The next morning, golden sunlight crept lazily through the sheer white curtains, scattering dappled patterns across Haruki's wooden floor. The room, once bathed in candlelight and tension, now shimmered in soft warmth. Dust motes floated gently in the beams of light like lazy fireflies.
Haruki stirred beneath the covers, blinking slowly as consciousness crept in. His heart still beat with a faint echo of last night the closeness, the silence, the weight of Miyako's head resting on his shoulder. His gaze flicked toward the futon beside his, expecting to see a tangled mess of blankets and a mop of strawberry-blonde hair.
Instead, Miyako was sitting cross-legged, already dressed in her school uniform, hair pinned back with a silver clip. A sly grin curled her lips as she looked at him.
"Morning, husband."
Haruki let out a groggy groan and rolled onto his side, burying his face in the pillow. "Don't."
Miyako laughed, the sound light and teasing. She stretched her arms overhead, arching slightly, her uniform blouse rustling. The sunlight caught the tips of her hair, turning them almost gold.
"So," she said, tilting her head. "You're officially my husband now. Does that mean I get to boss you around?"
Haruki pushed himself up onto his elbows, raising an eyebrow. "You haven't stopped since day one."
She shrugged with mock innocence. "Yeah, but now I get to do it with legal backing."
At school, the air was alive with barely-contained curiosity. The hallways buzzed with low murmurs, like bees circling a hive. Word traveled fast at Kaisei High, faster than the morning announcements or emergency drills. And somehow, despite their best efforts, the rumor mill had latched onto them.
No one had concrete proof. But the subtle changes walking home together, sudden glances in class, whispers exchanged at lunch were enough.
Side-eyes followed them down corridors. Girls covered their mouths and giggled behind textbooks. Boys nudged each other knowingly whenever Haruki and Miyako crossed paths.
"Did you see her leave his house this morning?"
"They've been weirdly close lately."
"I swear I heard her call him 'husband' in class yesterday."
Miyako and Haruki didn't bother correcting anyone. Their strategy was simple: deny nothing, admit nothing. Just friends who happened to be living under the same roof… and married.
At lunch, the tension reached its peak.
Their usual group had claimed their spot under the sakura tree in the courtyard, the summer breeze playing with loose napkins and chip bags. Riku, ever the instigator, leaned forward across the table with a grin so wide it was practically criminal.
"So," he said, tapping his chopsticks together. "How's married life treating you two?"
Miyako didn't miss a beat. "Thrilling. Haruki here makes me breakfast every morning. Pancakes. Shaped like cats."
Haruki choked on his rice ball. "That's not true."
The group howled with laughter. Even Haruki cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it behind his drink.
"Does he iron your uniform too?" someone asked.
"Foot massages?" another teased.
Miyako leaned her cheek on her palm. "Not yet. But I'm working on it."
Haruki shook his head, but he couldn't deny the way something warm was curling in his chest something that wasn't entirely fake.
After lunch, as Miyako walked the halls alone, the laughter still echoing in her mind, she paused by the bulletin board outside the photography room.
A boy stepped out Yuuji, a quiet senior from the photography club with a camera perpetually hanging around his neck. He spotted her and gave a half-smile.
"You're Hanabira, right?"
She nodded. "Yeah. That's me."
He held up his camera, a familiar photo flickering on the screen: her and Haruki, sitting under the park gazebo, mid-laugh. The shot was candid, caught in a rare moment of ease between them. The soft lighting and her open smile made it look almost... romantic.
"You're the one in this photo with Tenma."
"Guilty," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Yuuji studied the photo, then glanced back at her. "Lucky guy."
She blinked. "What?"
"Nothing." He turned, heading back into the clubroom, leaving Miyako standing there heartbeat suddenly unsteady, warmth creeping up her neck.
After school, the clouds had cleared, leaving behind a sky streaked with orange and lavender. The streets were quieter now, the rush of students gone, replaced by the soft rustle of wind through trees and the chirp of distant cicadas.
Haruki and Miyako met at their usual bench in the park, their bags resting between them. The fading sun painted gold highlights across her hair, and Haruki found himself staring longer than he meant to.
"So," he said, fiddling with a strap on his bag. "People are starting to believe we're… more than just friends."
Miyako looked out at the swing set, her eyes unreadable. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing."
Haruki turned to her, really looked at her. There was no teasing in her voice this time. Just quiet sincerity.
"Maybe," he said softly.
The silence stretched between them not heavy, not awkward, but full of possibilities.
The kind of silence that asked a question neither of them were ready to answer.
Not yet.