The Week After
The week after the arcade hangout felt like the air itself had thickened.
Like everything everything was on the verge of changing, but no one wanted to be the first to say it.
They were still friends. Still fake-married. Still living under one roof.
But the boundaries were blurry now. Blurred by long glances, casual touches that lingered a beat too long, and words that felt like dares disguised as jokes.
Miyako had stopped being subtle.
She showed up to school wearing Haruki's hoodie, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the hood drawn lazily over her strawberry-blonde hair.
She stole his lunch seat before he could get to it and plopped down with all the authority of someone who knew they belonged there.
Once, during a pop quiz, when Haruki hissed at her to stop humming under her breath, she leaned close and whispered, "I like it when you're bossy."
And then went back to chewing on the end of her pen like nothing had happened.
Haruki didn't know how to process any of it.
Not her sudden clinginess. Not the way her teasing now made his heart skip. And definitely not what happened in P.E.
The sun hung high over the track field like a spotlight, unrelenting and hot. Whistles blew. Students shouted. Grass stained knees and shins. Sweat slicked skin. The relay event had everyone fired up.
Miyako, as usual, was all energygrinning, stretching, competitive spark practically radiating off her.
She ended up on Kazuki's team.
Kazuki Hoshino tall, smooth-talking, constantly surrounded by admirers. He was the school's rising basketball ace, a flirt with a megawatt smile and a reputation for making girls laugh.
Haruki already didn't like him.
But today, Kazuki was turning it up.
First, the casual stretch that had his arm draped across Miyako's shoulder.
Then, the too-close whisper that made her laugh really laugh, tilting her head back, eyes bright.
It hit Haruki square in the chest.
He told himself it didn't mean anything.
But it did.
Because in that moment, she looked like she could like Kazuki.
And maybe… she already did.
After practice, Haruki found her in the hallway, standing by the open window, tying her hair up with practiced ease. The golden afternoon light spilled in, turning the strands into honey.
He didn't plan to speak, but the words pushed past his lips before he could stop them.
"Do you like him?"
Miyako's hands froze, mid-twist.
She turned her head slightly, not all the way. "Who?"
"Kazuki."
There was a pause just long enough to sting.
Then she smiled. That same infuriating, unreadable smirk. "Why? Are you jealous?"
Haruki didn't answer.
Couldn't answer.
She turned fully toward him now, the light framing her face. Her expression softened.
"I used to like guys like him," she said. "You know... flashy, confident, always saying the right thing."
Haruki swallowed, heart thudding.
"Used to?" he asked, quietly.
She took a slow step toward him. And then another.
Now just a foot apart. Close enough to count the gold flecks in her blue eyes.
"I think I like guys who pretend not to care but do anyway. Like yelling at me for using their toothbrush, even though they never actually throw it out."
Haruki blinked. That had happened two nights ago.
"I think I like guys who pull me away from traffic without even thinking. Who remember how I take my miso soup and who don't mind when I steal their hoodies."
She was staring right into him now.
"I think I like guys who look quiet... but feel loud when they're standing next to me."
Haruki's throat went dry. His pulse beat in his ears.
"That doesn't sound like Kazuki," he said, barely above a whisper.
Miyako tilted her head. The smile returned, but gentler now.
"Exactly."
She didn't wait for a response.
She turned on her heel and walked away, her steps light, almost casual almost but Haruki could see the stiffness in her shoulders, like she was holding something back.
He stood there, unmoving, the words echoing in his chest like footsteps in a quiet temple.
That Night
Haruki lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp bleeding through the curtain.
The sound of Miyako's soft breathing came from the next room, and for some reason, it made it harder to fall asleep.
There was a shift happening between them.
Too slow to call a confession.
Too loud to ignore.
He didn't know what to do with the way she looked at him now. Or the way he wanted her to.
He didn't know what Miyako was to him.
But he was starting to understand what she wasn't:
Someone he could stay neutral about.
Not anymore.