know about his previous confessions run him ragged with teasing about his love life, or lack thereof. 

(Not that it is lacking. Mukai has to keep reminding himself not to smile too widely, lest he tip someone off to the real good news.) 

By the time White Day rolls around, Mukai’s pretty comfortable in his new relationship. Being…well, being with Egashira is nice. All the horribly exaggerated daydreams he used to entertain in middle school have yet to show signs of fruition – the ones where a faceless girl’s confession (well, to be honest, not faceless then, but he’s definitely over her now) turns out to be a prank and she goes laughing to her friends; or it was all an elaborate scheme to get with Sousuke. In one particularly memorable nightmare his glasses were dashed from his face and crushed to bits by a passing cyclist as he cried in the rain on the way home: ridiculous, seeing as it hadn’t rained the whole week prior. The very next day he’d asked his parents if he could start wearing contacts instead, saying it was so he wouldn’t have to worry about them flying off during basketball games. 

Anyway, a month has flown by since Valentine’s Day.

Mukai never really felt that time flew by before, but it does seem that way to him now. 

They’re still keeping it relatively quiet. Walking into homeroom together is new, but largely unremarked on. They aren’t very physically affectionate people, he’s realised, especially in public. 

He and Egashira still go home together about as often as they used to, which isn’t that much, in his opinion. As a friend, of course, it was good enough for him – he can’t really put a finger on when exactly his feelings about this changed – if they have changed at all. Before was a different story: if he happened to see her on the way to the station, then they walked together, and that was that. 

And Obuchi? 

Obuchi only noticed because he pays particular attention to everything about Egashira. 

Mukai feels a little sorry, but there’s no helping it – things just turned out that way: that the girl he likes, who likes him back, is the same person Obuchi has been daydreaming of for the better part of a year. 

Still, they’re not rubbing it in his face or anything. He and Egashira don’t exactly make a show of being together, but it must be obvious to those of their classmates versed in subtlety: the way Kurume and Murashige have started acknowledging his presence is the biggest hint. 

Once you’ve connected one dot…

Every now and then he wonders at the ordinariness of dating, no longer a mystery of the universe to him. There are no notes in shoe lockers, or meetings under a tree in the courtyard, half the school peeping out the windows for a glimpse of love in action (because, ha ha, he isn’t Shima Sousuke). No grand proclamations in front of the student body, either. What’s kind of the same is the racing of his heart; the way his cheeks instantly blush when he thinks of her or looks at her. 

All that to say the word ‘girlfriend’ has real meaning to him now, if that makes sense. 

See, he’s here in the kitchen with his mother, turning a knob on the oven while she dices some vegetables. 

This is nothing new, because he’s helped her with the cooking a thousand times before. 

Except that before, it was never White Day specifically, and the food was for their family of three. He had fun helping his mother chop the carrots and peel the potatoes and shell the peas when he was ten, certainly. But he never imagined her helping him cook, instead of the other way around. It’s kind of weird to be taking the lead, rather than just nodding whenever his mother gives him a new task. He’s a little proud of his idea – cooking as a return gift for White Day – a nice equivalent exchange, to say thanks for homemade chocolate with a homemade meal.

(There was just the minor complication of having to screw up the courage to invite her over. Somehow it seems a little brazen, like something sleazy characters in manga do, inviting a person you've barely started seeing to your apartment. Right?

But he digresses.

Ahem.)

He wonders what she'll wear. He's seen Egashira in school uniform, her dog-walking clothes, and whatever girls wear out for a day of shopping in town. Oh, and a yukata, too.

Well, all these thoughts are running through his mind a mile a minute, but the real Mukai Tsukasa is just standing there in the kitchen, smelling of oil and spice to the very pore, while his mum gives him a very specific look.

“...what is it?” he frowns, shifting uneasily. “Is there something wrong?” 

His mother heaves an exasperated sigh. “Why are you still standing here, Tsukasa? Don't you have something else to do before your girlfriend arrives?”

Mukai takes a look around. It's nothing to do with the food, surely. They've only just finished fussing over the way the sauce drizzles and tweaking the garnish so it falls perfectly…and who could miss the emphasis in her voice, not to mention the focus of his mother's gimlet stare, aimed directly at his person? Slowly, he pinches his t-shirt collar between two fingers and brings it up for a sniff. Could it be..?

“Right,” he mumbles, abashed. “Got it. I'll go take a shower.”

As he beats a quick retreat out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom, he hears his mother call out in exasperation: “Oh, thank goodness! He's not hopeless after all.”

“Um,” he adds hopefully, stifling a laugh as he pokes his head back in. “And my clothes?”

His mother flings a blackened tea towel at his head. 

“Put that in the laundry basket,” she tuts. “And Tsukasa – I think this should be the last time I pick your outfit for you.”

Mika fidgets with her skirt as she dithers outside Mukai’s apartment, trying to calm her racing heart before she presses the bell. 

They’d buzzed her in via the intercom downstairs, where a stiffly polite attendant bowed her into the lift lobby; after which she spent the entire journey up to the fifteenth floor tweaking the placement of her bangs, too anxious to look out and enjoy the spectacular sunset view that unfurled as the elevator rose higher and higher. 

The three seconds before the door clicks open are nerve-wracking. 

“Hi,” she says, seeing Mukai on the other side. She's relieved, really, that it wasn't either of his parents who answered the door, because she doesn't have any idea how to react to that.

He looks…well, he looks freshly showered. 

Mika surveys him discreetly as he turns, rummages in a cabinet, then bends and lays out a pair of house slippers for her. 

He's wearing a dark knit vest over a pale striped button up, open at the throat; she sees the gleam of damp skin peeking out from his collar. She traces the fall of his trousers from hip to ankle, mesmerized by the even crispness of the front fold. Did his mother pick this out for him, Mika wonders, and is his father dressed in something pretty much the same? 

The whole ensemble just seems so staid, it must be. 

She subtly scans her own attire – off white and petal pink, with accents of cream – and then takes a survey of his. It's a bit of a stretch, but the stripes on his shirt are pale pink too, so she supposes that counts enough to make them sort of matching. It's a thought that she likes very much.

“Well, come in,” Mukai says, awkwardly looking over his shoulder. 

“My parents are home, but I'm not sure where they’re hiding. You can greet them later.”

“Oh!” she chirps with a brave smile, stepping out of the entryway after him. “Sure.”

Mika quietly takes in the apartment’s general air as Mukai leads her through to the dining room. Is it what she was expecting when she was first invited over to her, uh, boyfriend's house? For a romantic dinner, of all things. She doesn’t know what she was supposed to anticipate, but that hardly matters when she can’t even look him in the eye, right now. 

She sits quietly in the chair he draws for her, stammers her thanks, and fixates wholly on the food.

About thirty minutes in, she finally relaxes enough to look around a little more, and smile when Mukai attempts small talk between bites. Their dining room is tastefully appointed, they’ve given her an actual cloth napkin, and there’s a vase of fresh flowers perched on each end of the table, every petal taut and glossy. 

And no, it’s not candlelit, but the lights are a warm yellow. 

Mukai's watching her just as warmly as he eats. Mika struggles not to squirm under the open fondness in his gaze. 

If the place settings were next to each other, she’d reach over right now and give his face a light shove. Definitely. Alas, she’s foiled by the fact that he has seated them across from each other, with the expanse of their lovely oak dining table in the way. 

He can reach over to her plate just fine, though. 

Mika curses her shorter arms, and crisply spears another mouthful of vinaigrette salad.

“You should eat instead of just staring at me,” she says, levering the forkful of salad to her mouth. 

Mukai clears his throat, looking abashed. “I will, just give me a moment.”

Mika shifts in her seat. He couldn’t possibly be about to say something incredibly cheesy, like “just watching you eat makes me feel full,” could he…then again, if he did, what would she do other than blush madly and accept the compliment?

Because, well.

Knowing that Mukai wanted to make his White Day return gift homemade in turn is one thing. Seeing that he cooked for her–from scratch, too, if the mess she glimpsed in the kitchen is any indicator–is another.

It's making her heart bubble over with uncontainable warmth.

Mika sticks her free hand out over the table to him, wordlessly asking for a quick squeeze, and hears muffled laughter from beyond the doorway; sees the faintest trace of shadows on the opposite wall. Mukai whips around to hiss at the culprits (his parents, of course) in a mortified whisper, who retreat to another part of the house with a last delighted wave Mika’s way. They wait with drawn breath until the sound of footsteps has faded, and a door is snicked shut, to relax again. Mukai reaches over and lays his hand on hers. 

“Don’t mind them,” he mumbles, face flaming, as he absently cradles her wrist. Mika wonders if he can feel her pulse, fluttering madly right under his thumb. “They’re so excited about this, I don’t even know what to say.”

“I don’t mind,” Mika says. She wants to assure him, and who better to do so on this subject than her? 

“Like you said before, it’s nice that they think we’re, um…”

“Cute together?”

Yeah, that. She kicks lightly at his shin under the table, the house slippers they gave her flapping with the motion. “Eat.”

And so they do. 

Greeting his parents takes place after the meal proper, when they've retreated to the living room sofa for pre-cut fruit, chilled in the fridge. To be honest, she's far too nervous to recall, afterwards, whether she made her best impression on them – only small flashes of warm handshakes; noticing that Mukai's mother has the same widow's peak in her hair…but all memory of their conversation escapes her.

And Mika would worry – but Mukai's hand over hers is hot, and it's burning all the worry away. 

Let it go, she thinks.

After all, there will probably be a next time.

It's late when they get to her house. “Spring break is coming,” Mika says quietly, facing him on the step as he gets ready to go. They’re dimly lit by streetlight once again, seemingly alone in the soft darkness of the neighbourhood.

“Spring break,” Mukai echoes, “yeah. It is.”

The words stick in her throat, but he can probably read the meaning in the tight grip she has on his sleeves. Or not; she has to use her words properly. In response to the gentle question in his voice, what comes out is, of all things, a slightly pouty “I won’t be able to see you every day, then.”

Mukai crooks a smile. 

“I’ll miss that, too,” he says. “And I’ll definitely have basketball practice over the break. But we can still find time to meet. Right?”

He says the last line rather hesitantly, as if she might nix the idea because the two of them aren't going out in an official capacity…or…or something. Is that up to her to correct, though? Since it's technically only in place because she brought it up.

“Uh, yes,” Mika says, acutely aware that now is her golden chance to casually slip the dog-walking date into conversation. “U-um, by the way?!”

Mukai looks alarmed. “What's the matter?” 

Face burning, Mika ploughs forward. Sometimes the only way out is through – she read that somewhere before. 

“By the way,” she begins again, pacing herself this time. “Will you be free on Sundays? Or do you have club activities on those days too?”

He screws his face up, brow furrowed. 

“Uh, I'm free. I think.” 

“And–” she has to pause and clear her throat, god; “remember when you saw me, um, walking Yuzuki’s dog?”

“Yes,” Mukai says slowly, eyes fixed on her hands, which are gripping him by the sleeves, again, somehow. “I do remember. But what does that have to do with–”

“Come and walk Chiffon with us.”

He’s silent for a moment, mouth hanging open. She stares at the line of his throat as he swallows, hard; clearing his throat. “And…and then?”

MIka blushes madly. She can't help it, faced with the naked hope shining through Mukai's usual veneer of faux impassiveness. “And then, uh, we can go do something else afterwards, just the two of us?”

“Sounds good,” Mukai says, smile warm.

Which is good, you know–wonderful, even. All according to plan.

Mika closes her eyes briefly when he wishes her goodnight. Unfortunately, he doesn’t kiss her. Maybe, she thinks, as she hurries up the stairs and into her room, she can work on conveying that next.