One Week Later
It had only been a week since that rain-soaked evening.
A week since Miyako Hanabira fashion queen, chaos incarnate, and loudest voice in Class 3-B had quietly admitted that seeing Haruki Tenma laugh with someone else made her chest ache.
But unlike stories in shojo manga, confessions didn't come with fairy tale payoffs. There was no magical transition into coupledom. No dramatic hand-holding under fireworks.
Instead, life… just got weirder.
The Morning After
Haruki shuffled into the kitchen, hoodie sleeves too long, hair still sticking up in odd directions from sleep. The soft morning light spilled through the window, golden and warm, and for a brief second, the world felt peaceful.
Until he froze.
There, sitting cross-legged at the counter like she owned the place, was Miyako. Not in her usual cropped blazer and pleated skirt.
But in his white button-up shirt.
Just. The. Shirt.
It hung off her shoulders like it had been made for her—bare legs tucked beneath her on the stool, her hair tousled from sleep, a single bra strap peeking out deliberately from the collar. A pink spoon hovered in her hand as she ate cereal, and milk still glistened faintly on her lips.
She looked up lazily and grinned, "Mornin', husband."
Haruki's soul tried to ascend.
"W–Why are you… what are you… that's my!"
"You said I could borrow anything," she said, completely unfazed. "Your laundry smells like jasmine and dryer sheets. It's comforting."
"I? I meant notebooks! Socks! Not… not this!" he sputtered, turning to the sink like it held the answers to his moral crisis.
"Too late," she said, popping another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "Claimed."
She stood up, the hem of the shirt brushing the tops of her thighs as she walked past him. Stretching casually, she yawned, then tossed over her shoulder:
"Oh and don't peek in the shower unless you're ready to marry me for real."
She disappeared down the hall.
Haruki pressed his forehead against the kitchen wall.
"We're already married," he muttered, voice flat.
His knees felt weak.
A New Problem: Mina Saejima
Transfer student. From Tokyo. Elegant posture. Glossy lips. Big eyes. Big city energy.
And now, sitting next to Haruki in class.
At first, Miyako didn't care. She was chill. Really.
Until Mina leaned in a little too close.
Whispered something that made Haruki smile.
Laughed at his awkward responses like they were charming and not awkward at all.
By lunch, Miyako was stabbing her katsu like it owed her money.
"You okay?" Riku asked between bites, staring at her bent chopsticks.
"I'm peachy," Miyako replied, the corners of her mouth twitching unnaturally. "Just admiring the way Haruki is suddenly Tokyo's most eligible bachelor."
Riku blinked. "Yeah, Mina's really been hanging around him. She said she likes how quiet he is."
"Oh, did she?" Miyako asked sweetly. "Did she also say she wants to be his second wife?"
"I don't think she said that…"
"She's thinking it, Riku."
He wisely decided to change the subject.
Confrontation, Sort Of
After school, the clouds had returned a perfect gray mirror of Miyako's mood. She sat on their usual park bench, arms folded like a barricade and one foot tapping a dangerous rhythm against the concrete.
Haruki approached with caution. "…Did I do something?"
"Did I say you did something?"
He sighed. Sat beside her. "…So I did do something."
Miyako whipped her finger toward him like a sword. "You've been emotionally unfaithful."
Haruki blinked. "To… who?"
"To me! Your fake wife!"
He stared. "You're seriously mad."
"I'm seriously annoyed. That's a different department."
"…Because I talked to Mina?"
"She touched your arm," Miyako said, scandalized.
"She was thanking me."
"She looked at you like you invented romantic subtext!"
Haruki raised an eyebrow. "You're monitoring my sparkle-to-eye contact ratio?"
"I have excellent spatial awareness," Miyako muttered.
He snorted. "You're jealous."
"Shut up."
He smiled softly.
She looked away, ears pink.
Later That Night
Haruki sat editing photos at his desk when Miyako silently wandered in, still in his shirt, bare legs glowing under the lamplight. She flopped onto his bed, face first, then flipped over to stare at the ceiling.
"You never compliment me."
Haruki looked up. "What?"
"You never call me cute. Or pretty. Or… hot."
He blinked. "Why would I?"
"I'm your wife, remember?"
"You also threatened to sue me once for breathing too close."
Miyako turned her head toward him and smirked. "That was before I realized your voice gets all flustered and deep when you're panicking."
He nearly dropped his mouse. "I what?!"
"Say something nice," she challenged, sitting up slightly. Her eyes sparkled.
He turned in his chair and really looked at her.
"You look… good in my shirt."
Her teasing smile faltered.
"And it's hard to focus when you wear it."
Silence stretched between them like a held breath.
"…Okay," she said, pulling the hem down. "I'm never giving it back."
The Triangle Gets Messier
The next morning, Mina approached Haruki with a carefully wrapped bento.
"I remembered you said you liked tamagoyaki," she said, offering it with both hands. "So I made some… I hope it's okay?"
Haruki blinked. "That's… really thoughtful. Thanks."
From across the hallway, Miyako watched arms folded, eyes narrow.
Miyako: "Wow. Tamagoyaki. The international symbol of marital betrayal."
Haruki: "…Good morning?"
Miyako: "Did I mention I cook too? I use a special seasoning called emotional repression. Adds depth."
Mina: "Oh… I didn't know you two were—"
"Married?" Miyako smiled sweetly. "Don't worry. It's mostly symbolic. For now."
After School
They walked home in silence, the setting sun casting long shadows that walked beside them just as unsure as the two people they mirrored.
Finally, Miyako spoke. "That girl likes you."
"I know."
"And you don't like her."
"I know."
"But you're thinking about giving her a chance."
Haruki stopped walking.
"…How do you know that?"
She didn't stop. "Because I would."
"…You would?"
"If someone liked me even if I didn't feel the same at first I'd still wonder. Because love can grow. Right?"
Haruki watched her walk ahead, her figure silhouetted in the amber light. He didn't have an answer.
When he got home, he found her curled up in his bed, blanket pulled over her head, like she was trying to shut out the world or maybe him.
Fanservice? Check.
From under the blanket came her muffled voice:
"If you're gonna fall for her… you should at least sleep with me first."
Haruki's soul left his body. Twice.
"I'm kidding!" she shouted before he could combust. "Mostly."
He turned off the light. "Go to sleep."
"Only if you promise to dream of me."
He didn't reply.
But in the dark, a small smile curved his lips.
And that night, his dream smelled faintly of jasmine and dryer sheets.