The sun was already too bright when Mizuki arrived.
She wore a loose white blouse, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and pink shorts that caught the light. Her hair was pulled back messily, like she'd tried a few styles before giving up. In her hand, she clutched a paper fan shaped like a cartoon fish.
"This heat is illegal," she said instead of hello, waving the fan dramatically.
"You still showed up," Elliot said, mildly surprised.
"You said ice cream. I'm not above desperation."
They ended up at a tiny family-run shop tucked between a laundromat and a hardware store. The kind of place with fading posters in the windows and a hand-drawn "try our melon flavor!" sign. They each ordered something cold and bright and stupid.
And for a while, it was easy.
⸻
They wandered through a quiet park afterward, cicadas screaming in the trees like alarms that no one bothered turning off.
Mizuki licked at her cone between complaints.
"I swear I've sweated out half my personality."
"Is that why you've been quieter lately?"
"Tch. Don't get smart, Graves."
She paused, then nudged him with her elbow, just a bit.
"But yeah. Kinda."
They sat on the swings at the edge of the park, half in shadow. Elliot let his cone melt a little in his hand. Mizuki twisted slightly, her foot dragging a lazy groove in the dirt.
"It's weird," she said. "I don't hate her, you know. Ami. She's actually kind of cool. A lot. Maybe too much."
"You don't have to talk about her."
"No. I do. Otherwise I'll just keep letting it rot in my stomach like bad milk."
She didn't look at him when she said the next part.
"It's not about you liking her. Or her liking you. It's about feeling like you had this whole version of yourself that was ours. And now it's gone."
Elliot didn't have a clever answer.
"I'm still me."
"Yeah," she said. "But I don't think I'm still me. Not around you. Not when I have to compete with a girl who glows when she walks."
"You don't have to compete with anyone."
"That's the thing, Elliot. I do. Because if I don't, I disappear."
She stood then, brushing gravel off her skirt.
"I had fun today. Like, real fun. Stupid, sweaty, ice-cream-dripping-on-my-hand fun."
"Me too."
"Good."
She took two steps, then turned back.
"Just… try not to let her eat up all your air, okay?"
Then she walked off — fish fan in hand, hair sticking to the back of her neck, the faintest trace of her old grin returning for just a second.
⸻
Later that evening, his phone buzzed again.
Ami:
"Ramen shop. 7PM. Let's talk."
It wasn't a request. It never was with her.
⸻
The ramen place was nearly empty by the time Elliot got there — an open-wall joint by the river with paper lanterns swaying in the dusk and a radio playing soft rock from a decade no one remembered.
Ami was already at the corner booth, hood down, hair loose, flipping through a notepad full of scribbles.
"Graves!" she said, bright. Too bright. "You're late. That means I get your egg."
"It's not even my egg yet."
"I'm manifesting it into my bowl."
They ordered. Slurped quietly. Then she leaned back, fanned herself with her lyric pages, and finally got to the point.
"The agency wants to start pushing me out there. Soft press first — web interviews, maybe a featurette. They said if I can keep the voice consistent and polish my dance sets, we might be talking debut this year."
Elliot blinked. "That fast?"
"I told you," she grinned. "We made something real. You helped me make it."
"It was your voice."
"And your spine when mine buckled."
She looked down at the soy egg in her bowl, then pushed it toward him.
"Take it. I'm full."
"Seriously?"
"Graves. Take my damn egg before I remember I want it."
He did.
She watched him for a moment, then said:
"So, what about you? You okay?"
"Just tired."
"From what?"
"Trying to hold everything together."
She tilted her head, lips curving just slightly.
"You don't need to hold anything together. You just need to hold on to me."
He blinked. "That's not exactly—"
"Don't overthink it. I know you're scared. But you were born for this. You just don't know it yet."
The night deepened. The lanterns swayed.
When they stepped outside, the city hummed softly around them.
She didn't say goodbye. She just tapped her knuckles once to his shoulder and walked toward the train station, humming one of her new songs under her breath.
⸻
He walked home alone.
The streetlights flickered. The wind smelled like rain on pavement.
His phone buzzed again.
Mizuki:
"Thanks for today. I missed laughing like that."
Then:
Ami:
"We're gonna own the world, El. You'll see."
He stared at both.
Didn't respond.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because in that moment — caught between two gravity fields — he just wanted to float.