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Ayanokouji doesn’t know when it had happened.
Nor did he understand what it meant.
There were things—small, insignificant details—that often slipped by unnoticed. But this? This was an anomaly. An outlier he hadn’t anticipated.
Something he did not account for.
He must be unwell. That was the only logical conclusion, and he nodded slightly to himself, accepting it. Yes, he was ill.
Which in itself was unusual. His health was in particular always above average. He didn’t fall ill—not easily.
Though, it was winter after all, and even the healthiest could succumb to the cold. He supposed he was destined to spend the last few days of winter break within his dorm room.
“Ayanokouji? Are you even listening?”
His eyes flickered, snapping him back to the present.
Spacing out like this? That wasn’t in his nature. This... wasn’t him.
He must’ve been very seriously ill.
He lifted his gaze from the coffee cup nestled in his hands to the raven-haired girl standing besides him, her expression cold as her voice betrayed a tinge of concern.
“Did you fall sick?” She asked.
She cradled her own cup of coffee, the rising steam mingling with the crisp air. Her hands lingered around the cup, drawing warmth from it. A light scarf draped around her neck, her attire casual but ill-fitted for the biting chill.
He averted his gaze to the winter landscape before answering, after a deliberate pause.
“It’s cold.”
Her frown deepened.
“Honestly... you’re—” She trailed off, exhaling in what seemed to be frustration, thought not quite exactly.
“I’m what?”
“You’re impossible.”
Ayanokouji took a slow sip of his coffee as he allowed himself to indulge in their formless conversation.
“Impossible?” he echoed, humming as he casted a gaze towards her, “How cold of you, Horikita.”
Horikita gave him a sharp glare from the corners of his eye to which he pretended he did not see.
“I’m cold?” she retorted. “Ayanokouji, do you even realize you’re a hypocrite?”
A hypocrite.
A contradiction.
For some reason he thought her description of him to be somewhat true.
“Pft.”
“Did you just laugh?” Her voice cut through the air, incredulous.
Finally, he looked at her fully, and for a fleeting moment, Horikita could’ve sworn she saw the ghost of a smile—dangerously subtle—on his lips as he had the nerve to ask, “Did I?”
Horikita couldn’t help but tilt her head. Ever since the beginning of the year, she’d noticed a subtle shift in the boy before her—something elusive, just out of reach.
It reminded her of the day back in the cafe where he had laughed for the first time she could remember.
What an odd individual, she couldn’t help but think.
Suddenly, she remembered how she had laughed back then too.
She shook her head.
“Did you hit your head before coming here? That’s not good. We need you in perfect condition for the start of third year.”
“...”
“Ayanokouji?”
Horikita, noticing the sudden silence, turned her gaze back to the brown-haired boy, who seemed lost in the view of the sea.
This time, she furrowed her brows more deeply. It really wasn’t like him to be zoning out all day.
“Hey,” she said softly, tugging at his scarf to bring him back.
Sighing, as if resigned to his odd mood, she suggested, “Let’s head back.”
“Now?”
“Yes, it seems to be for the best, considering the current situation,” Horikita stated, already turning to leave.
“Let’s walk a little longer.”
A little longer.
“...What?”
Horikita looked back at him, confused. “Why?”
Ayanokouji shrugged, as if the answer didn’t really matter.
He didn’t know either.
He simply wanted to.
After all, he was feeling off today, and surely he could ask for this much, right? It would be dreadfully boring to return now and spend the rest of the weekend cooped up. Besides... he had no other plans for the evening.
Without waiting for her answer, he continued walking, passing down the line of barren trees by the seaside. Snow covered the grounds, clinging to the dry branches as the occasional wind brushed past his hair.
It wasn’t long before he heard Horikita’s footsteps fall in line beside his.
“As I was saying earlier, I think we should meet before the spring semester starts to plan out our strategy for the year. Do you think we should invite the whole class or just a few select—"
“Horikita, how was your winter break?”
Horikita faltered at the sudden change of subject, her response almost hesitant. “It was fine, nothing out of the ordinary. I did spend some time with Kushida-san, which was... pleasant.”
“I see.”
“Well… how was your break?” she asked after a brief pause, the question feeling unfamiliar on her lips.
Ayanokouji responded without much thought. “It was okay. I didn’t do much.”
Horikita wasn’t surprised by his answer, but what did catch her off guard was the suddenness of his question.
Was there a hidden meaning behind it? Was he trying to imply something with what seemed like an innocent inquiry?
No matter how hard she thought about it, she couldn’t make sense of it.
She had known this boy for quite a long time, and his back was something she had watched closely, observing, learning. Based on her observations, she suspected that this might be yet another of his elaborate schemes.
However, unlike in the past when she had chosen to maintain a distance, she had resigned herself to the inevitable. It seemed that no matter where she went or what she did, he would find a way to bother her.
She looked away.
Now that she thought about it, even his actions from the last few weeks were hard to read. Though she supposes that it had always been like that.
“When I talk to you, it's often about the special exams or class-related matters. But sometimes, even if it's just for a short time, I want to talk about things unrelated to that.”
“I wanted to have a meaningless conversation with you regardless of interests. Can you understand if I put it this way?”
Ah.
She stole a glance at the boy beside her, his face as expressionless as ever, staring ahead while occasionally sipping his coffee. It was a normal gesture and was nothing out of the ordinary.
But for some reason, it struck her as oddly... amusing.
She sighed. Well, she supposed she could indulge him in this.
There was no exam looming this time, and it was winter break. Surely, she could spare him that much. Though, over the years, he had asked a lot of her. Thinking back, Horikita felt a twinge of nostalgia at how quickly time had passed.
Without meaning to, she quietly muttered, “It’s our last year…”
Ayanokouji nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
Horikita glanced up at him. “Ayanokouji, what are your plans after graduation?”
A while ago, the subject of graduation seemed so far away, something that wasn't even relevant to discuss at such an age in time. But now it seems to be creeping up on them like an hourglass down to it’s last grains of sand.
The question seemed to catch him off guard, and for a brief moment, contemplative silence fell between them. Before she could wonder if she’d overstepped, he answered, “Who knows?”
Though, in truth, it was hardly an answer at all.
“And you? What are your plans, Horikita?”
“Why should I tell you, when I didn’t get a proper answer from you?” she muttered, tugging her scarf up against the cold.
Ayanokouji shook his head lightly, conceding. “You’re right.”
A long pause settled over them before he spoke again as if reconsidering his earlier response, the one he had so easily brushed aside. “...Maybe I’ll tell you at the end of the year.”
This caught Horikita’s attention.
She remembered the last time she had tried to pry into his life, only to receive a cold dismissal. Since then, she’d decided not to press him when he refused to talk. After all, she couldn’t force him.
So, this offer was unexpected. Strange. But she brushed aside her unease. It was still an offer, and this time, it came from him.
“You will, really?”
“Really.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly, teasing, “Are you sure you’re the real Ayanokouji?”
“...”
He sighed, though there was a trace of humor behind it. “Who else would it be?”
Horikita considered this for a moment. “Maybe another student in disguise?”
There was a pause.
“Never mind. I guess I won’t tell you—”
“I–I was just joking! You... you do that all the time!”
Just as Horikita had wondered if she really had lost this chance, Ayanokouji, now looking away, extended his hand as if waiting for something.
Horikita, slightly flustered, didn’t understand at first. “What?”
“Your coffee.”
Glancing down, she realized she’d finished her coffee at some point during their walk. Silently, she handed him her empty cup. He took it, along with his own, and walked over to the nearby trash bin to dispose of them.
The wind had tousled the boy’s hair, adding a touch of disheveled charm to his appearance. Today, he had opted for a more casual attire, pairing his usual winter coat with a relaxed ensemble.
For the first time in a while, he seemed to look his age.
Horikita stood there silently…waiting.
When he returned, he noticed Horikita watching him with a peculiar expression.
“What is it?”
She turned away, her voice almost embarrassed as she mumbled, “You’re so unfair, Ayanokouji.”
“Huh?”
Before he could react, he felt a sharp poke at his side.
“Hey—! What was that for?”
“For lying to me,” she said coldly, slipping her compass—wherever she’d hidden it—back into her bag.
“Is this how you treat the soldier who’s fought so hard for you all these years?”
“Hmph.”
Ayanokouji raised both hands, mock surrender. “If you’re really that curious, I’ll tell you, Horikita.”
“You’re so frustrating.”
“Just for you.”
Who else?
Horikita rolled her eyes, then turned and began walking ahead.
Ayanokouji watched her walk away, intending to catch up with her.
Yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he hesitated.
He stood still, observing how the wind gently tousled her long hair, now fully regrown over the year—a dark contrast to the winter snow surrounding them. It reminded him of the first time he saw her beneath the spring petals under the beautiful archway of the school’s establishment.
Just what was he calling beautiful back then?
She had the same long hair then, but the person walking ahead of him now was a stark contrast to the cold girl he’d met on his first day.
Winter was upon them now, their third spring approaching.
But this time, he wouldn't be with her.
That time of departure was fast approaching, and he wondered—would she be okay without him? This constant question that kept him wake up at night, distracting him while he was out and about with ‘friends.’
He remembered asking her that question once, wondering if she still needed his help.
What for? He wondered.
Why did he ask? To lie to her? To pretend he would still be there if she needed him?
He had already planned to transfer, something he had been preparing for years. And now, with the time finally upon him, why was he making excuses?
As if he was trying to convince himself that he was still needed.
Why had he hesitated?
Why was he hesitating now?
Kōenji’s words echoed in his mind.
“It’s because of that Horikita girl isn’t it?”
A part of him wondered how she would react when she found out. Would she be upset? Feel betrayed? What kind of expression would she make? How would she grow in his absence?
He was curious.
Yet, despite that, he had still asked her to meet today. As if he hadn’t had enough of their conversations just yet. As if he wanted to delay the day when everything would change, just a little longer.
Last night, when he had thought of who to hang out with, he his mind had landed on her name.
Not Kei’s.
Not Hirata’s.
Not anyone else’s.
Hers.
He still doesn't know why.
𓆩︎︎𓆪
The time read 2:31 A.M.
He should have been asleep. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay up late, but tonight, for once, sleep eluded him. His mind, restless and uncooperative, wandered to thoughts that served no purpose. No schemes to execute, no lies to weave, no exams to prepare for. Yet, certain worries played over in his head.
Blame it on this school—he had developed a bad habit of scrolling through his phone when insomnia struck.
There were only a few more days before winter break ended, and he found himself wishing it could last just a little longer, which was unusual.
Just a little.
With a tired sigh, he rose from his bed, pulling on his slippers as he made his way to the balcony door. It opened with a faint click, the chill of winter air flooding the room as he stepped out to observe the night sky.
He’d had nights like this before—nights where he stayed up late, offering a soda to a raven-haired girl, teaching her chess, devising last-minute strategies for exams, discussing how to save their classmates while she bribed him with food.
A strange girl, once so determined to walk a path of solitude, had learned, over time, how to trust again. A strange girl who had been so persistent in that dream of hers of reaching Class A. of becoming a better version of herself where she could achieve everything she wanted.
And he, who had stayed by her side the whole time, watching and pushing her to grow, would watch all of his from afar.
Did he want that?
He had no say in it. His own agenda called, and whether he liked it or not, it didn’t matter. Yet, for an instant—a fleeting moment—his heart betrayed him.
What if–?
Fwoosh.
It was cold outside.
Lost in thought, he found himself reaching for his phone once again, scrolling through the old pictures he had taken with the students of class D. He came across the first one had had taken with them, where they had gone to the pool.
She stood besides him, wearing that cold gaze of hers. He stared at that photo for a second longer before he silently opened his text messages.
Are you up?
(Read 2:44 A.M)
What is it.
(Sent 2:44 A.M)
Ayanokouji blinked, surprised. He hadn’t expected her to still be awake. Quickly, as if afraid she might turn off her phone and disappear back into sleep, he responded, ignoring the subtle quickening of his pulse.
Are you free tomorrow?
(Read 2:45 A.M)
Yes. I am, why?
(Read 2:45 A.M)
Meet me at the entrance of the dorms tomorrow, 9:30 A.M.
(Read 2:46 A.M)
Huh why?
(Delivered 2:46 A.M)
Ayanokouj? Hello?
(Delivered 2:46 A.M)
???
(Delivered 2:47 A.M)
He turned off his phone with a faint hint of amusement and stepped back inside, closing the door quietly behind him.
𓆩︎︎𓆪
"Ayanokouji?"
Horikita's voice cut through the stillness, pulling Ayanokouji’s gaze up from the ground. She had stopped a few steps ahead, waiting for him, her figure framed by the gentle glow of the evening sun dipping behind the horizon.
The cool breeze, carrying the faint scent of the sea, rustled through the empty street, where only the two of them stood. It was quiet—a rare moment of solitude amid the bustle of student life.
Despite the small gap of a few feet between them, it felt as though an unseen distance stretched far greater, separating them more than ever before.
Horikita called out to him again.
“Ayanokouji? What is it?”
There was a hint of concern in her voice now, her eyes searching his for something she couldn’t quite grasp.
"Horikita," he said softly.
Too softly.
Her name almost vanished with the wind, barely reaching her ears. For a second, it seemed uncharacteristic of him to speak this way, as if some invisible weight hung between them.
But he would never know what this meant, and she would fail to understand.
Ayanokouji felt himself begin to talk, his attention solely on the girl in front of him.
"Horikita, I have to thank you for this evening. It was... enjoyable."
Horikita frowned, suspicious. "Yes, it was. Are you leaving now?"
Her gaze sharpened instantly, alarm bells going off in her head as if trying to peel away the layers of the boy in front of her.
She had felt it for a while now—something was off. He was hiding something, but what? It was a feeling that had been gnawing at her for weeks, maybe even months, and it felt like this was her last chance to find it.
But Ayanokouji's face remained expressionless, calm as ever.
"I’m afraid I have to get going now before the weather turns," he said, glancing briefly at the dark clouds gathering overhead.
Horikita followed his gaze, the sight of the looming storm clouds making her instinctively pull her scarf tighter. She opened her mouth to agree, to bid him farewell like any other day. But something stopped her. A thought—a quiet realization—settled in her mind like a whisper.
There was something off about Ayanokouji today.
No. There had been something off about him since the very hour she had received that text. She shook her head at this analysis, no, that wasn’t quite it either.
Since when?
How long had she been noticing these small, almost imperceptible changes in him? The subtle shifts, the quiet hesitations. Those little things he had done today that felt... unusual.
“Ayanokouji, what are you planning?” she suddenly asked, fully turning to face him. Suspicion flickered in her dark eyes as her hair was carried by the wind behind her.
Ayanokouji raised an eyebrow, his expression almost innocent, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Hm? I’m just bidding you farewell."
But the way he said those words—so casual, so detached—made Horikita's chest tighten. This didn’t feel like an ordinary goodbye.
Horikita listened to these seemingly harmless words and had to stop herself from asking.
Why does it seem like you were bidding farewell to her as if for a long time?
Her mind raced, sifting through the moments they’d shared today—the seemingly meaningless conversations, the jokes that had no weight. Why had he bothered to take her out, to spend an entire day doing nothing of consequence? Those little moments, the idle chatter, it would all fade in a few days, forgotten in the routine of school life.
Why?
Didn’t they still have all of the third year to complete before they officially departed to their own things? Where was he going?
“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable than she intended. Her hands clutched at the edges of her scarf as if trying to ground herself, to hold onto something solid.
Ayanokouji didn’t answer. He simply stood there, under the barren branches of a nearby tree, watching her. His silence was louder than any explanation he could have given.
For the first time, Horikita felt truly distant from him. She realized she had never understood the boy standing before her—not really. He had always been someone fleeting, someone who moved just outside her reach, a person who seemed like he could disappear at any moment if she looked away.
She just never thought he truly would.
But she was selfish. She wanted to know more about the mysterious boy, she wanted to have more meaningless conversations no matter how unproductive they were, she wanted him to witness her accomplishments. She wanted him to one day recognize her.
She took a step forward, instinctively closing the gap between them—but just as she did, Ayanokouji stepped back, as though they had agreed to a silent dance, their movements synchronized without a word.
The distance between them remained, yet Horikita couldn’t shake the sensation that the air around them had grown colder. A chill far deeper than the winter breeze wrapped around her, and at that moment, something else caught her attention.
Snow.
Soft white snow.
Tiny, delicate flakes began to fall, drifting down upon them as the streetlights flickered on, casting a soft glow over the quiet street.
The snow's cold seeped into his skin, landing softly on his clothes.
Ayanokouji’s gaze lingered on the snow, silently observing how it gathered in Horikita’s hair, framing her in a way that felt almost ethereal. For a moment, it was as though the world had slowed, and she stood at the center of it all— beautiful, unwavering, untouched.
“Ayanokouji, you’re just feeling unwell, right?” Horikita’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality.
He nodded slowly. "Yes, I think I've fallen ill. A slight fever."
"Ill?"
"Similar to the time on the island when you had a fever."
“You–!”
“Horikita.”
They stared at each other, their expressions unreadable. A flicker of amusement passed through both of their eyes at such an old memory, but as the snow fell, it was gone just like that.
Horikita paused, processing the words that he had left her, her expression unreadable. It was the answer she had wanted to hear—an easy explanation for the strange tension between them.
But even Ayanokouji knew she didn’t believe him, not truly.
“I see,” she said, her tone gentle and soft. “Then I won’t keep you waiting.”
“Yes, I’ll see you at the beginning of next semester then, Horikita.”
She nodded, accepting his lies. Accepting the illusion that he offered her, that by the time spring comes, everything will be the same.
Were there any truths in these lies they so often speak?
Alas, she didn’t move.
The snow fell heavier now, blanketing the ground in white, and still, she stood there, her eyes lingering on him.
Ayanokouji looked into those eyes of hers and subconsciously made an effort to remember their exact shade, to remember the subtle things he had picked up while observing Horikita Suzune for the last two years.
He looked, focusing on the way the light reflected in them, on the way they burned bright enough to melt away the slowly falling snow.
He committed it all to memory.
Even if they stopped speaking, even if their relationship frayed beyond repair, he wanted to remember this piece of her.
He would be satisfied with just that.
Or so he told himself.
“Horikita?” he called again. The snow was falling faster now, and he didn’t want her to catch a cold.
This wasn’t like him.
Not at all.
And yet, when she lifted her gaze to meet his, there was something in her eyes—a flicker of determination, of ambition that burned so brightly it made him pause. It was a look he couldn’t quite place.
“Ayanokouji, thank you,” she said, her voice soft but steady.
Then, she smiled.
It was something he couldn’t help but notice, more so than the snow falling gently around them, more so than the sea that stretched out beyond the street.
He found himself at a loss for words, unable to make his mind work as it usually did, unable to say anything back.
Because Horikita Suzune, you are…
She turned then, her shoes leaving soft imprints in the snow, her long hair flowing behind her like a sea of stars.
Ayanokouji felt his pulse quicken.
It had become harder to breathe.
He was ill.
No.
Unknowingly, he took a step forward, his hand lifting toward her retreating figure as if to reach out, as if to close the distance between them. But just as quickly, he stopped himself, his hand falling back to his side.
He wasn’t ill.
He knew that.
But if he admitted the truth to himself, if he let that realization fully settle in, he feared he wouldn’t understand it. This feeling—this emotion that Kei had spoken about—was something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Because if he did, if he accepted it as that, what then? What would it mean for all his careful plans, for his carefully constructed world? What if nothing changed? What if it all remained meaningless?
Did he care for Horikita?
What did it mean to care for someone? Was it the way he had quietly ensured her safety, making plan after plan to keep her out of harm’s way? Was it the way he had stayed close, ready to catch her if she ever faltered?
Was it in the way he didn’t care how she had used him, as long as it meant he could stay near her? In the way he allowed himself to get swept up in the exams, when he normally wouldn’t have bothered, just to find an excuse to talk to her?
Or maybe it was in the smaller things—like how he remembered her favorite coffee order every time he got his own. How he noticed the moment she’d fallen ill on the cruise, before anyone else had. Or how he would feel an unsettling worry when she didn’t come to him about exams, even though he knew it wasn’t his business anymore.
Was it care, then, in the way he observed all these small details? Her smile when she was pleased with herself, the rare, genuine laugh that occasionally escaped her, or the subtle tilt of her head when she was deep in thought, solving a challenge that others couldn’t see?
Even others had begun to notice the way his attention lingered on her more than anyone else.
All these pieces of her had somehow etched themselves into his mind, effortlessly, as if they belonged there.
He didn't know what to do.
For the first time in his life, he didn't know what piece to play next.
The world around him blurred into a white haze, the falling snowflakes falling gently around him.
Horikita, he thought, would you understand this?
Would she understand these things in his mind? How his heart and mind were split beyond comprehension?
He was a walking contradiction.
A broken puppet that had to pick up its own strings.
His lips parted, and he almost whispered it, almost let the words escape.
"—..."
But the words were swallowed by the howling winter wind, lost before they could ever reach her.
All Ayanokouji could do was watch as she disappeared into the falling snow, leaving him behind in the silence.
He stood there, and let the snow fall.