The rain had begun as a soft mist, just barely noticeable in the warm afternoon air. But by the time the final bell rang, it had thickened into a steady drizzle, painting the world in muted shades of gray. The school's narrow hallways were crowded with students eager to escape into the evening, their chatter blending into a dull hum. Normally, Aika wouldn't have minded the noise. It was familiar, grounding. But today, it felt distant—like she was hearing everything from underwater.
Her thoughts were somewhere else.
Or rather, on someone else.
Riku hadn't shown up to class.
It wasn't like him. He wasn't the most dedicated student, but he at least made an effort to show up, even if it was just to nap through half the lessons. But today, his seat had been empty, untouched, as if he had never intended to be there in the first place.
Aika adjusted her bag and pulled out her phone under her desk.
Aika: You skipping class again?
She sent the message and waited.
The seconds stretched. The tiny 'Read' notification never appeared.
Her fingers hovered over the screen before she sighed and locked her phone.
Her chest felt tight, like a weight had settled there without her noticing.
She wanted to ignore it, to brush it off as just another one of Riku's whims. But the memory of yesterday lingered—the hesitant way he had answered her, the faint tremor in his hands, the way he had forced a grin like it was a mask he was terrified to take off.
Something was wrong.
She just didn't know what.
The final bell rang, jolting her from her thoughts.
As she slipped her phone into her pocket, she heard someone call her name.
"Aika."
She turned to see Mei, one of her classmates, closing her locker.
"Are you heading home?" Mei asked, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear.
Aika hesitated. "Not yet. I need to check something."
Mei studied her for a moment before speaking. "If you're looking for Riku, I saw him earlier."
Aika's heart skipped. "Where?"
"Near the old school building. The back entrance." Mei adjusted her bag. "I think he was alone."
Alone.
That was the part that bothered her the most.
Riku was always around people. He thrived in crowds, in laughter, in noise. If he was by himself…
Aika tightened her grip on her bag. "Thanks."
Mei tilted her head slightly, like she wanted to ask something, but in the end, she just nodded and walked away.
Aika turned toward the old school building, her steps quickening as the rain soaked through her uniform sleeves.
By the time she reached the back of the building, her breath was uneven—not from exhaustion, but from something else entirely.
Riku was there.
He sat on the worn concrete steps, his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted slightly upward as he stared at the rain. His usual presence—so full of movement, of playful energy—was gone. Instead, he looked distant, lost in a place even she couldn't reach.
Aika hesitated.
She had known Riku for years, had seen him in every possible state—annoying, smug, restless, angry. But she had never seen him like this.
Quiet.
Still.
Something about it unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
She took a breath and stepped forward.
"You're hard to find today."
Riku blinked, as if pulled from a dream. Then, just like that, his easy grin returned, slipping into place like a well-practiced lie. "Didn't know you were looking for me."
Aika frowned, stepping under the overhang of the building to escape the rain. "You weren't in class."
He stretched his arms behind his head, as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Felt like skipping."
"Since when do you skip all day?"
He shrugged. "Guess I needed a break."
There it was again—that casual dismissal. But Aika wasn't buying it.
She sat down beside him, pulling her knees to her chest. The air smelled of rain and damp earth, the sound of water dripping from the eaves the only thing between them.
"…You've been acting weird," she finally said.
Riku let out a low chuckle. "You always say that."
"Because it's true."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and spun it idly in his hands. The movement was slow, controlled—almost like a distraction.
Finally, he murmured, "It's nothing, Aika. Just… tired."
The way he said it made her chest ache.
It was more than tiredness. She could feel it. The weight of something unspoken hanging between them, pressing against the silence like an invisible force.
She wanted to push. To demand answers, to make him tell her what was wrong.
But when she turned to look at him, she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers clenched around his phone before forcing themselves to relax.
If she pushed too hard, he'd just retreat further.
So instead, she leaned back against the step and let out a breath.
"You're an idiot," she muttered.
Riku let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I know."
They sat there for a long time, neither of them moving, neither of them saying what they really wanted to say.
And for now, that was enough.