The wind atop the school rooftop was cooler than expected, carrying with it the distant murmur of students packing up for the day. The sky overhead was streaked with late afternoon gold, as though the sun itself were hesitating before sinking beyond the horizon.
Takashi stood by the railing, hands shoved into his pockets, trying to steady the restless beating of his heart. He hadn't planned to come up here, but the weight of unspoken jealousy had pulled him somewhere quieter—somewhere he could breathe.
He didn't hear the door open behind him, but he felt her presence. Mizuki stepped closer, her shoes silent against the concrete.
"Takashi," she called softly, and he turned.
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them shimmered with hesitations and unasked questions.
Finally, she closed the distance, stopping an arm's length away. "You seemed troubled today," she began, her tone calm yet threaded with concern.
Takashi dropped his gaze. "I guess I've been… distracted."
"By what?" she asked gently.
He hesitated, searching for words that didn't sound childish. "I see you… talking with Hayama-sensei. You laugh with him. It shouldn't bother me, but it does."
Her expression softened. "Takashi…"
"I know it's not my place," he continued quickly, his voice tinged with frustration. "But I can't help it. It feels like there's a part of you I can't reach."
For a moment, Mizuki said nothing, just watched him with a quiet intensity. Then, taking a breath, she stepped closer until the wind tugged gently at the ends of her hair, and he could see the worry in her eyes.
"You're right," she admitted softly. "I do laugh with him. But it isn't the same."
Takashi swallowed, unsure what to say.
Mizuki placed a hand lightly on the railing beside his. "When I speak with him, it's polite. Friendly. But when I look at you… it's different."
"Different how?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"With you, Takashi, I can't pretend. I can't wear the mask of just a teacher."
The words settled over him like a balm, easing the tightness in his chest.
"But I don't want to be the reason you worry," she continued. "I want you to trust what's here," she tapped lightly over her heart, "even if we can't always show it."
Takashi nodded, the heaviness in his gaze giving way to something gentler. "I trust you," he said, though the words carried the fragile edge of someone still learning to.
"And I trust you," she replied softly. "More than you know."
They stood side by side, eyes drifting over the rooftops and city skyline. The wind stirred again, catching the edge of Mizuki's blouse and brushing a loose strand of hair across her cheek.
Takashi lifted his hand, hesitated, then gently tucked the strand behind her ear.
For an instant, their fingers brushed, and neither pulled away.
Mizuki's voice dropped to a whisper. "Even if others stand beside me, it won't change how I feel when I look at you."
Takashi met her gaze, searching for doubt and finding none. "Thank you," he murmured.
A faint smile touched her lips. "We can't stop the world from talking. But up here, for now, it's just us."
The rooftop seemed suspended in that moment—quiet, removed from the weight of rules and rumors. In that stillness, reassurance didn't need grand declarations; it lived in small gestures, quiet truths, and shared breaths.
As the bell rang faintly below, Mizuki took a small step back, her teacher's mask settling gently into place again.
"I should go," she said softly.
Takashi nodded, understanding. "I'll stay a bit longer."
Before turning to leave, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes holding his one last time. "Don't doubt what's between us," she whispered.
"I won't," he replied.
When she disappeared down the stairwell, the rooftop felt emptier—but Takashi's chest felt lighter. The jealousy hadn't vanished completely, but her words had anchored him.
Against the fading sky, he stood quietly, a breeze stirring his hair, holding onto the warmth of her reassurance.
It wasn't everything. But for now, it was enough.