The sun peeked out from behind the clouds. The moon had already faded, leaving behind the soft glow of morning.
Haruta rubbed his eyes, groaning from the lack of sleep. But as he looked at the socks in his hands—finally finished—he couldn't help but smile. His fingers ached, his body screamed for rest, but his heart felt lighter than it had in days.
He tucked the socks into his bag, ready to head out for school, when his phone buzzed.
It was a text from Sera:
> Haruta... Rei and I have our viva today. Alya has a fever. She stayed up all night and… now she's sick. Could you come over and take care of her...? I'm really sorry. Mom's at work—she's covering the lunch shift at the restaurant. Dad's out too.
Haruta stared at the screen.
No second thoughts.
He dropped his bag. No hesitation.
Grabbed his hoodie and stepped out into the cool morning air.
He wasn't running, but his steps were fast—faster than usual. The kind of fast you walk when someone you care about needs you, and you don't want to look desperate… but you totally are.
Sera's house was quiet, the neighborhood still caught between the tail-end of sleep and the start of the day. He found the spare key hidden under the flower pot like always, unlocked the door, and slipped in quietly.
A familiar stillness hung in the air.
He walked to Alya's door and stood there for a moment.
"May I come in?" he asked softly, knocking.
Silence.
His chest tightened.
He opened the door, worry building—and there she was.
Alya, curled up under the blanket, pale and warm with fever. Her breathing was soft but shallow.
Beside her on the bed was a half-knitted sock and a ball of yarn slowly unraveling.
He stepped in quietly and sat on the couch near her bed.
"So… Sera told me you stayed up all night?" he asked gently.
Alya stirred, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah… I was knitting a sock."
She glanced at it, face scrunching in disappointment.
"But just look at it… it looks so bad… and it's incomplete too."
Haruta leaned forward a bit.
"Who were you knitting it for?" he asked.
She looked away.
"You."
Haruta blinked, caught off guard.
Her voice was small. Vulnerable. It made his chest hurt.
"You didn't have to do all that…" he said softly. His eyes stayed on the sock, then slowly returned to her.
"What did I even do? Made something that looks like trash? It's not even done… I couldn't even finish something so simple…"
Haruta picked up the sock, turning it gently in his hands like it was something fragile.
"I was incomplete too, remember?" he said, not looking at her just yet.
"But you… you stitched me back together. So let me do the same."
He grabbed the knitting needles she left on the side table, sat up straight, and began to work.
His fingers were slow but focused. Quiet determination in every loop and pull.
"But they were supposed to be made by me… I wanted to give them to you…" Alya murmured, voice barely a breath.
Haruta smiled, a soft one.
"You already gave me more than that. You made me again. Let me return the favor… by finishing these."
Time slowed in that moment. The kind of silence that makes you want to stay forever.
Then, as he worked on the sock, he spoke up again.
"Also… I was wondering. Could you… Rei, Sera, Sia, and Souta come to my place next weekend?"
Alya blinked.
"Next weekend?"
Haruta looked over and nodded.
"Yeah. I want you to meet my grandma. Since we're… y'know, dating officially now."
Alya's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"Sure… I'd love to come."
A pause.
"Have you eaten yet?" Haruta asked.
"Yeah. Sera made me breakfast before she left." She sighed.
"But… didn't you have a viva too?"
"Mine's tomorrow. They're doing them by roll number, so… I just took the day off."
He stretched his arms a little, like it was no big deal.
He stood up, pulled the blanket up to cover her better, and carefully placed a cool towel on her forehead.
"Rest up, Alya."
Then, leaning down, he gently pressed his lips to her forehead.
Warm. Simple. Honest.
Without saying another word, he walked out and headed to the kitchen.
Alya stared at the ceiling for a while, hand over her heart.
"So… he picks the moment I'm burning with fever to kiss me, out of all the cute, romantic times we would've had?"
She smiled, cheeks flushed—
Yeah, it wasn't the fever anymore.
It was something else.
Something pure.
Something real.
---
—To be continued
~Rei