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The first time it happened, Shinoa was looking for a place to take a nap.
The old music room on the third floor had been abandoned for years—broken piano, dusty curtains, a clock that had stopped sometime during the previous decade. Perfect for avoiding Guren's lectures. Perfect for sleeping through lunch.
Perfect for walking in on her two idiot friends trying to eat each other's faces by the window.
Shinoa froze.
Mika had Yuu pressed against the glass, one hand tangled in that ridiculous black hair, the other gripping Yuu's hip like he was afraid Yuu would dissolve into mist. Yuu, for his part, had his arms wrapped around Mika's neck and looked about two seconds from climbing him like a tree.
Well, Shinoa thought. That explains the tension.
She stepped back. Quietly. Carefully. The door creaked.
Both boys whipped around.
Yuu's face went through approximately seventeen shades of red before settling on "tomato that has also been set on fire." Mika's expression didn't change, but his ears—his ears—turned the color of fresh blood.
"Hi," Shinoa said. "Nice weather we're having."
"Mikaela Hyakuya, I am going to murder you—" Yuu started.
"You kissed me—"
"Only because you—"
"The window was fogging up—"
"You're both disgusting," Shinoa interrupted cheerfully. "I'm going to find a different nap spot. Please pretend I was never here."
She left.
She told absolutely no one.
(She told Yoichi within three hours.)
The second time, Yoichi was retrieving a lost arrow from the archery shed.
He wasn't sneaking. He wasn't spying. He simply needed his equipment, and the shed was where the equipment lived, and it was nobody's fault that the shed also apparently functioned as a make-out den for certain emotionally constipated classmates.
Yoichi opened the door.
Mika had Yuu pinned against the spare target boards. Yuu had Mika's shirt halfway unbuttoned. They were kissing with the kind of intensity usually reserved for wartime reunions or the final episode of a romance drama.
"Oh!" Yoichi squeaked.
The boys sprang apart. Yuu tripped over a quiver. Mika caught him automatically, which meant they ended up tangled together on the floor, which somehow looked worse than the original position.
"I'm so sorry!" Yoichi waved his hands frantically. "I didn't see anything! I mean—I saw everything—but I didn't see it—I'll just—"
He backed out of the shed, closed the door, and stood outside for a full thirty seconds processing what he'd just witnessed.
Then he texted Shinoa: THE SHED. THE ACTUAL SHED.
She texted back: I KNOW. I FOUND THE MUSIC ROOM.
They never spoke of it aloud. But they exchanged a look during lunch that contained multitudes.
The third time, Kimizuki was trying to find his sister.
Mirai had wandered off during visiting hours—nothing unusual, she got restless sometimes—and Kimizuki had checked the garden, the cafeteria, the chapel, and was now systematically searching the east wing of the hospital.
He turned a corner.
Mika and Yuu were in the stairwell. Specifically, Yuu was sitting on the stairs, and Mika was kneeling in front of him, and they were kissing like the world was ending and this was their last chance to memorize each other's mouths.
Kimizuki stopped.
He looked at them. They looked at him.
"What the hell?!" Kimizuki said flatly.
Yuu opened his mouth. Mika put a hand over it.
"We're visiting Mirai," Mika said calmly. "She wanted us to bring her manga."
"You're making out in a hospital stairwell."
"The manga was heavy."
Kimizuki stared at them for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he turned around and walked away.
"Get a damn room," he called over his shoulder. "I'm not helping either of you ever again."
Behind him, he heard Yuu hiss, "This is your fault—"
"My fault? You're the one who said the stairwell was private—"
"HOSPITAL. STAIRWELL. MIKA."
Kimizuki kept walking. He did not look back. He did not think about what he'd seen. He definitely did not text Shinoa, because Shinoa would be insufferable about it.
(He texted Shinoa.)
The fourth time, Mitsuba walked into the library after hours to return an overdue book.
She had a key. The librarian trusted her. It was fine.
What was not fine was turning the corner by the classics section and finding Yuuichirou Hyakuya sitting on top of one of the reading tables with Mikaela Hyakuya standing between his legs, their foreheads pressed together, mouths moving in a way that suggested they'd been doing this for hours.
Mitsuba screamed.
Not a loud scream. A tiny, horrified, why-is-this-happening-to-me scream that escaped before she could stop it.
The boys jumped apart. Yuu fell off the table. Mika caught him. They ended up in a heap on the floor, which Mitsuba was starting to realize was just their thing.
"Shinoa knows," Mitsuba said. Her voice was strangled. "Yoichi knows. Kimizuki knows. Everyone knows. Do you have any idea how bad you two are at being subtle?"
"We're not trying to be subtle—" Yuu started.
"You made out in the library. The library, Yuu. There are books here."
"Books are romantic—"
"Books are not romantic when you're—" Mitsuba gestured wildly at them. "—doing that on top of them!"
Mika stood up, brushed off his uniform, and looked at her with an expression of complete and utter calm. "Would you prefer we use your room next time?"
Mitsuba's soul left her body.
"I'M TELLING SHINOA."
"She already knows."
"I'M TELLING HER AGGRESSIVELY."
She fled. She did not return her book. She did not sleep well for a week.
The fifth time, Guren wasn't even supposed to be there.
He'd come back to school late to pick up some papers. The hallways were dark. The security lights were on. It was peaceful, for once, without students running around causing problems.
Then he heard a noise from the supply closet.
Probably rats, Guren thought. Or a janitor. Definitely not worth investigating.
He investigated anyway.
The door was unlocked. He pulled it open.
Mika and Yuu were inside. Yuu was sitting on an overturned bucket. Mika was in his lap. They were kissing. There was no ambiguity about what they were doing. There was also, Guren noticed with a kind of exhausted resignation, a mop involved somehow.
"Hyakuya," Guren said. "Both Hyakuyas. Why?"
Yuu made a sound like a dying animal. Mika's composure cracked for the first time—his eyes went wide, and his mouth opened and closed several times without producing words.
"Sir," Mika finally managed. "This isn't—we were just—"
"In the supply closet."
"Yes."
"With a mop."
"The mop is incidental."
Guren looked at them. Looked at the mop. Looked back at them.
"Detention," he said. "Both of you. Two weeks. And if I ever catch you in another closet, storage room, stairwell, shed, music room, library, or any other location on this school, I will make you scrub every floor in this building with that mop."
"Yes, sir," they said in unison.
Guren closed the door.
He walked to his office. Sat down. Stared at the wall for a long time.
Then he opened his desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a very, very large glass.
The sixth time, no one caught them.
They'd learned. Sort of.
Instead of public spaces, they'd started using Mika's apartment. Or Yuu's. Or the roof of the Shibuya parking garage at midnight, which was arguably even less safe than the supply closet but at least had a nice view.
But old habits died hard.
One evening, after cleaning duty, Yuu pulled Mika into the empty classroom. Just for a minute. Just to say goodnight properly.
One minute turned into five.
Five turned into ten.
Neither of them heard the door open.
Neither of them saw Narumi pause in the doorway, take in the scene—Yuu with his back against the chalkboard, Mika's hands on his waist, the slow, soft way they kissed like they were the only two people in the world—and then quietly, silently, close the door again.
Narumi walked down the hallway. He didn't tell anyone. He didn't text anyone. He didn't even think about it, really.
But as he left the building, he passed Shinoa, who was waiting by the gate with a knowing smile.
"You saw them too?" she asked.
Narumi shrugged. "They're not as sneaky as they think."
"Should we tell them?"
"Nah." Narumi glanced back at the school, where the lights of the third-floor classroom still burned. "Let them have this. God knows they've earned it."
Shinoa's smile softened.
"Yeah," she said. "They really have."
Above them, the stars came out, one by one. And in a quiet classroom on the third floor, two boys who had spent years searching for home finally stopped running long enough to realize they'd found it in each other.
The mop, thankfully, was not involved.