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I always tell myself I’m not going to do this.
I’m not going to stand in front of Mafuyu’s school like some kind of desperate courtesan waiting for her noble lady to emerge from the castle gates.
But here I am.
Standing. Waiting.
Kicking at the gravel like an abandoned puppy.
To be fair, I did try to go to my own school this morning. I really did. I made it to school, but then — that brittle tightness in my chest that whispers "they’re staring, they’re judging, they’re seeing the old me, the wrong me," all those awful memories sticking like needles under my skin.
So I just hung around on the rooftop, and a little bit before school should end, I did what any reasonable person would do in my position.
I just walked straight to Mafuyu’s school instead.
It’s not creepy. I mean, I came here before, and she didn't seem to mind, so I can do it again, right?
(…Okay, maybe a little creepy. But she knows me. She knows this is just how I am. And she still hasn’t dumped me off a cliff yet.)
The gate is crowded with students leaving for the day — groups laughing, people calling to each other, sports bags bouncing on shoulders. I get a couple of odd glances because I stick out like a sparkly sore thumb in my Kamiyama uniform, but whatever. It's better than how I'm seen at school. I look cute. Let them stare.
I grip my phone tighter.
My stomach’s doing that fluttery, awful, wonderful thing again.
Mafuyu always makes me feel like this. Gosh, since when did Mafuyu start to make me feel like this?
She’s just… special. Quiet, steady, soft-spoken. She has this particular way of looking at me — like I’m not overwhelming, or annoying, or too loud, or too bright. Like I’m something gentle.
And that’s exactly what makes me feel like I don’t deserve her. Like I’m intruding on some world she’s perfectly built for herself—untouchable, flawless, so impossibly composed that me being around her is some sort of absurd mistake.
I’m mid-spiral when I see her.
Her uniform sleeves are neatly rolled, hair softly swaying. She scans the crowd — calm, composed — until her eyes land on me.
“Mizuki,” she says, voice smooth but with her honour roll persona. “You’re here.”
“I… yeah.” My voice cracks a little. “I thought I’d, you know, walk with you home.”
She tilts her head, as if processing that. No visible reaction. Just her usual calm, measured composure.
I want to melt. I want to confess everything right now, but she’s… perfect. Too composed. Too untouchable.
We walk. Side by side. I trip over my words and my own excitement. My hands fidget. My heart races. Every brush of her arm against mine makes me dizzy.
I catch myself imagining her noticing someone else. Someone better. Someone like her. Someone that isn't like me.
“Why aren’t you in school?” she asks eventually, now back to her usual flat, monotone voice.
I shrug, pretending to be casual. “Didn’t feel like it today.”
She just nods. Doesn’t pry. Doesn’t judge. Just lets it hang in the air.
I feel my chest tighten. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t feel this way. But I can’t stop.
We find a quiet street, far enough from other students. Only then do I notice the faintest change. She exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing a hair. Her arms unclench. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t smile, but it’s different — softer, quieter.
I want to reach for her hand. I want to press my face into her shoulder. I want to tell her every thought I’ve never said aloud.
Instead, I do what I always do: I drag her along. Mafuyu follows, expression neutral, like she’s already decided that fighting me is pointless. “Come on, just a little detour,” I mutter, tugging her toward the clothing area.
We start with the skirts. I pick up one, then another, then a third, and thrust them at her. “Try these! They’ll look so good on you!” I can barely form the words—my chest feels like it’s going to explode, my hands shaking slightly as I hold up a pale pink skirt against her.
She takes it without protest, disappearing behind the changing room curtain. And when she emerges… my brain literally stops.
She looks perfect. Every single thing about her is perfect. The skirt sways just right, the colour making her pale skin glow. Her hair frames her face like it was painted that way, her expression calm, almost bored—but even that deadpan composure makes my heart pound. I feel hot, flustered, like someone just pressed the fast-forward button on all the feelings I’ve been bottling up for years.
“I… you… Wow,” I stammer, stumbling over the words. “You look… amazing. Seriously, Mafuyu, you—” I can’t even finish. My stomach flips, my hands clench, and I want to reach out and touch the fabric just to prove this is real. She tilts her head slightly, expression completely unbothered, like she doesn’t even notice my brain short-circuiting.
I grab the next outfit—a soft blue blouse paired with a skirt with little embroidered flowers—and practically shove it at her. “You have to try this one too! It’ll make your eyes pop!” My heart is in my throat as I imagine her stepping out of the changing room again. I can already feel my chest tightening, my fingers itching to smooth down the folds of the fabric, just to see it on her.
She comes out. And of course, she looks… divine. Every tiny detail fits her so effortlessly, it’s infuriating. I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet, whispering to myself, my mind spinning. “She’s… she’s too perfect… why is she so perfect… my god, Mafuyu, you’re insane…” I can’t help it. My hands fidget, my cheeks heat up, and I want to scream and cry and just collapse into her arms all at once.
Mafuyu glances at me, calm as ever, giving a single small shrug. It’s the smallest thing, the tiniest acknowledgement, but it makes me melt all over again. She doesn’t move faster, doesn’t fuss, doesn’t complain—she just exists, and somehow that’s enough to send my heart racing.
I pull out another outfit, a soft top that I’m convinced is made just for her, and she lets me hold it up against her as I practically squeal. Her expression doesn’t change except for a slight blush that I might have been imagining. She doesn’t have to say anything. Just standing there, letting me go completely insane over how she looks… It’s like she’s doing it on purpose, and my chest aches so badly I almost can’t breathe.
We wander the mall a little longer, me babbling the whole way, pointing at anything remotely cute, trying to convince her to try everything. She follows silently, hands at her sides, calm, steady, untouchable—and all the while I’m spiralling, my brain and heart tumbling over themselves, because every time she moves, every tiny glance, every step she takes in these clothes, it feels like the world itself is stopping just for her.
Even when we finally find a quiet spot to sit, I’m still shaking slightly, hands fluttering, heart hammering. I can’t stop thinking about how she looked in every outfit, how effortlessly beautiful she is, how completely she consumes my thoughts without even trying. Mafuyu doesn’t even notice—I’m the one losing my mind—but I don’t care. I don’t care that she’s calm, composed, untouchable. I just want to be near her.
After dragging her through half the mall, I finally relent—for now. But of course, I can’t just let it end there. I spot a small store selling little trinkets and accessories. “Wait! Wait, we have to see this!” I practically pull her inside. She follows, shoulders relaxed, expression completely neutral, as I dive into every glittery bracelet, every cute hair clip. I pick up something tiny and ridiculous—a charm shaped like a tiny cat wearing a crown—and hold it up to her.
“You have to try this!” I insist, holding it up to her wrist. Mafuyu sighs softly, lifts her arm, and lets me slip the charm on. She doesn’t even glance at it. She doesn’t need to. I stare at it, staring at her, feeling my chest tighten. Everything about her is… overwhelming. Every movement, every little gesture—it’s too much and yet not enough. I feel dizzy just standing next to her, trying to memorise the way the light catches her hair, the tilt of her head, the calm, untouchable perfection of her presence.
I have to drag her out before I hyperventilate completely. “Okay, okay, let’s… eat something!” I squeal, tugging her toward a small café near the centre of the mall. She follows quietly, letting me lead, letting me keep my ridiculous energy in check by being there, calm, steady, and… perfect.
We find a little table by the window, sitting across from each other with the afternoon sun spilling in. I order the most colourful crepes I can find, and she chooses a parfait. I chatter almost nonstop while we wait, pointing at the decorations on the menu, half laughing at myself for being so excited about something so small. Mafuyu just listens, sipping her drink quietly, eyes flicking to mine occasionally, and it’s enough to send my heart into overdrive.
When the desserts arrive and we start eating.
I offer her my crepe by holding it out toward her. “Here—try some of mine! You’ll love it,” I say, teasing, trying to sound casual even though my chest is hammering.
She tilts her head and leans in, taking the bite directly from my hand. My heart does that fluttery, impossible thing again, and I can’t stop staring.
I immediately notice it: a tiny smear of whipped cream clinging to the corner of Mafuyu’s mouth.
“Oh, come on, Mafuyu, look at you,” I tease lightly, leaning forward with a grin. “You’re not supposed to wear dessert on your face.”
Her eyes widen just the tiniest bit, but she doesn’t protest. I reach over, finger poised, and swipe the cream off like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “There… all better,” I say, voice playful, trying to keep it casual. I can feel my heart hammering, but I force my expression to stay light, teasing, my usual Mizuki energy—like I’m completely in control.
I dig into my crepe, barely tasting it because I’m still lost in her. Every laugh she lets slip, every tilt of her head, every calm, composed gesture—Mafuyu has no idea how completely she’s wrecking me. And I don’t even care. I just want to sit here, like this, with her, for as long as possible.
We sit on a bench. I talk. She listens. My chest aches. I’m falling harder than ever.
“I… I’m sorry for keeping you so long,” I mumble, voice barely above a whisper.
And just as the sun begins to dip, painting the world in gold, Mafuyu turns her gaze toward me. Eyes softened, just slightly, and—
a tiny, rare, almost imperceptible smile brushes her lips.
Mafuyu shakes her head, a faint smile still lingering. “It's fine… I... actually enjoyed it, more than I thought I would,” she says quietly.
My heart stops.
That small smile — it’s not for anyone else. Not the world. Not her schoolmates. Not her carefully curated persona.
It’s for me.
And in that moment, I can’t breathe.
Because I realise: even someone as untouchable, as perfect, as distant as Mafuyu can feel… something for me.
Something like… love.