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It's a week later when Nakamura felt like he finally ran out of tears.
He'd gotten used to the permanent sting in his eyes, and the loud wailing at night had turned into soft sobs that echoed across his bedroom. The notebook with Kawamura's drawings was already soaked with tears, the ink in the dialogue boxes smudged to obscurity.
Nakamura made it a point to avoid talking to anyone so that he wouldn't risk spontaneously crying in the middle of a sentence. Whenever he was forced to talk, he made sure to speak shortly and softly, prioritizing finding a way out of the conversation as quickly as possible. Everyone probably thought he was acting ridiculous.
Or maybe he didn't seem ridiculous to anyone at school at all. Maybe, for once, his ability to fade into the background was actually to his benefit.
It's not like anyone would notice his sadness. It's not like people would ask him how he was doing or what he was up to—getting a "good morning" from a classmate sometimes caught him off-guard. It's not like anyone would realize that his heart had been shattered to pieces in one moment after months of keeping it glued together by blind hope.
It's not like anyone cared.
Maybe he hadn't ran out of tears after all.
"Could you draw the continuation of that manga about me and Hirose?"
It wasn't the weirdest request Kawamura got, but it was definitely the most eye-opening.
She didn't think much about Nakamura's repeated requests for drawings of Hirose, nor did she think much about him being a fudanshi. Maybe it was her crush on him that clouded her judgment.
But getting that request, and seeing Nakamura's eyes while he said it—Kawamura didn't think she could handle the loneliness.
And yet, the loneliness only seemed to grow throughout that week. Nakamura was already one of the quietest people in their class, but somehow he became even quieter these past few days. Like speaking at all was a chore to him, or something that wasn't worth the effort.
She tried bringing it up to Okuda and Hamaoka one lunch break, but they felt that Nakamura was just his usual broody self. That quickly led to them teasing Kawamura about how she's paying special attention to Nakamura, which led her to clarify yet again that the crush had already fizzled out.
It only made her determined to make the perfect comic for Nakamura. In the BLs she read, the trope of the gay main character falling for their straight friend was usually treated with bitterness, and the MC would only start to mellow out once something developed with their actual love interest. Sometimes that love interest was another character, but sometimes it was the straight friend who turned out to not be as straight as he seemed.
Kawamura knew where to take that trope for this particular comic. And she hoped that it would bring a smile to Nakamura's face amid the tears.
It was the least she could do.
"Hey, you, occult girl."
Aokiyama could already feel her good luck run out. She wasn't already having the best of luck that day, but hearing that greeting cemented the fact that today was going to be unsalvageable.
"I have a name, you know," she said in reply.
"Whatever," Tamura shrugged. "I'm not here to argue."
"That's a first."
"Do you want to argue?"
"Do you have anything better to say?"
"Yeah. Have you noticed anything weird about Nakamura lately?"
That erased the insult from Aokiyama's tongue.
"Yeah," she nodded. "I was asking him to participate in our séance earlier today, but the way he rejected me was different. It was almost like…"
Aokiyama didn't actually know how to describe it. She didn't feel like Nakamura was possessed, nor did she think he was under some sort of curse. If he was, Aokiyama would've already released him from it anyway—or used it to her advantage.
No, the spirits had nothing to do with it. This was an issue coming from within.
"Like his whole world turned upside down," Tamura finished for her. "I approached him a few days ago, since I wanted to recruit him for one of the plays I'm doing for class. I wrote one of the supporting roles with him in mind. But the way he said no, it didn't leave me any room to argue."
Aokiyama was shocked—not just because of what Tamura said, but because this had apparently been going on for several days. Maybe she could give Nakamura a potion to lift his spirits? But all the recipes Aokiyama knew were for ruining moods rather than improving them.
"Do you think something happened?" she asked.
"Definitely," Tamura sighed. "I asked Oomori, but he didn't think that Nakamura was acting any different."
"That's ridiculous. Anyone who took a good look at him would immediately know something's wrong."
"Glad we agree on something for once."
Aokiyama bit down her hiss—if anything, it was Oomori who deserved it. And the rest of Nakamura's class, for that matter, as she could tell that Oomori's opinion was shared by his classmates if Nakamura still looked that miserable after several days.
There was a part of Aokiyama that wanted to just ask Nakamura directly what was wrong. She can easily track him, after all, and maybe solving his dilemma could mean that he'd be willing to participate in their séance after all.
But the more she thought about it, the more she realized it wasn't the best idea. She didn't truly know anything about Nakamura other than his immense potential as an occultist. If this was a personal issue, Nakamura wouldn't share it to someone he wasn't that close with. And she figured Tamura was on the same boat.
And Oomori and the rest of his class, her brain supplied.
Aokiyama suddenly had the urge to lay a curse on Nakamura's classmates. If she couldn't make Nakamura feel better, maybe she could make everyone around him feel his pain.
Otogiri was grading quizzes on his desk when the door to the teachers' lounge opened. By the sound of the footsteps, he didn't need to turn around to know who it was, and the looming shadow that stood between him and the sunset-tinted windows only confirmed his suspicions.
"We need to talk about one of your students," Niou began. He always went straight to the point with his thoughts, which Otogiri both appreciated and resented. He really should invite Niou out to some drinks some time to loosen him up.
"What did they do this time?" Otogiri asked in a teasing tone. "Didn't hit the volleyball hard enough?"
"More like gave up on the idea of learning volleyball altogether."
That gave Otogiri pause. He was used to Niou's complaints about how his students never put in the effort for PE, and he always refuted him with the fact that Niou's standards were on the level of professional athletes and not high school students. But this seemed different, and from the way Niou spoke—like he was worried rather than frustrated—it didn't take long for Otogiri to connect the dots.
"Is this about Nakamura?" he asked, and he could see the shock in Niou's eyes.
"Yes," Niou nodded. "How did you know?"
Instead of replying, Otogiri took one of the quizzes that he had set aside and handed it over to Niou. It was the math quiz that his homeroom class took earlier that day, and Nakamura's performance had raised alarm bells when he finished grading it.
"He didn't finish answering the quiz?" Niou pointed out.
"It's like he gave up halfway," Otogiri replied. "And yeah, there are some students who do that, but Nakamura isn't one of them. He usually has one of the highest scores in the class."
Otogiri had noticed that Nakamura wasn't his usual self for the past few days, being even more reclusive and anti-social than normal. It seemed like there was a rain cloud that was always following him—or rather, one that Nakamura intentionally brought with him wherever he went.
He had been planning to speak with Nakamura privately to ask him if he was OK, but Otogiri wanted to make sure that there was actually an issue to begin with. He didn't want to put Nakamura on the spot over something that he wasn't 100% sure existed.
But with his latest quiz score, and with Niou pointing out that Nakamura had also been acting like that in another class…
"You should talk to him," Niou finished the thought for him. "It might be tough, but if anyone can do it, it's his homeroom teacher."
Otogiri figured that Niou actually meant that if anyone should do it, it's his homeroom teacher, but he agreed all the same.
"OK, I'll talk to him tomorrow," he said. "Do you want to join the conversation?"
Niou mulled the question over for a few seconds. "I shouldn't. I don't want to overwhelm him."
Otogiri couldn't help the smirk on his face. "Who knew you were a softie under all that muscle?"
He took pride at how Niou blushed at the remark.
Matsumura let his classmates' banter wash over him as they walked down the street. There was a new café that opened only a couple of blocks from their school, and they had all decided earlier that day to visit it after class.
He tried keeping up with the conversation as best as he could—what this person was doing, what that person allegedly said the other day, who was crushing on who—but it was difficult considering how quickly it was happening and how the names and through lines seemed to blend together.
And how he knew the conversations weren't really conversations to him, but distractions.
He found out about Hana earlier that week, and if he wasn't in the middle of having lunch with his friends when it happened, he would've broken down immediately. But Matsumura was a master of keeping his composure, and so he was able to hold it all in until he got home and locked himself in his room.
None of his classmates knew, of course—no one even knew that he liked boys at all. But when Matsumura showed up to class earlier that week with a gloomy aura, his classmates all checked in on him to make sure he was OK. All he said was that he was dealing with something and that he didn't want to talk about it, but it led everyone to try cheering him up anyway—this café visit being the latest of their efforts.
He appreciated it a lot, each of his classmates' efforts helping to mend his broken heart. He didn't know what he'd do without their sympathy.
It was with that thought that Matsumura saw him.
He was on top of a pedestrian overpass, his bike leaning against the railing. He was staring at the road, though the blankness in his eyes told Matsumura that he wasn't there for the view.
There was one point where he considered it, reaching out to Nakamura. He figured it would've been nice to share his sadness with someone who truly understood what he was feeling. But he quickly decided against it after remembering that most of their conversations so far had been arguments, and he didn't really want another thorn on his side while he was in the middle of his pity party.
But seeing Nakamura's vacant stare told Matsumura that he probably should have reached out after all.
From what he could tell from the posts he saw online, Nakamura didn't seem like he had the same luxury of friends distracting him from the pain. While Nakamura's Instagram account was private, all the photos that Hirose posted with his friends never featured Nakamura. And whenever he scoured the accounts of Hirose's classmates for more photos, none of them included Nakamura either.
Matsumura was saving it as ammo for his next confrontation with Nakamura. But after Hana, he didn't think he had the guts to stoop that low.
His group had passed by the overpass, and luckily, they didn't have to take it to reach their destination. He didn't know how Nakamura would react to seeing him, and frankly, Matsumura didn't know what to do either. How could he even begin to help Nakamura feel better if he himself was still slowly processing his heartbreak? How could he give Nakamura any sense of hope if he himself still felt hopeless? How could he give Nakamura words of encouragement if he himself didn't believe the pain would end anytime soon?
And would Nakamura even accept his sympathy?
Knowing that their group would have to go down a different street soon, Matsumura turned around one more time to look at the overpass. For a moment, he panicked at not seeing him standing on the same spot. He was about to run back to the overpass to make sure he was OK when he saw Nakamura heading down at the other side of the street, slowly dragging his bike down the designated ramp.
Matsumura breathed a sigh of relief as he turned back to his friends. He'll make sure to track Nakamura down the next time he could so they could talk. Or at least have a good cry together.