Haruto didn't sleep much that night.He dreamed in flashes—shoes scraping against concrete, laughter echoing from behind the fence, a voice drawling, "What's the genius gonna do, sketch us to death?"
When he woke, the air in his room felt thin, like it had forgotten how to fill his lungs.
He showered, dressed, pulled his sleeves low again. The bruise on his ribs pulsed when he bent to tie his shoelaces. He ignored it, grabbed his bag, and left before his mother woke up.
At school, the morning sunlight was blindingly normal.Suki was already outside the gate, bouncing on his heels with a can of coffee in each hand.
"Good morning, Haruto! You look like a cloud who paid taxes!"
Haruto blinked. "…That's specific."
"Means you're tired but respectable."
Before Haruto could reply, Ryuzí appeared beside him, hair damp from his shower, uniform neat. "You shouldn't enable him."
Suki gasped dramatically. "I'm not enabling, I'm emotionally stimulating!"
Ryuzí gave him a deadpan look. "You're loud."
"And yet you love me," Suki said, leaning in to bump shoulders.
Haruto smiled faintly, their banter almost enough to wash away the tightness in his chest. Almost.
"Big day for rehearsals," Suki chirped. "Kenji said he's bringing snacks. Aoi's probably sharpening her clipboard. And Miyako texted me at six a.m. saying 'be on time' with a skull emoji."
Ryuzí arched a brow. "She's terrifying."
"She's efficient," Haruto said softly, and they both turned in surprise—he hadn't spoken that firmly all morning.
Suki grinned. "Finally! The artist speaks!"
Haruto looked away, hiding the small curve of his mouth. "Don't exaggerate."
Inside the classroom, the day rolled like any other—notes, chalk squeaks, the drone of lessons.Only Haruto's world tilted slightly differently.
Every sound felt louder. Every laugh behind him felt sharper.He kept catching Shaun's reflection in the window—leaned back, phone in hand, smirk just barely visible.
Once, during break, he turned to find his locker slightly ajar. Inside, one of his drawings had been crumpled and stuffed through the vents.He pulled it out quietly, smoothed it between trembling fingers, and put it in his folder without a word.
At lunch, Suki was mid-rant about Ryuzí's refusal to share fries.
"They're my fries," Ryuzí said flatly.
"I feed your soul daily!" Suki protested. "You can feed my stomach once!"
"I buy you breakfast every other morning."
"Love isn't measured in yen!"
Kenji leaned across the table, whispering to Haruto, "This happens weekly."
Haruto smiled politely, though his stomach churned. He picked at his rice, keeping his elbows close so his sleeve wouldn't brush the bruise.
Aoi was flipping through the script notes. "We still need new background transitions. Haruto, can you—"
"Yeah," he interrupted quickly. "I'll do it tonight."
Her pen paused mid-air. "You're already doing the frame layers. Don't overwork."
"I'll manage."
Aoi frowned, just a little. He looked so calm saying it, but something was off—the way his eyes didn't quite meet hers, the small stiffness in his shoulders.
Before she could press, Suki leaned in. "Aoi, let him! Artists like suffering. It's their aesthetic."
Aoi clicked her pen. "Then you must be a masterpiece."
"Why thank—wait."
Laughter scattered the tension, but Haruto caught the faintest glint of concern in her gaze before it disappeared behind professionalism.
After school, the group gathered for rehearsal in the multipurpose room.
Miyako had spread the script sheets across the table. "If we tighten the narration pacing, we can hit the twenty-minute mark cleanly."
Kenji raised a hand. "Do we get points if we make Aoi smile for longer than two seconds?"
Aoi didn't look up. "No."
"Negative points, then," Ryuzí murmured.
Suki threw himself onto the floor dramatically. "You're all bullies!"
Haruto, seated near the projector, let their chatter fill the room like a blanket. He worked silently, adjusting colors, saving files, drawing one clean frame at a time.
But when he leaned forward, the pressure in his ribs flared again. His breath hitched. He pressed a hand subtly to his side and kept going.
Miyako passed by, eyes flicking down. "You okay?"
He nodded quickly. "Fine."
She lingered a second longer before moving on.
Ryuzí noticed too, in his quiet way. He didn't say anything, but his gaze softened. "Don't push yourself," he said simply as he walked by with props.
"I'm okay," Haruto murmured again, almost convincing himself.
The rehearsal ended with applause from Suki—for himself, mostly.
"We're geniuses!" he declared, arms wide.
Aoi sighed. "You forgot half your lines."
"Improvisation is genius!"
Kenji snorted. "That's not what genius means."
"Then define it!" Suki challenged.
"Not you."
The room dissolved into laughter again. It felt like warmth—safe, familiar, grounding.Haruto smiled faintly at the sound.
For a moment, he believed it was enough.
Later, as they left the building, the group split into their usual routes.
"Text me when you get home," Suki called over his shoulder.
"Yeah," Haruto lied again.
The sky was already dim, clouds curling low. He turned the corner toward the quieter side street where the bus stop sat. His steps echoed between the narrow walls, sharp against the concrete.
A small group leaned against the fence near the old vending machine—Shaun, Daichi, Riku.
The air went heavy.
"Well, if it isn't the artist," Shaun said, voice lazy. "Late night at the art gallery?"
Haruto kept walking. "Move."
"Move?" Daichi echoed, mock surprise. "Did you hear that, Shaun? He's got tone now."
Riku stepped forward, blocking his way. "Show us what you're drawing lately."
"No."
"Aw, come on. We're fans."
Shaun's grin widened, and he snagged the strap of Haruto's bag. "Don't be shy."
"Let go."
"Or what?" Shaun tugged harder. "You'll call your little fan club?"
Something in Haruto cracked. His voice came out low, steady. "I said—let go."
Shaun smirked, eyes glinting. "You think you can talk to me like that? After all, we're just having fun—like we used to."
The phrase froze Haruto's blood.
Like we used to.
He jerked back, twisting free, but not before Daichi shoved him lightly, just enough to stagger. The folder slipped, paper spilling across the wet concrete.
Shaun crouched, picked one up. "Pretty. Little sunrise, huh? Bit ironic for a guy who looks half-dead."
Haruto snatched it back, hands shaking. "Don't touch my work."
Riku chuckled. "So touchy."
"Come on," Shaun said. "We're just talking."
He stepped closer. Haruto flinched—barely—but enough for Shaun to notice. The smile sharpened.
"Relax," Shaun said, tone suddenly soft. "You're safe here."
The words dripped poison.
Then footsteps echoed from the far end of the alley—Aoi's voice, clipped, efficient, unmistakable. "Haruto!"
Shaun stepped back instantly, grin wiped off.Daichi muttered something, and the group slipped away toward the fence, vanishing like smoke before she turned the corner.
Aoi jogged closer, rain tapping the pavement behind her. "You left your flash drive."
Haruto knelt quickly, gathering his papers. "Thanks."
Her eyes lingered on his trembling hands, the scattered drawings, the way his breath stuttered. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Haruto."
"I dropped it," he said quickly, forcing a smile. "Clumsy."
Aoi didn't believe him, but she also knew the walls he built were fragile—push too hard, and he'd shatter in silence.
She crouched, helping him collect the last sheet. "Next time, let me carry your things."
"I can—"
"I didn't ask," she said quietly.
He blinked, surprised by her tone. She stood, dusting her knees. "Come on. The bus is coming."
They walked side by side. She didn't speak again, and he didn't offer an explanation.But when she caught his reflection in the window of the passing bus—his shoulders drawn tight, his gaze far away—her jaw clenched.
She had seen fear before. That wasn't fear. That was familiarity.
Meanwhile, back in the café across from the station, Suki and Ryuzí sat together with their milk teas.
Suki was doodling hearts in the condensation on Ryuzí's cup. "You're not gonna scold me for being clingy today?"
Ryuzí sipped calmly. "It's not clingy if I like it."
Suki blinked, then flushed bright pink. "Wh—wait—what did you just say?"
Ryuzí glanced up. "Nothing."
"You said you like it!"
"You heard wrong."
Suki grinned, triumphant. "You're getting soft."
Ryuzí leaned closer, resting his chin in his palm. "You talk too much."
"And yet—" Suki's smile softened, voice low. "—you still listen."
Ryuzí's lips curved. "Bad habit."
Suki laughed, leaning forward until their foreheads brushed. "Then don't fix it."
They stayed like that for a long moment—the quiet hum of the café, the rain soft against the glass, two heartbeats in sync while outside, the city carried on.
Back in the bus, Haruto's phone buzzed.
Suki: You okay?Haruto: Yeah. Just tired.Suki: You've been tired all week. Want me to drop off taiyaki tomorrow?Haruto: Sure.
He stared at the last word for a while before sending it.When the screen dimmed, his reflection looked older than it should have.
Outside, the rain had stopped—but the puddles still rippled under the streetlight, catching the ghosts of laughter that hadn't quite faded.
And in the distance, three silhouettes leaned against the fence again, whispering, waiting.