Minutes later, Makoto returned to the dorms. His footsteps echoed faintly in the hallways as his mind wandered back to Yugen's words.
"I don't know Yukio for that long. I only know that he's a very hardworking person, and very much reliable. It's why I chose him to work alongside me... that's all."
Yugen's face softened.
Makoto looked up at him.
Yugen continued. "But you've known him for a long time now. And between the two of us, you know Yukio the best more than I do."
He leaned in, staring straight into Makoto's eyes. "I'm sure you know that Yukio isn't the type to just not let you explain things to him, right?"
"He'll listen if that means clearing up the mess from the past."
Makoto knew that was true—deep down he wanted to believe it—but with how strained things were between them now, the thought of starting that conversation felt almost impossible. Still... maybe, if he tried enough, Yukio would hear him out. Maybe he could finally apologize.
When he reached their room and pushed the door open, he froze. Yukio was there, seated at his desk, pencil moving steadily across a sheet of paper. Makoto's eyes windened; Yukio had been coming in late for weeks, clearly to avoid him. But today, he was here early, head bent over his homework, so focused he didn't seem to notice Makoto enter.
The words he wanted to say caught in his throat. His fingers twitched slightly against his knees, the weight of silence pressing down on him. Without a word, he walked to his bed and sat, trying to ignore the faint throb in his chest.
It happened so suddenly—as he sprung from his seat—Yukio's hand faltered, his body swaying. His feet stumbled, and Makoto was on his feet in an instant, catching him by the waist.
[!!]
For a moment, Makoto felt the warmth beneath his fingers, a reminder of when they could stand this close without hesitation. "Yukio, are you okay?" He asked softly. Yukio pressed a hand to his head and looked up—only to find Makoto's face far too close.
Startled, he straightened abruptly and pushed Makoto away.
"I'm... sorry," Yukio muttered, as if surprised by his own reaction.
Makoto, though momentarily stunned, only gave a faint, wry smile. "It's fine. I'm sorry for coming too close." His voice softened, carrying a note of genuine concern. "You shouldn't push yourself too hard."
Yukio rubbed his arm, eyes darting away. "Yeah..."
Makoto glanced at him for a moment longer, then said with a small smile, "Well, I'm going to sleep now. You should, too."
"I still have something to do. You can go to sleep if you want," Yukio replied, his voice quiet.
Makoto's gaze lingered on his small back, which somehow seemed even smaller than usual. Though only five meters away, Yukio felt far—like someone standing on the other side of an invisible wall. After a pause, Makoto casually said, "I could use some help with my homework too."
Yukio turned, eyes widening in confusion. "Huh?"
But it was too late—Makoto had already dragged a chair beside him. "There's something I didn't quite get from English class today," he said.
Yukio hesitated, but finally sat back down, picking up his pen. "Then listen carefully. I'll only explain once."
Makoto leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his eyes fixed on him. He didn't care if he learned anything from the lesson; all that mattered was that Yukio stayed within reach, even if just for tonight.
For the next couple of days, Makoto made it a point to ask Yukio for help with his homework before bed. It wasn't that he was falling behind—far from it. But this quiet, nightly routine was the one chance he had to sit beside Yukio without the air between them feeling quite so distant. Maybe, if he took it slow, Yukio would open up again.
Yukio wasn't oblivious. The repeated requests, the timing, the way Makoto's gaze lingered on him instead of the page—it was too obvious. And yet, no matter how much he told himself to ignore it, he couldn't quite bring himself to ignore it nor refuse him.
Every night, when Makoto leaned in slightly to look at the same textbook, Yukio found himself wondering: What is he doing? Is he doing this to get something?
That thought still echoed in his mind the next afternoon as he walked down the hallway, on his way to meet Renjiro for a tutoring session in the garden. He spotted Renjiro ahead, balancing a stack of textbooks like he was gearing up for battle.
"Hey," Renjiro greeted. Yukio answered with a polite smile, already adjusting his stride to walk beside him. But before they could leave, a familiar voice called out—loud, a little breathless.
"Wait!"
They turned to find Makoto jogging toward them, his hand lifting in an awkward wave.
"Yano?" Renjiro blinked in surprise.
"Are you two heading to the garden again?"
Makoto asked, curiosity in his tone.
"Yeah," Yukio replied, already half-turning as if eager to move along.
"Um..." Makoto stepped forward and lightly caught Yukio's arm. His touch was warm through the sleeve. "Can I join too?"
"Huh?" Yukio's brows lifted, a short huff of breath escaping before he could help it.
"I'm struggling with some of the math lessons," Makoto admitted, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "We've got a match this Friday, and between training and practice, I can't seem to focus. I thought... maybe you could help me too."
Yukio studied him for a moment. He could already tell Makoto wasn't entirely helpless—he was just looking for an opening. Still, the faint hope in his eyes was hard to brush aside. "Alright," Yukio said at last, turning to Renjiro. "If that's fine with you, Koizumi—"
"Actually," Renjiro cut in, raising a finger like a sudden thought had struck him, "I just remembered—Yugen asked me to do something."
"The president?" Yukio asked, tilting his head.
Renjiro gave a vague nod. "Yeah, it's... personal, so—bye!" And before either of them could say another word, he bolted down the opposite hallway, leaving a stunned silence behind.
Makoto's lips twitched, suppressing what looked suspiciously like a smirk. "Guess it's just us, then," he said.
Yukio hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"... Mhm."
As they walked toward the garden. Yukio was all too aware of the lingering heat where Makoto's hand had been. And Makoto, trailing just close enough for their shoulders to nearly brush, was already thinking of the next excuse he could use tomorrow night.
The late afternoon sun cast long streaks of gold over the garden, the air filled with the faint scent of damp grass. Yukio set his stuff down on the glass like table, opening his textbook with the quiet efficiency of someone who had done this countless times before.
Makoto sat across from Yukio in the quiet pavilion, a thin breeze ruffling the pages of the open textbook between them. Yukio was explaining a formula, his voice calm and precise, but Makoto's gaze wandered—not to the problem in front of them, but to the curve of Yukio's brow, the way the lamplight softened his features.
Yukio's eyes suddenly lifted and met his. Caught, Makoto jolted, fumbling for an excuse before giving up with an awkward laugh... "Haha... sorry."
"You should really pay attention," Yukio said, his tone carrying the faintest edge. "Feels like I'm just wasting my time here. I keep babbling and you're not even listening."
Makoto gave a sheepish grin. "Right, I'm sorry, Yukio. Let's continue."
Yukio resumed explaining, tapping his pen against the paper. After a pause, Makoto took the chance to slip in a softer tone. "This reminds me of back then..."
Yukio glanced at him, silent.
"I remember we'd always study like this before exams. You'd tutor me even when you had your own stuff to worry about." Makoto smiled faintly, the memory warm in his chest.
"The other night, when you said yes to helping me with English—it felt like forever since we last did this."
Yukio finally replied, lips pressed thin. "It's 'cause you used to always ask... so maybe I just said yes out of habit."
They traded small pieces of the past, half-teasing, half-melancholic. Yukio remembered Makoto's obsession with a certain game character; Makoto recalled Yukio's fascination with museums. For a moment, it felt almost like old times.
But then Makoto trailed off mid-sentence, realizing Yukio's gaze had dropped back to the textbook, a wall sliding into place.
"... Sorry. I'm babbling."
"It's alright," Yukio murmured, standing abruptly. "That's enough for today."
"What? Already—"
"We should stop here." He began gathering his things, hands quick, almost impatient.
"Wait!—"
Makoto reached out just as Yukio turned to leave, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
"Yukio... please. Don't run away. Can we talk? Just let me apologize."
Yukio froze, his back still turned. "Apologize? For what?"
"For... breaking my promise. And for things I said in front of the others." Makoto's voice faltered, the air between them tightening.
Silence stretched until Yukio spoke, his voice low. "There's nothing you have to apologize for."
Makoto blinked. "Huh? But—"
"Seriously, I'm not even sure what you're apologizing for anymore." He turned slightly, his eyes shadowed with something unspoken. "Are you sorry for breaking a promise I barely remember... or—"
Makoto held his breathe.
"Are you apologizing because you knew..."
You wouldn't be able to return my feelings?
Yukio said the rest of the sentence locking behind his teeth. Afraid to say it out loud.
Makoto's heart thudded. "Or... what?"
Yukio pulled his hand free. "... Forget it."
And before Makoto could speak again, Yukio walked away into the light, leaving Makoto standing in the echo of rustling leaves and the faint warmth of where his hand had been held.
Yukio didn't stop walking until the sound of Makoto's voice had faded behind him. The empty hallway stretched on, the fluorescent lights above flickering faintly. His pace quickened, almost breaking into a run. He wasn't sure if he was trying to escape Makoto... or the ache in his chest.
By the time he reached the far end, his legs felt heavy. He slowed, then sank down until he was sitting on his heels against the wall. His breathe came quick, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.
Was it because of the sharp sting of Makoto's words? Or... was it because for a fleeting second, he wondered if Makoto had guessed the truth?
He stayed there, knees drawn close, the questions circling in his head like restless birds. Questions that would never have answers—not from him alone.
The sudden sound of a door sliding open startled him. From the classroom just a few feet away, Yugen stepped out, his gaze immediately landing on Yukio huddled in the corner. His expression shifted from surprise to concern in an instant.
"Yukio, are you okay?" Yugen crouched down, a warm hand pressing lightly to Yukio's back. "Hey, talk to me. Are you okay?"
Yukio lifted his head. His skin was pale, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes had that glassy, unfocused look.
"Yukio..."
Yugen's hand moved to his forehead, and his worry deepened. "You're burning up. You have a fever."
Yugen straightened, ready to pull him to his feet. "Let's get you to the infirmary—"
But Yukio's hand caught his wrist, grip weak yet insistent. "Please... don't. I'm alright," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What?!" Yugen's voice rose, frustration leaking through his worry. "You're clearly not!"
"I'll be fine. I can sleep it off and—"
He staggered mid-sentence, knees giving slightly. Yugen caught him, steadying him as Yukio's head slumped against his chest.
"Yukio..." Yugen's voice gone soft. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes," came the quiet reply.
"Alright," Yugen sighed, repenting. "But I'm walking you back to your room."
Yukio didn't argue.
Yugen could feel the heat radiating from him even through his uniform. He'd noticed Yukio's worsening complexion these past week, the faint dark circles under his eyes, the way his movement seemed slower. He'd warned him before—told him to take it easy to stop burying himself in council work, errands for teachers, club activities, and late-night studying. But Yukio, as always, had brushed it off.
No matter how much he pushed himself, he never missed a single class. And now, Yugen feared, his body was finally demanding the rest refused to give it.
Yugen had barely taken a step toward the dorm when he felt the slight weight of Yukio leaning into him, the boy's forehead brushing faintly against his chest. Yugen adjusted his grip, steadying him—only for a sudden, firm hand to grab Yukio's shoulder from behind.
The pull was strong enough that Yukio slipped from Yugen's hold, his head turning slightly as he was guided into someone else's arms. Yugen turned sharply, eyes meeting Makoto's.
Makoto's gaze was locked on him—sharp, unblinking, almost territorial. It was the kind of look that felt like a blade pressed to the skin, not from rage, but from something far deeper. It was the look of someone who had just had something precious taken from him.
Yugen felt his body react before his mind could catch up—an instinctive step backward, the faint shiver down his spine impossible to shake.
And then, as quickly as if appeared, Makoto's expression softened into mild surprise. "President?" He said, tone lighter, as thought nothing passed between them a moment ago.
"Oh. Yano," Yugen replied, masking the unease with practiced neutrality.
Makoto glanced down at the boy slumped against him, then back at Yugen. "What's going on?"
Yugen explained briefly about Yukio's fever. Makoto's face shifted at once, concern knitting his brow. He pressed his palm to Yukio's forehead and felt the heat radiating from him.
"I'll take you to the infirmary, Yukio," Makoto murmured, his voice dipping low.
"Wait," Yugen interjected. "Just take him back to the dorm."
Makoto blinked. "Our room? Why—?"
"Yukio doesn't want to go to the infirmary. If the school reports it to his family, it'll only make things worse for him.
There was a brief pause. Makoto searched Yugen's face, as though gauging the weight of his words, before finally nodding. "Alright."
"I'll get some medicine," Yugen added. "You stay with him."
Makoto didn't answer. He simply adjusted his hold and began carrying Yukio toward the dorm.
By the time they reached their room, Yukio had already slipped into a light, restless sleep. Makoto laid him down carefully on his bed, pulling the blanket over him. The boy's brows were faintly furrowed, by breathing uneven, cheeks still flushed with heat.
"Yukio..." Makoto whispered, a mix of concern and something heavier threading through his voice. His hand hovered near Yukio's cheek, but he didn't touch him—afraid of waking him, or maybe afraid of what it would stir inside himself.
When Yugen returned later that evening with fever medicine, he handed it over and instructed Makoto to keep watch through the night. Makoto agreed without hesitation.
And so he sat there, keeping vigil beside the bed.
He'd noticed Yukio's worsening complexion these past weeks. He knew about his busy schedule... and now he was sure their recent study sessions had only pushed Yukio further past his limit.
It wasn't just now—Yukio had always had a frail body. As a child, he'd lived with the constant shadow of illness, unable to do many of the things other kids could. Back then, Makoto had been at his side for every faint spell, every fever—guardian, caretaker, and sometimes shield.
Now, they were barely more than roommates.
Makoto's gaze lingered on the boy before him, guilt curling tight in his chest. This is my fault.
If he hadn't been so selfish, if he hadn't pushed so hard to close the gap between them again, maybe Yukio wouldn't have been driven to this point.
Lowering his head, Makoto rested his forehead on his arm where it lay on the bed's edge. Beside him, Yukio slept on, play and fragile under the dim light.
Not long after, Yukio stirred awake. His body still felt heavy, but the warmth of the blanket and faint scent of something familiar grounded him. Blinking slowly, his gaze fell on Makoto sitting at his side, eyes harp with relief.
"You're awake," Makoto said, his voice quieter than usual. He immediately reached for the small packet on the table, tore it open, and handed Yukio a pill along with a glass of water. "Take it. It's medicine."
Yukio obediently swallowed it, then sank back into the bed. That's when he noticed the cool touch on his forehead—a fever patch.
Makoto must have put this on me while I was asleep.
His gaze lingered on Makoto's broad back as the boy sat there, shoulders hunched slightly forward, watching over him.
The comfort of the memory from back then made his eyelids grow heavy again. He let them close, the sight of Makoto etched in the darkness behind them.
Morning came softly, sunlight slipping through the curtains. Yukio's eyes opened to find Makoto still there, sitting in the same position, his head resting on folded arms.
His breathing was slow and even—he was asleep.
He stayed here the whole night? Yukio thought something unspoken tightening in his chest. He could've slept in his own bed.
Careful not to wake him, Yukio shifted slightly, his head leaning closer to the boy beside him. The moment felt strangely fragile, like it could shatter if he breathed too loudly.
Then, without warning, Makoto's hand came up, large and warm, cupping the back of Yukio's head. In one motion, he pulled him forward—and their lipes met.
Yukio's eyes went wide, shock freezing him in place. He hadn't expected Makoto to be awake. The kiss lingered, the world outside that moment falling away—until Yukio felt the subtle press of Makoto's tongue against his lips. Heat rushed to his face asbhe quickly pulled back.
"Puah!... What are you doing?!" Yukio burst out, his voice sharper than he intended.
Makoto's brows drew together as he looked at him, unwavering. "It's not like you didn't like it, right?"
The words hit Yukio like a jolt. His mind was a tangled mess—anger, embarrassment, and something else he couldn't name, all beating in time with his racing heart.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Yukio barked, avoiding his gaze. "Why would you even kiss a sick person?!"
Makoto's answer was immediate, almost too quick. "Isn't it obvious? It's because I like you, Yukio."
Yukio froze. Of all the things he had expected to hear, that wasn't one of them. Since when...?
Makoto seemed ready to say more, but Yukio lifted a hand, stopping him. "You're only saying that because you're confused."
"What?!" Makoto's tone wavered. "But don't you feel the same—"
[!!]
"I—" Yukio cut in, "I don't think this would work for us. It's wrong."
Makoto's expression faltered. "What do you mean?"
"I can be friends with you again, if that's what you want. I'll do anything you ask. Just... please."
Don't say those words to me. Don't give me hope.
The words struck deeper than Makoto expected. He'd thought that once he understood his complicated feelings, everything would fall into place.
But now, doubt crept in. Had he confessed because he truly loved Yukio, or was it only because he wanted to reclaim the closeness they'd lost?
Silence stretched between them. Yukio looked away, unable to bear it. The quiet felt so loud it hurt.
"Just leave me be for now," Yukio murmured.
Makoto hesitated. His legs refused to move, bit he knew staying would only make things harder. In the end, he obeyed, the sound of his retreating footsteps the only thing Yukio heard before the door closed.
[The next morning]
Yukio met Yugen and Renjiro in the hallway.
"You're up? You should still be in bed," Yugen said, his brows knitting. "Even if the fever's gone now, I don't want you collapsing again."
"I'm fine now," Yukio reassured, his voice soft.
Renjiro nudged Yugen's arm and gave him a pointed look—eyebrows raised, chin tilting toward Yukio.
Yugen sighed under his breath. "So... where's Yano? I heard he took care of you all night."
Yukio looked up, offering a small smile. "Yeah. Thanks to him, I'm all better now."
"Really?" Yugen's tone had a hint of curiosity.
Renjiro cleared his throat in a deliberate way. "Ahem! Ahem!"
His eyes darting between the two of them.
Yugen rolled his eyes at him. I'll get there—stop rushing me!
Instead of pressing further, Yugen changed the subject. "How about the council work?"
Yukio answered briefly, but Renjiro tapped Yugen's side with two fingers—sharply.
"Ow—!" Yugen winced, twisting away from the jab.
Yukio glanced at them in mild suspicion. Both straightened instantly, plastering on innocent expressions.
Renjiro let out a strained laugh. "Uh... I'm gonna grab a drink from the vending machine." His voice picthed a little too high, and before Yukio could respond, he'd already marched down the hall.
The two of them were left standing.
"You and Renjiro are really close," Yukio remarked.
Yugen's lips curved faintly. "Yeah, we get that a lot."
Yukio's gaze softened. "You really care about him. Even if he doesn't notice it."
"Actually..." Yugen's smile deepened, almost bittersweet. "It's him that cares more about me."
Yukio tilted his head. "Huh?"
"Between the two of us, Renjiro's the one who puts in the most effort."
If they fight over something stupid, Renjiro is the first to patch things up between them. He'll talked it out before it gets worse.
But Yugen? He's the type to walk away without a word—and that drives Renjiro crazy.
He continued, "he's always telling me to face things instead of avoiding them. And honestly, Yukio..." Yugen's voice lowered, growing heavier.
"I think you're a lot like me. You hold back when you shouldn't. You let things go unsaid because you're afraid of what might happen if you say them."
He choose silence because it feels safer than risking something changing.
"But the truth is—running away doesn't protect you. It just leaves you wondering 'what if' for the rest of your life."
Yugen learned that problems don't disappear just because you avoid them—they just wait, and grow heavier, until you could no longer ignore them.
He added, "So if there's something you need to face... a person you need to talk to... feelings you need to admit—do it before it's too late. You might not get another chance."
Yugen looked at Yukio as if he could see right through him. "I hope you face yours head-on too, Yukio. Even if it scares you."
The words rooted deep in Yukio's chest, refusing to let go they echoed in his mind, brushing against the memory he'd been trying to push away since last night—the warmth of Makoto's hand pulling him close, the sudden press of lips, the confession that followed.
And for the first time, Yukio wondered if maybe... he was running away.
Yugen's words clung to Yukio's chest like chains he couldn't shake off.
His heart pounded violently. He knew exactly what Yugen meant, even if Yugen himself didn't realize it. Makoto. Yukio held on to it.
No more running away.
Without another word, Yukio suddenly bolted down the hallway, his shoes echoing against the polished floor.
He weaved through the students. His breath uneven, his chest tight but determined. His eyes searched desperately for that familiar figure. Where is he?
Then there—a broad back, casually walking beneath the gentle rain of cherry blossoms outside, petals scattering with the spring breeze.
"Makoto!" Yukio's voice cracked with urgency.
The boy turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Yukio?"
Yukio's chest burned, but he forced himself forward, every step heavy yet determined.
This time... I'll say it. I'll tell him everything. No matter what. His hand reached out, trembling, desperate to finally close the distance.
But before he could—
"Makoto-kun!"
The voice, soft and gentle, drifted from behind.
Makoto's head snapped instantly toward it—no hesitation, no doubt.
Yukio's steps faltered. His hand froze mid-air, inches from Makoto's arm.
A girl appeared, her long black hair flowing freely with the wind. Her face was delicate, her smile radiant with relief. She ran forward, stretching her arms and threw them around him.
Makoto's eyes widened. "Mika-chan...?"
Yukio's stomach dropped. His heart twisted painfully.
"I'm so glad I finally found you!" Mika's voice trembled as if she'd been searching for ages. She clung to him tightly, like someone afraid to lose him again.
Then her gaze landed straight to Yukio.
Yukio froze under the weight of her eyes. There was no malice in them, but the message was clear enough: This is not your place.
Yukio's throat closed. His chest hurt more than his fever did. He lowered his hand, curling it into a fish by his side.
Right. Of course... how could I forget?
Makoto gently pulled Mika back, his brows furrowing. "What are you doing here?"
"Why?" Mika's lips curved into a smile, though her voice was steady and certain. "Aren't you happy to see your fiancée again?"
The words shattered everything.
...This is why I told myself it wouldn't work for us.
Renjiro, who had been watching from not too far away, nearly dropped his drink his voice cracked as he shouted, "Fiancée?! That guy's engaged?!"
Yukio felt the ground slip beneath his feet. His heart, which only moments ago had been so determined, now crumbled under the weight of a truth he wasn't ready to face.