The question stayed even after he stopped asking.
That was the first thing Itsuki noticed.
Not the presence.
Not the room.
Not the time.
The questions.
They didn't disappear when he chose silence. They didn't fade when he focused on something else. They simply… waited.
Organized.
Patient.
Like they knew their turn would come.
The clock read 8:17.
Itsuki hadn't spoken for a while.
The presence hadn't either.
It remained where it always did—unmoving, unchanged. Not demanding attention. Not losing it either.
Itsuki leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees this time, fingers loosely clasped.
"You said you only answer when I ask," he said.
"Yes."
"And you don't interfere."
"Yes."
He nodded once.
"That means everything stays… mine."
A pause.
Then—
"Yes."
That word landed differently.
He didn't respond immediately.
Because that answer didn't feel reassuring.
His phone buzzed again.
Haruto.
Bro you didn't even reply properly. You free tomorrow?
Itsuki stared at the message.
Tomorrow.
The word felt heavier now.
Not because of what it meant.
Because of what it implied.
He typed:
Yeah.
Then stopped.
Deleted it.
Typed again:
Maybe. Why?
Send.
The phone dimmed.
"…Was that better?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
Itsuki frowned slightly. "Better how?"
"More accurate."
He leaned back slowly.
"That's not the same as honest."
"No."
The agreement came without resistance.
That bothered him.
The clock ticked.
8:24.
Itsuki stood up this time.
Not abruptly.
Just… because sitting still felt like staying in one place too long.
He walked once across the room.
Then back.
The presence didn't follow.
Didn't need to.
"You don't move," he said.
"I don't need to."
"Why that corner?"
Silence.
Not refusal.
Just… no answer.
Itsuki stopped walking.
"Selective again."
"Yes."
He let out a quiet breath.
"That's annoying."
"Yes."
He sat back down, but not at the desk this time.
On the edge of the bed.
Facing slightly away from the corner.
Not avoiding it.
Just not giving it everything.
The room felt balanced like that.
Almost.
"…If I ask something," he said slowly, "and I already know the answer…"
The pause stretched.
Then—
"You want confirmation."
Itsuki didn't deny it.
"That still counts?"
"Yes."
"Even if I don't need it?"
"You wouldn't ask if you didn't."
That landed.
Clean.
Accurate.
Uncomfortable.
He rubbed his thumb against his palm unconsciously.
A habit.
"You're making things easier," he said.
"No."
Itsuki looked up slightly.
"You're removing uncertainty."
"That's the same thing."
"No."
Silence.
Then—
"Ease removes effort. Clarity removes doubt."
Itsuki stared at the floor.
"…That's worse."
"Yes."
The clock read 8:36.
Time felt faster tonight.
Or maybe it just felt lighter.
That was the problem.
"Earlier," Itsuki said, "you said I would decide if you stay useful."
"Yes."
"That hasn't happened yet."
"It has begun."
His chest tightened slightly.
"That's not a decision."
"It doesn't need to be."
Itsuki looked toward the corner again.
This time, longer.
"You don't push," he said.
"No."
"But you don't stop anything either."
"No."
"Even if it's wrong."
The pause here mattered.
Longer than the others.
Then—
"Wrong requires certainty."
Itsuki exhaled slowly.
"And you don't have that?"
"I don't need it."
The room felt quieter now.
Not empty.
Just… settled deeper.
Like something had shifted a layer beneath everything else.
His phone buzzed again.
Haruto.
Let's hang out after school tomorrow. Don't disappear.
Itsuki read it.
Didn't reply immediately.
His fingers hovered.
"…Should I go?" he asked.
The silence that followed was different.
Not empty.
Not passive.
Careful.
"I don't decide that."
Itsuki's jaw tightened slightly.
"I didn't ask you to decide."
"Then ask what you mean."
He exhaled sharply.
"…Will it matter if I don't go?"
The answer came slower this time.
"Yes."
Itsuki froze.
"…How?"
A pause.
Then—
"You will notice it."
That was it.
No explanation.
No direction.
Just weight.
The message stayed unanswered.
Itsuki placed the phone down beside him.
Face up this time.
Screen slowly dimming.
"You're not telling me what to do," he said.
"No."
"But you're making it harder not to think about it."
"Yes."
"That's interference."
"No."
Itsuki let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Of course it isn't."
The clock shifted.
8:53.
Almost nine again.
Itsuki leaned back, resting his hands behind him.
Staring at the ceiling.
Breathing steady.
But not calm.
Not fully.
"You said you exist when I'm present," he said.
"Yes."
"What happens if I stop being present?"
The pause that followed was the longest of the night.
It stretched.
Held.
Considered.
Then—
"You won't."
Itsuki closed his eyes briefly.
"…You keep saying that."
"Yes."
The clock ticked.
9:00.
Nothing dramatic happened.
Nothing changed in the room.
Nothing shifted in the air.
But something settled.
Not between them.
Inside him.
The question wasn't if he would ask again.
It was what he would ask next.
And that—
carried more weight than anything the presence had said so far.