The next few days passed in a strange, honey-thick haze.
Not quite dating.
Not quite pretending anymore.
Haruki and Miyako existed in a delicate, unspoken dance one where the steps were half-guesswork, half-heartbeat. Where every smile hid a question, and every touch asked something neither of them could say out loud.
They still bickered like always. Still argued over playlist choices and whose turn it was to take out the trash. Still called each other "fake spouse" in front of friends like it was a running joke that never got old.
But their eyes lingered longer now.
Their hands brushed more often accidentally, then maybe not-so-accidentally.
Their silences weren't awkward anymore.
They were full.
Full of things they didn't yet know how to say.
One cloudy afternoon after school, they ducked into the convenience store near the station.
Miyako made a beeline for her usual the strawberry milk in the back cooler then loaded up on chocolate bars, sour gummies, and a suspiciously cute keychain hanging by the counter.
Haruki trailed behind her, wordless as always, grabbing a canned coffee and bottle of barley tea. When they reached the register, he paid for both of them before she could even blink.
As they stepped outside, she shot him a sideways look.
"You didn't even flinch," she said, sipping her milk like it had answers. "Look at you. Husband instincts fully activated."
"Maybe I'm just used to your sugar addiction."
"Maybe you like spoiling me."
He didn't respond. But the faintest smile tugged at his mouth, like a secret he wasn't ready to say out loud.
Back at home, Miyako flopped across the couch dramatically, limbs sprawling like she'd been emotionally defeated by her own existence.
"I can't believe I have homework. And feelings. It's honestly disgusting. I'm gonna die."
Haruki, already seated beside her, leafed through his math notes. "You have feelings now?"
She rolled over, burying her face into a pillow before speaking again. "Don't play dumb. I'm in emotional crisis mode. That almost-kiss? It's been haunting me like a ghost with commitment issues."
He looked at her. Quiet, unreadable. Then slowly closed his notebook.
"Same."
She sat up, startled by the seriousness in his tone. "Wait… really?"
"Yeah."
Her breath hitched. She turned toward him, sitting cross-legged now, gaze flicking between his eyes and mouth.
"So…" she said softly, "what are we doing?"
Haruki didn't look away. For once, he didn't overthink it.
"I like you," he said, voice low but steady. "And I want to take this seriously. But I don't want to rush it just because we're 'fake married.' You deserve more than that."
Miyako blinked, clearly not expecting the way her heart lurched at his words.
"…That's kinda hot," she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
She grinned. "You being emotionally responsible. Kinda does it for me."
Haruki sighed and shook his head. "You're impossible."
"And you love it."
The grin turned smug. Her knees nudged his, her pinky brushing his on the cushion like a test.
He didn't pull away.
Later that night, Miyako stood in the bathroom brushing her teeth, wearing one of his oversized T-shirts again bare legs, messy hair, and enough comfort in the space to call it hers without asking.
From the mirror, she peeked at him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with that quiet gaze that always made her feel like the loudest part of his world.
"You ever wonder," she said, toothpaste foaming at her mouth, "how this would've gone if we weren't 'married' from the start?"
Haruki tilted his head slightly. "Probably slower. More awkward."
"Maybe you never would've liked me."
"I think I still would've."
She turned, blinking. "Oh?"
He stepped into the light, closer now. "You're weird. Loud. Ridiculous."
She narrowed her eyes. "Gee, thanks."
"But every time I tried not to notice you," he continued, voice softer now, "you made sure I did anyway."
Miyako's expression cracked into something more vulnerable than a smirk. Her lips curled up, gentle.
"Good," she said, rinsing her mouth. "Because I don't plan on letting you forget me anytime soon."
She padded past him, fingers brushing his as she passed.
Just for a second.
A spark. A tether. A promise.
Haruki watched her disappear down the hallway.
His heart thudded unevenly slow, strong, and terrifying.
He didn't know what came next.
But he knew what this was.
It wasn't fake.
It wasn't forced.
It was real.
And he was slowly, definitely, falling.