The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the faint pop of rain against the window. Hageshi Moso sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, his skateboard propped up against the wall, headphones forgotten around his neck.
Tamaki Kujo sprawled across the bed, legs tucked under her, a sketchbook open on her lap. She was doodling little abstract patterns with rapid, confident strokes, humming softly as she worked.
"You always make that look so easy," Hageshi said, watching the way her pencil danced across the page.
Tamaki glanced up, green eyes sparkling. "Easy? Nah. It's practice. You just need to stop overthinking." She grinned. "I could teach you, you know. We could make a masterpiece together."
Hageshi swallowed. He wanted to reach for her hand but didn't. Instead, he ran a hand through his messy black hair, trying to act casual. She's just a friend… But every time she smiled, it felt like the sunlight breaking through a storm he didn't know how to escape.
"I… maybe I'll try," he muttered, his voice barely above the hum of the heater.
Tamaki laughed lightly and tossed him a pen. "Here. You can start your first doodle. Don't worry, I won't judge."
The warmth between them felt fragile, delicate, and Hageshi clung to it like a lifeline. For a few hours, they talked about everything and nothing: school, music, silly hypotheticals, and dreams for the future. Tamaki was in her element—energetic, animated, filling the room with her presence. Hageshi tried to match her energy, laughed more than he had in days, and let himself forget the tension that had been building in his chest ever since the accident that wasn't yet.
Hours passed without notice. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the clock on his wall blinked 11:00. Tamaki stretched and yawned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I should probably head home," she said softly, the excitement in her voice dimming just slightly.
Hageshi's stomach dropped. "Wait… it's late, you don't have to—"
"I know, but it's fine," she replied, smiling reassuringly. "I've got my jacket, and the roads aren't too bad. I'll be fine."
He hesitated, wanting desperately to keep her there. The thought of her leaving, even for a short drive, twisted inside him. His chest tightened as he fumbled for words.
"Maybe… maybe you could just stay the night?" he blurted out, heart pounding. "It's too late to—well… it's just… it'd be nice."
Tamaki shook her head, though gently. "I appreciate it, Hageshi, really. But I need to get home. Don't worry, okay?"
Hageshi nodded silently, forcing a smile he didn't feel. He watched her leave, each step echoing in his ears long after she closed the door behind her. The sound of the front door shutting reverberated through his chest like a drumbeat he couldn't ignore.
He sank to the floor, leaning against his bed. The warmth of her presence had vanished, leaving the room cold and hollow. Hageshi's mind raced. What if something happens to her? What if I… what if I should've made her stay?
His thoughts spiraled, unrelenting. He knew it was irrational—she was careful, the streets were empty—but a pit formed in his stomach. The same pit that had been growing for weeks, but now it felt sharper, darker.
He imagined her hair whipping in the rain, the scarf sliding from her neck, the sketchbook tumbling from her arms. The sound of a crash… a screech of tires.
He shook his head violently. No. It's fine. She's fine.
But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had already gone wrong.
Hageshi didn't sleep that night. Every creak of his house, every flicker of the streetlights outside, made his heart skip. He imagined footsteps on the stairs, faint laughter, whispers of Tamaki's voice calling his name. Shadows stretched across the room, and in the corner, he thought he saw a flash of green hair moving just beyond the reach of light.
He told himself it was just imagination. But even imagination felt like reality now.
The last thing he remembered before dozing into fitful, broken sleep was the echo of her voice, gentle and teasing, but twisted by fear:
"Don't let go, Hageshi…"