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The Sobu High courtyard was alive with the hum of spring, cherry blossoms drifting lazily to the ground, their petals catching the late morning sunlight like flecks of pale fire. The air carried the faint sweetness of blooming flowers, undercut by the earthy scent of freshly turned soil from a nearby garden bed. Miwa Aoi stood near a wooden table, her fingers brushing the rough grain of its surface, the texture grounding her as she stole glances at Hikigaya Hachiman. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his expression one of practiced disinterest as he surveyed the Service Club's latest project: a community outreach booth for a local charity event.
Miwa's heart fluttered, a nervous rhythm that hadn't calmed since she'd volunteered to help. The Service Club's task was simple—set up a display, hand out flyers, maybe charm a few passersby into donating—but for Miwa, it was a chance. A chance to be near Hachiman, to test the spark she'd felt in the classroom, the Service Club room, and her rain-soaked walk home. She adjusted her blazer, the cotton smooth against her skin, and took a breath, the air cool and sharp in her lungs.
"Miwa-chan, can you help me with these posters?" Yui called, her voice bright as she wrestled with a stack of colorful flyers. Her ponytail bounced, catching the light, and her smile was warm, but Miwa caught a flicker of something else—curiosity, maybe, or caution.
"Sure," Miwa said, stepping closer, her shoes crunching on the gravel path. She took a handful of posters, their glossy surfaces slick under her fingers, and began taping them to the table. Yui chattered about the charity, her words a cheerful hum, but Miwa's attention drifted to Hachiman. He'd moved to the table now, sorting through a box of pamphlets, his movements deliberate, almost mechanical.
"Hikki, you're not even trying to look enthusiastic," Yui teased, nudging his shoulder. Her touch was casual, familiar, and Miwa's chest tightened, a pang of envy she quickly smothered.
"Enthusiasm's for people who believe in causes," Hachiman muttered, not looking up. "I'm here because Yukinoshita's got a knack for guilt-tripping me into manual labor."
From across the courtyard, Yukino's voice cut through, sharp and cool. "If you'd rather sit in the clubroom sipping your deplorable coffee, Hikigaya-kun, I can assign you to cleanup duty instead." She stood by a banner, pinning it to a stand with precise movements, her dark hair catching the breeze.
Hachiman smirked, undeterred. "Tempting, but I'd rather not spend my evening scraping gum off tables. I'll stick to pamphlet duty."
Miwa's lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through her nerves. His sarcasm was a shield, but it was honest, unapologetic, and she found it magnetic. She wanted to be part of that banter, to slip into the rhythm of their dynamic, but her voice felt stuck, weighed down by the fear of saying the wrong thing. Instead, she focused on the posters, her fingers smoothing the tape, the adhesive's faint chemical scent mingling with the courtyard's floral air.
As the group worked, Miwa found herself drifting closer to Hachiman, her movements calculated yet hesitant. She needed an excuse, something natural, to bridge the gap between them. The opportunity came when he reached for a stack of flyers, his sleeve riding up to reveal a sliver of wrist, the skin pale but marked by faint calluses. Miwa's breath caught, and before she could overthink it, she stepped forward, her fingers brushing his collar under the pretense of adjusting it.
"Your collar's crooked," she said, her voice softer than intended, barely audible over the courtyard's hum. Her fingertips grazed the fabric of his blazer, the weave rough yet warm from his body heat. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through her, electric and overwhelming. She caught the faint scent of his shampoo—lavender, subtle but distinct—and her pulse surged, a wild rhythm that made her lightheaded.
Hachiman froze, his hand pausing mid-reach, his eyes flicking to hers. "Uh… thanks?" he said, his tone a mix of confusion and wariness, like he wasn't sure whether to bolt or shrug it off. His gaze was sharp, cutting through her, and for a moment, she felt exposed, her intentions laid bare.
Miwa pulled back, her cheeks burning, and forced a smile. "Just… didn't want you looking sloppy," she said, the words clumsy, a weak cover for the thrill coursing through her. She turned to the table, her fingers trembling as she grabbed another poster, the glossy paper crinkling under her grip.
Yui's eyes were on her now, her smile faltering for a split second before she recovered. "Wow, Miwa-chan, you're so thoughtful!" she said, her voice a touch too bright. "Hikki's hopeless with stuff like that."
"Hopeless is my brand," Hachiman said, his smirk returning as he resumed sorting flyers. But Miwa caught the way his fingers tightened briefly on the pamphlets, a subtle sign he'd noticed more than he let on. The thought made her heart leap, a mix of fear and exhilaration—she'd crossed a line, however small, and he hadn't pushed her away.
The project continued, the courtyard filling with students and teachers passing through, some stopping to glance at the booth. Yukino took charge, her explanations about the charity crisp and persuasive, while Yui handed out flyers with infectious enthusiasm. Miwa stayed close to Hachiman, her movements deliberate, each brush of her sleeve against his a calculated risk. When she handed him a stack of flyers, her fingers lingered a moment too long, the warmth of his hand seeping into hers, the texture of his skin rough yet grounding. She pulled back quickly, her breath shallow, and busied herself with the table, her heart pounding like a drum.
Hachiman didn't comment, but his glances grew more frequent, his dead-fish eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle. Miwa felt the weight of his attention, heavy and thrilling, like a storm gathering on the horizon. She wanted to say something, to bridge the silence, but her words felt inadequate, dwarfed by the intensity of her longing.
Instead, she let her actions speak. When a breeze scattered a few flyers, she knelt beside him to gather them, her shoulder grazing his as they reached for the same sheet. The contact was brief, but the warmth of his arm through his blazer lingered, a memory etched into her skin. She caught his eye, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the faint crinkle at the corners of his gaze, the subtle hitch in his breath.
"Sorry," she murmured, her voice barely audible, but she didn't move away, not immediately. The air between them felt charged, a fragile thread of connection she didn't want to break.
"It's fine," Hachiman said, his tone gruff, but he held her gaze a beat longer before looking away, his fingers tightening on the flyer. The paper crinkled, a soft sound that echoed the tension in Miwa's chest.
Yui's voice broke the moment, bright and jarring. "Hey, you two, stop slacking! We've got more flyers to hand out!" She bounded over, her smile wide but her eyes sharp, lingering on Miwa's flushed cheeks. "Miwa-chan, you're really getting into this, huh?"
Miwa forced a laugh, her throat tight. "Just… trying to help," she said, standing quickly, her hands smoothing her skirt, the cotton warm and slightly damp from her nervous grip. Yui's gaze softened, but the wariness remained, a silent warning that Miwa couldn't ignore.
As the booth wrapped up, Yukino called them over to review the day's progress. Miwa stood beside Hachiman, her shoulder inches from his, the proximity both comforting and agonizing. She listened as Yukino outlined next steps—follow-up meetings, data collection—but her mind was elsewhere, replaying the moments of contact, the way Hachiman's eyes had lingered. Each touch had been a spark, a fleeting promise of something more, but the fear of pushing too far gnawed at her. What if she'd misread him? What if Yui's wariness turned to suspicion, or Yukino's scrutiny sharpened?
When Yukino dismissed them, Miwa lingered, pretending to organize the leftover flyers. Hachiman stayed too, stacking pamphlets with his usual indifference, but she sensed a shift in him, a subtle awareness that hadn't been there before. She seized the chance, stepping closer under the guise of helping, her fingers brushing his sleeve as she reached for a flyer.
"You're good at this," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper. "Not the flyer stuff, I mean. The… being honest thing. Most people don't do that."
Hachiman paused, his hand stilling on the stack. "Honesty's just a fancy word for not caring what people think," he said, his tone dry but not dismissive. "Doesn't make me special. Just makes me a pain in the ass."
Miwa's lips curved, a genuine smile breaking through her nerves. "Maybe I like that kind of pain," she said, the words bolder than she felt. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her fingers tightening on the flyer, the paper's edge biting into her skin.
Hachiman's smirk faltered, just for a second, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher her. "Careful, new girl," he said, his voice low, almost a warning. "You start throwing around lines like that, people might think you mean it."
Miwa's heart raced, a thrill coursing through her. He hadn't pulled away, hadn't mocked her. It was enough—more than enough—for now. She met his gaze, her breath catching at the intensity in his eyes, and nodded. "Maybe I do," she said, her voice barely audible, a secret meant only for him.
Yui's voice interrupted again, calling from across the courtyard. "Hikki, Miwa-chan, you coming? Yukino's treating us to drinks!" Her tone was cheerful, but her eyes lingered on Miwa, a silent question in their depths.
Hachiman grunted, breaking the moment. "Free drinks? Guess I can't say no to Yukinoshita's rare moments of generosity." He slung his bag over his shoulder, his movements casual, but Miwa caught the brief glance he threw her way, a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—that made her pulse surge.
As they joined Yui and Yukino, Miwa walked a step behind, her fingers brushing the spot on her hand where Hachiman's sleeve had grazed her. The memory of his warmth, the faint lavender scent, lingered like a promise. She'd pushed further today, crossed lines she hadn't dared before, and the thrill of it was intoxicating. But the fear was there too, a shadow at the edge of her joy, whispering that she might lose this fragile connection if she pushed too far.
The cherry blossoms continued to fall, soft and silent, and Miwa made a silent vow. She'd keep going, keep chasing that spark, but she'd be careful. Hachiman wasn't like the others, and she wouldn't let her desperation ruin this. Not again.