"Starting the lesson now, so don't call me Shouko-sensei… wait until we're home!"
Shouko leaned close to his ear, whispering firmly.
"Okay, okay, okay."
"Let me think…" She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "For straight lines, you draw horizontal, vertical, and diagonal. The point is to train wrist stability."
She demonstrated each stroke on the drawing board.
Once Akira nodded that he understood, she continued: "Curved lines—wavy, spirals. They're to build hand fluency."
"And the last one is hatching—"
"Hatching is parallel lines and cross-hatching," Akira cut in smoothly. "It's the base for shading and textures later."
Shouko blinked. "How did you know?"
"You already said everything, so I guessed," he grinned, reaching to pinch her cheek at her surprised expression.
She dodged, smacking his hand instead. "Then quit fooling around and start drawing! Respect your teacher, got it, Akira?"
"Yes ma'am." He laughed, bowing his head in mock submission.
After their playful back-and-forth, both bent over their boards, focused on their practice.
By the time they looked up, the clock showed past five. Most of the Art Club members had already left. Akira checked his watch, reminded Shouko, then helped pack up her materials.
He waved to the few seniors still there and left with her.
Over the next month, the two slipped into a quiet routine of balancing studies and club activities.
As the sun dipped below the horizon one evening, city lights flickered on like fallen stars scattered across the earth.
"Akira, tomorrow's Saturday. Where should we go play?"
Shouko lay sprawled on his bed, hugging his pillow, bare calves dangling off the edge.
He was busy typing on his keyboard. "Didn't Takagi and the class rep make plans with you?"
"Mm-hm. But I only promised them Sunday. Tomorrow I want to be with you."
Seeing his attention wasn't on her, she quietly buried her face in his pillow, inhaling the faint scent.
"I don't really know where to go…" Akira stopped typing. Truthfully, they'd already exhausted every spot within ten kilometers. Anything further would mean parental approval—which wasn't easy.
Shouko rolled onto her back, gazing at the ceiling. "Do you remember the shrine we visited during the sixth-grade fireworks festival?"
"That place, huh?" The memory of the unreliable girl there made him chuckle. "Sure, why not."
"Okay! Then it's decided."
The topic dropped, replaced by the sound of clacking keys and casual chatter.
Then Shouko suddenly sat up, holding her phone. "Akira! I saw a funny question online."
"What is it?" He turned his head.
She plopped into the chair beside him, eyes shining. "If Aunt Shizuka and I fell into the river at the same time, who would you save?"
Akira sighed, poking her forehead. "You should watch less of that junk—it'll rot your brain."
"Aw…"
"Fine. Just this once. But after this, no more."
She perked up. "Okay, then who?"
"I'd save my mom."
"…Oh."
She'd expected that answer, but hearing it still stung, sharp and fine, like a needle prick.
"Why not me?" she asked softly, unwilling to let it end there.
Akira's gaze stayed fixed on the screen. "…Because if one day our son is asked the same question, I want him to choose his mother first."
He finally looked her way, but she had already dropped her gaze, cheeks burning.
The silence stretched until she suddenly sprang up, flinging the pillow at his face.
"Who'd ever have a child with you, Akira—you shameless idiot!" she shouted, fleeing his room with ears glowing red.
He caught the pillow, tossed it back onto the bed, and exhaled with a faint smile.
From the living room, Shizuka called out as Shouko dashed past, "Running like that, be careful not to trip."
"Got it. Don't worry, Auntie. Good night!"
The front door clicked shut a moment later.
"This child…" Shizuka shook her head with a helpless smile.
The next morning, Akira groaned awake, muttering a curse in Chinese before dragging himself to shower.
From the dining table, Shizuka noticed his mood but said nothing. Some things were better left for his father.
"Dad, Mom, I'm going for a run!" Akira announced after drying his hair.
"Be careful," Shizuka called.
"Eat something first?" his father offered.
"I'll eat when I'm back."
The door clicked shut, leaving the couple in silence.
"When he returns, talk to him," Shizuka murmured, pouring milk into her husband's glass. "I don't know how to bring it up."
"Got it," Daxiong replied, swallowing his food. "Some lessons he needs to hear from me anyway."
Outside, Akira stretched, inhaling the crisp dawn air.
The sky glowed faintly green on the horizon, asphalt still damp with night dew. His shoes crunched against the pavement, scattering droplets like crushed frost.
The smell of caramel drifted from the bakery's back kitchen, mixing with the sweet fragrance of new white roses outside the flower shop.
Milk bottles clinked on the delivery truck, startling the tabby perched atop the newsstand. When it arched its back, the sunlight filtering through sycamore leaves sprinkled its fur with flecks of gold.
Later, Akira returned home, unlocking the door with his key.
"I'm back!" he called into the house.
"Welcome home."
It was Shouko's gentle voice, waiting for him from within.
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