(things I wrote but didn't know where to put without making them feel out of place)
"What are we doing...?"
It's the only question I can form as my gaze darts from side to side, visibly uncomfortable.
"WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT?!"
Sasha's voice blasts my right ear. We're both hiding at the exit of an alley.
"IT'S AN IMPORTANT DAY! THEY'RE BRINGING THE SUPPLIES FOR THE WHOLE WINTER TO THE CAMP TODAY!"
Her fist rises way too close to my face.
"Don't you think you're being too loud?"
I let out an exasperated sigh as she immediately covers her mouth, as if she just understood what I meant.
"What's your plan?"
She gestures for me to come closer.
I move with the bare minimum amount of energy required, leaning just enough to listen as she begins explaining with overflowing excitement.
"The guards should rotate... and then... and then I..."
I listen with selective attention.
I let just enough of her words in to keep track of the idea.
The rest I let fade into blank space, as if I could pause anything I have no interest in processing.
A useful ability.
I learned it long before coming here.
The only thing I actually retain is the rhythm of her voice, the enthusiasm in every phrase.
As if her life depended on a couple of bags of food.
I wonder what would happen if the world didn't force her to chase after supplies.
Maybe, in a different scenario, I'd see her obsessed with something else just as trivial.
My mind drifts to a random memory:
the taste of homemade yogurt.
Something insignificant, yet rare enough that it stuck with me.
Maybe she'd enjoy it too.
I can even picture her smiling with her mouth full, caring about nothing else.
Curious.
A life solved, and the only motivation I find to save people like her is the possibility of sharing something like that.
An absurd, ridiculous instant... and yet, more real than everything else.
"Ahem... you two... what are you doing?"
We both turn our heads in unison.
In front of us, a shiny bald head reflects the light.
Recognizable.
Unmistakable.
...Shit.
The sky turns a pale orange as the shadows stretch across the empty training field.
We're both lying on the ground, arms spread out like corpses forgotten by the regiment.
It would be romantic if not for Sasha's animalistic breathing, gulping down air like the world is about to end.
"Three hours..." she manages to say, her voice shattered by gasps.
"Three hours," I repeat in the same flat tone I would use to announce the time or the weather.
Not a trace of exhaustion in my voice.
She turns her head toward me, as if expecting some sign of compassion—
but she finds nothing but my deadpan stare.
Silence stretches for a few seconds, long enough to hear the crickets hidden in the damp grass.
"We're going to steal it anyway, right?" I add, without a hint of emphasis.
Her reaction is immediate, like someone rising from the dead.
Her eyes sparkle with a hunger so absurd it borders on dangerous.
"DON'T YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING DOUBT!!!" she roars with such force that the birds in the nearby trees take off all at once.
I close my eyes for a few seconds, letting the echo of her voice fade into the sunset.
"Petra-san."
"Eh... Kiyotaka, you're monologuing again, aren't you?"
I blink, slightly puzzled by her comment.
"Monologuing?"
The chestnut-haired girl lets out a light laugh as she continues sweeping the floor with dedication, as if that simple task were enough to breathe life into the room.
"It's what you always do—when you just stare at one spot, like the whole world disappears around you."
"Nothing like that, Petra-san. I just... got lost in my thoughts."
She gives me a playful smile and then nudges my arm with her elbow, as if she genuinely thought she could provoke a reaction out of me.
"Ohhhh... I get it. You were thinking about a girl, right?"
I sigh. She's particularly bold today.
"That wouldn't be possible.
Especially not in front of such a pretty girl."
My voice sounds monotonous, even to me.
She frowns, lowering her head with a near-defeated expression.
"Ugh... if you weren't so insensitive, you'd have every woman in the world chasing you."
She sighs, almost annoyed, staring at me with a mix of mockery and resignation.
"Why did God make you so supernaturally handsome?"
...
Her complaint melts into the air.
I simply look at her in silence.
"H–Hey!!! Don't give me that dead face again!"
Her whiny tone manages to pull a tiny movement from my lips, one that quickly disappears, followed by a sigh.
...
...
...
(Knock-Knock)
I tap the door gently, just enough for the sound to seep into the house. A few seconds pass before an older man, gray-haired and worn-faced, opens it calmly. He must be around sixty. He greets me with a kind smile, though the exhaustion behind his eyes is impossible to hide.
"Kiyotaka-kun, thank you for coming. She was getting impatient."
I bow slightly in greeting, responding with the warmest tone I can convincingly produce, and step inside.
"Come in, come in! She's in her room."
The man pats my back in a friendly manner.
Despite everything, he looks livelier than the last time I saw him.
Maybe my visits have become a routine—a small warmth within the tragedy.
It's... not unpleasant.
I walk down the narrow hallway until I reach a half-open door.
"Excuse me..." I murmur as I push it gently.
The small room is dimly lit by a window covered with white curtains.
The air smells of medicine—clean but heavy, as if each particle remembers how fragile its inhabitant is.
On the bed, a figure immediately sits up upon seeing me.
Chestnut hair, slightly long, eyes marked with dark circles yet shining, and a body far too thin for what it once was.
"Kiyotaka-kun!!"
Her voice bursts out in a joyful shout—
genuine, pure, too bright for a place like this.
I sit in the chair beside her bed, watching her quietly.
"Petra-san."
The emotion in her eyes is so vivid that for a second I forget how fragile her body looks.
It feels like an illusion—as if she could jump to her feet and put on her soldier uniform again at any moment.
But I know that won't happen.
Petra keeps talking.
Her words flow like silence hurts her—
as if filling the air were her only way to fight against what was taken from her.
And I listen.
It's not difficult.
I just nod from time to time—enough for her to feel that my attention belongs to her.
Suddenly, she smiles differently—almost conspiratorial.
Her hands tremble slightly as she reaches under her pillow and pulls out a small package wrapped in cloth.
"I saved it... just for today."
She places it on the table beside me, with a clumsy but determined gesture.
The wrapping is simple, nothing special, yet she treats it as if it's something precious.
"Happy birthday, Kiyotaka-kun!"
...
I stare at her in silence for a moment.
A birthday.
For me, that word is meaningless.
One more day or one less day in this closed world makes no difference.
I never had the habit of celebrating.
No one ever taught me it was supposed to matter.
Especially considering I technically have two birthdays.
And yet here she is, smiling at me with overwhelming joy, as if this gesture could change the course of my life.
It won't.
It doesn't.
But I can't ignore it either.
I take the package calmly and open it. Inside is a wool scarf, a bit uneven at the edges, with poorly stitched points that reveal the clumsiness of her hands. It doesn't surprise me. She was never someone who could sit still for too long, much less knit.
"I know it's not perfect... but I thought it could at least keep you warm when you're on guard duty."
Her gaze wavers, waiting for a reaction that doesn't come.
The scarf... has no real value.
The material is ordinary, the craftsmanship lacking.
It has no use beyond the obvious.
And yet, as I hold it in my hands, there is something in this object I can't quite classify.
Is it effort?
Is it affection?
"Thank you, Petra-san."
My voice sounds just as flat as always. But she smiles as if she had received the warmest response in the world.
Her light laughter fills the room.
"Dream...?"
Summer ended.
Finally, it did.
It's not as if I had been waiting for it with excitement. I'm not the kind of person who finds emotion in seasons, festivities, or those sentimentalities that seem to affect everyone else. But even so... I had expectations.
Vague ideas about what could happen.
About what we might progress.
Expectations that, as usual, never came true.
So I changed my objective.
I reorganized myself, as always.
Now I had to focus on two things, and only two:
Graduate in Class A.
And give Ayanokōji the quiet life he wants... preferably beside me.
Although I would never say that aloud.
Not even to him.
After a few routine greetings—too long for my taste—I took my seat. My face adopts the same neutral, cold, orderly expression as always. I don't need to force it; it's almost a reflex.
But my mind, even under that apparent calm, quietly waits for something else.
I wait for my favorite seat partner.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka.
He walks in a few minutes later. His steps are the same as always: silent, measured, impossible to read. He sets down his bag with a slowness that feels deliberately calculated. I don't know if he does it on purpose or if that's simply how he is.
"Good morning, Ayanokōji-kun," I greet him, with a tone slightly softer than my usual coldness. I can't help letting a hint of... intention slip through.
He doesn't respond immediately.
First he arranges his things.
A trivial action, yet for some reason it feels heavy, distant.
Finally, he lifts his gaze.
And then I notice it.
His eyes.
Why... do they look so dark?
I blink, confused. Something tightens in my chest, as if a string had been pulled too sharply.
His gaze has always been difficult to decipher, but this time... it's different.
Empty.
Deep.
Unfathomable.
And for an instant—brief, almost imperceptible—I feel he's not looking at me.
He's looking through me.
As if I were transparent.
As if I didn't matter.
My mind starts running through paths I hate walking.
Did I do something?
Did I make a mistake?
Did I ask too much of him during the summer?
Was he expecting something from me that I didn't do?
Or... was I supposed to expect something from him?
Why... why is he looking at me like I don't exist...?
...
...
...
...
The end of the school day arrives with a strange weight in the air.
An uncomfortable silence that lingers in every corner, in every conversation, in every exchanged glance.
And everything revolves around him.
Ayanokōji spent the entire day like this:
With that same vacant, distant, unfathomable expression.
That dark look that doesn't match the boy I know... or thought I knew.
Even Kei, who usually approaches him with confidence—almost boldness—took a step back when he looked at her.
Sudō was about to yell—one of his impulsive tantrums—but froze the moment Ayanokōji stared at him without a shred of emotion.
Hirata tried to intervene, as usual, with his excessive kindness... but ended up retreating too, confused and uneasy.
And for a moment, I thought a fight would break out.
And for a moment, I feared he wouldn't react even to defend himself.
I didn't understand what was happening.
I still don't.
When everyone finally leaves, the classroom empties of noise and color.
Only the lined-up desks remain, the sunset light filtering through the windows...
And him.
Kiyotaka Ayanokōji.
He packs his things with slow, almost mechanical movements, like a machine running purely on inertia.
No sigh.
No gesture.
No sign that he's really present.
And for the first time since I met him... I don't know if I should approach.
But I do.
Of course I do.
"Ayanokōji-kun," I call softly.
He doesn't stop.
Doesn't look up.
Just continues putting away his supplies in silence.
I stand in front of his desk, unmoving.
He keeps working as if I'm not here.
As if no one is here.
"Today you were... strange," I finally say, though the word feels insufficient. "Did something happen?"
Nothing.
Not even a blink.
It's like talking to a wall.
No... worse.
A wall, at least, exists.
Ayanokōji, right now, feels like he isn't here at all.
I'm just about to step back.
To accept that today, I won't get anything out of him.
That his silence is a higher wall than usual.
But then, he stops.
His hands freeze over his bag.
His shoulders lower slightly, as if the weight of the world had suddenly settled on them.
And without looking at me, without emotion, without inflection, he murmurs:
"...I was acting strange, wasn't I?"
"I guess I was... Even for me, sometimes it's hard to hide everything..."
My breath catches for a moment.
Because that phrase—coming from him—means too much.
More than he realizes.
He lifts his gaze toward me.
And what I see, I can't quite describe.
A strange face.
Inexplicable.
Not cold... not empty...
But a painful mix of consciousness and distance, like someone watching themselves from outside their own body.
"I just feel like I woke up from a very long dream..." he says, in a tone that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him. "One that doesn't feel over yet... And I don't think it ever will..."
The sunset light illuminates half his face.
The other half remains in shadow.
That contrast makes him seem distant...
Almost unreal.
As if that 'long dream' isn't a metaphor.
As if he's speaking of something none of us can understand.
You're walking far away from us again, Kiyotaka...
I'm sorry...
I failed again... didn't I?
I disappeared again, didn't I?
The only thing I can say is I'm sorry, and... I love you all very much.
Well, uh... I'm going to start working on Historia's arc, but honestly, it's one of the hardest ones to write.
And I'm way more excited for the Return to Shiganshina than for writing this...
Too much text, too many dialogues in this arc, ugh