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The silence wakes him before the alarm.
There are no footsteps in the hallway, no cups clattering, no papers arranged in that specific rhythm that only she has. No soft voices discussing protocols, nor the dull echo of Konomi Okonogi's boots as she turns the corner into the meeting room.
There's only still air, a gray light filtering through the cracks in the blinds, and Hoshina Soshiro lying back in bed, staring at the ceiling.
It's not that he sleeps with her. No, nothing like that. But lately he's gotten used to it. To passing her in the hallways. To seeing her sitting with one leg crossed over the other, underlining reports with surgical precision. To hearing her voice in meetings, that serene tone capable of silencing five senior officers without raising a decibel. To feeling her close. To knowing he's being watched by her, even if it's with annoyance.
And today she's not there.
She didn't leave him a note at the door. She didn't say hello before disappearing on a short mission with Mina.
So Hoshina sits up in bed. She scratches her neck. And sighs as if she's just woken up in a colorless world.
⸻
The dining room is full of voices, but he barely hears.
The metal tray rattles a little when he sets it down on the table. The morning meal—rice, eggs, toast—tastes like nothing. His eyes fix on the fruit.
"Konomi would probably be eating cereal with fruit," he thinks, listlessly stirring the cut pieces in the corner of his plate. "And she'd save the most perfect strawberry for last. She always does that…"
He chews without enthusiasm. The soldiers' voices sound distant, as if submerged in water. Someone says something about Narumi's squad training, another laughs at a joke he doesn't quite hear. He nods automatically.
And when they're done, he lingers for another second with his fork in his hand, as if breakfast were a poorly performed choreography. As if a whole measure were missing and he doesn't know why.
⸻
The training area is covered in dust and sweat. The sun is beginning to rise over the administrative building and casts long shadows across the field, silhouetted by moving figures.
"Come on, one more! Don't let up on the defense!"
The cadets gasp, practice swords clash, the floor vibrates beneath their feet. But Hoshina is… tuned out. He gives instructions. Corrects stances. Congratulates a rookie who manages to maintain his guard against a swift attack.
And then, just when he should counterattack in a demonstration, his mind empties. He's gone. He remembers something else. A fleeting image of Konomi emerging from the training shower the day before, her wet hair falling down her back. Plain. Tired. Beautiful.
"Hoshina-san!"
The impact snaps him out of the memory. A practice sword strikes his leg. Not with lethal force, but with the kind of force that makes pride hurt.
"Is she okay?"
"Huh?... Yeah, yeah. I got distracted."
"What was I thinking?"
He pauses. He looks at the cadet.
"A high-level threat," he replies gravely, adjusting his gloves.
Lie. He thought about her hair. About how she shakes her head when it sticks to his neck. About how she smells like mild soap. About how she smiles at Lieutenant Haruichi when he talks about statistics... and how she never smiles at him like that.
⸻
At 1:15 p.m., the dining room fills up again. Hoshina orders the same thing as always, but doesn't eat.
"What the hell am I doing...?" he wonders, looking at his phone for the fourth time.
Nothing. No text. No coordination email. No notification with his name. Konomi is out. With Mina. And he, who spends his days facing kaiju with a smile on his face, now feels like an idiot who's lost his balance over just one person.
"I can't text her. I'm working. So is she. I'm not going to bother her."
He taps the keyboard.
"Are you back?"
He taps delete. He sighs. He puts his phone back.
Someone calls him from the table in the back. She excuses herself with a wave of her hand. She doesn't feel like smiling today.
⸻
In her office, everything seems out of place.
The reports are poorly stapled. The pages are crooked. The air conditioner is noisy. The seat squeaks. And, worst of all, there's no folder with a faint lavender scent that she always leaves on her desk, with her fingernail marks in the corner.
She stamps documents, checks schedules, answers requests in short sentences.
And then she stares out the window. For long minutes.
⸻
At 8:00 PM, he trains with his katanas.
And that should be enough. His body knows that language. The rhythm. The precision. But even that isn't flowing today.
Erratic. Clumsy. Hurried.
In the middle of training, he stops. He feels his chest tighten with sheer frustration. He sits on the bench next to the tatami. He puts his hands to his face. Sweat trickles down his neck, but he doesn't care.
"I'm sick..." he whispers.
And he laughs. Alone. Exhausted from himself.
⸻
The barracks slowly empties. The sky turns a dark violet.
And then, at the end of one of the hallways, he hears her.
He doesn't see her yet, but he hears her voice.
There's no doubt. It's her. Giving quick instructions to someone from Squad 2. Tired, but energetic. Sounding like always: firm, sweet, intelligent.
Her heart races. Ridiculously. As if she hasn't trained over a thousand hours to master her emotions.
He waits for her, leaning against the wall.
And when she turns the corner and sees him, he stops.
"What?" she says, frowning, surprised.
"What about what? I was just passing by."
"You were passing by the hallway that connects directly to my office?"
"What a coincidence, huh?"
She smiles. Not a big smile. Barely a curl at the corner of her lip. But enough to disarm him.
"What were you doing?" she asks, tucking an envelope under her arm.
"Nothing important..." he says, looking at her as if she's the only real thing in the whole damn building. "I just thought about you all day, like an idiot."
The hallway goes silent. The light tubes flicker.
She looks at him. He looks at her.
And then he says it:
—…I said it out loud, didn't I?