The art room smelled of fresh paint and aged paper, a quiet sanctuary nestled in the corner of the school. The golden glow of the afternoon sun spilled through the large windows, illuminating the wooden floors and casting long shadows across the scattered art supplies.
Aika sat at her usual spot, pencil in hand, tracing over the delicate lines of her latest drawing. It was another portrait of him—of Riku.
She didn't know why she kept drawing him. Maybe it was because his face was so frustratingly difficult to capture, or maybe… it was something else.
Something she didn't want to admit.
Her fingers hesitated over the page. The Riku she was drawing was bright—alive. But lately, there was something different about him. A weariness that lingered beneath his usual smile. She had noticed it, in the way he sometimes pressed his fingers to his temples when he thought no one was looking, or how he leaned against the walls more often, as if standing took more effort than it should.
She had seen it.
But she hadn't said anything.
Because if she asked, she would have to hear the answer.
And some part of her was afraid of what that answer might be.
---
"You're terrible at this."
The door creaked open, and Riku strolled in, his presence as effortless as ever. His guitar case was slung over his shoulder, and his uniform was slightly disheveled, as if he had been in a hurry.
He caught sight of her drawing and raised an eyebrow. "Are you ever gonna draw anything other than me?"
Aika smirked but didn't look up. "When you stop being so fun to make fun of."
Riku chuckled, dropping his bag onto the nearest chair before pulling something from his pocket. "Well, if you're gonna judge, let's compare skills."
He unfolded a crumpled piece of paper and slid it across the table.
Aika picked it up, expecting… well, something.
What she got instead was a collection of shaky lines and vague shapes that vaguely resembled a face—if said face had been drawn blindfolded.
She burst out laughing. "What is this?"
"A work of art."
"This is a crime against art." She turned the paper sideways, then upside down. "Is this supposed to be a person?"
Riku puffed up his chest. "I'll have you know, that is a very abstract self-portrait."
Aika rolled her eyes. "Stick to music. You're terrible at this."
"I think you just lack the vision to appreciate my genius."
"If your genius involves murdering proportions, then sure."
Riku laughed, the sound light and familiar, like a melody she had heard a thousand times but never grew tired of. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head.
For a moment, it felt normal.
But then—
His smile faltered.
A barely perceptible shift, but Aika saw it.
His fingers twitched against the table.
And then, just as suddenly—
His body swayed.
His breath hitched.
And before Aika could even process what was happening—
He collapsed.
---
Shattered Stillness
The chair crashed against the floor.
Aika's heart slammed against her ribs.
"Riku?" Her voice barely left her throat, strangled by panic.
His body was motionless, sprawled on the cold wooden floor, his limbs unnaturally limp. His eyes were half-open, but unfocused—like he was somewhere far away.
"Riku—Riku!"
She scrambled to his side, her hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him. His skin was cold. Too cold.
No. No, no, no.
This wasn't happening.
Her breaths came in sharp gasps, her mind racing through every worst-case scenario. He had been fine just a moment ago—he had laughed. How could he just—just—
Riku's body jerked.
A convulsion.
Aika let out a choked sob as she fumbled for her phone, her hands trembling so violently she could barely type.
Call someone. Call someone. CALL SOMEONE.
The ringing tone felt like it lasted an eternity before the operator's voice crackled through the speaker.
"Please—please, I need help!" Her voice was shaking. "My friend—he just collapsed! We're at—at the school—please, he's not waking up!"
The voice on the other end spoke calmly, asking for details, but Aika could barely hear them over the pounding in her ears.
She pressed her forehead against Riku's shoulder, gripping his hand tightly.
"Stay with me," she whispered.
His fingers barely twitched.
The sound of sirens cut through the silence of the school.
The paramedics burst into the room, their presence swift and efficient. Aika barely registered what they were saying as they checked his pulse, their movements quick and practiced.
"Blood pressure is unstable—"
"Pulse is weak—"
"We need to move now."
Aika tried to follow, but someone—one of the teachers, she realized distantly—stopped her.
"Aika," they said, gripping her shoulders. "Let them do their job."
But she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
She watched as they lifted Riku onto the stretcher.
Watched as they carried him away.
Watched as the doors swung shut behind them.
And suddenly, the art room felt empty.
Too empty.
Aika sank to her knees, her fingers digging into the floor.
She had known.
She had known something was wrong.
And she had done nothing.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears as a hollow, suffocating weight settled in her chest.
Please be okay.
Please wake up.
But as the distant sound of sirens faded, so did the illusion that everything would be fine.
For the first time, Aika felt the weight of something she wasn't ready to face.
And she was terrified.
---
To Be Continued…