Black. Thick, close, like the world pressed against his eyelids. A scream cut through it, not a single voice, but a long line of small, ragged sounds stacked on top of each other. It kept folding inward until Ren could feel the shape of panic in his chest.
Something grabbed at him. He tried to pull back and found his limbs moving slow, like underwater. The air tasted metallic. A voice somewhere, thin and far, shouted, "Look, look up!" It sounded like a kid's shout you hear in a park, but there was no park, only the dark pressing in.
Light spilled in like a bad film. Shapes, quick and wrong: a lamppost bending like a reed; a signboard rotating on its mount; a woman pointing at the sky with both hands. People were running, but their feet didn't hit the ground properly. Every step made a hollow, wet thump.
Then the news tone, a clean chime that made Ren's teeth ache. The sound was too precise for a dream. Static, then a voice with a flat, careful cadence, the kind of voice trained to read bad things without cracking.
"—this is K-Kyoto Regional. We are receiving multiple reports of abnormal surface movement across several prefectures. Please do not panic. Residents are asked to stay clear of large structures and avoid coastal roads."
Behind the voice, a second sound, a low, steady hum that felt like it came from under the floor.
Another line, quieter, like the microphone almost swallowed the words: "Observers are noting sudden horizon shifts. We cannot confirm a cause. If you are outdoors, find shelter immediately."
A child's voice cut in, high and raw: "Look at the sky, look at the sky!" People were pointing. Above them, the clouds moved wrong. They slid sideways, not with wind but as if the whole dome had been nudged. Light streaked across it in long bruises, then folded like paper.
Ren wanted to shout. His mouth wouldn't form the sound. He could see his hands, pale and small, but they belonged to someone else. The hum grew into a tone that woke his bones. Somewhere a taxi horn kept repeating the same single note like a broken metronome.
The news voice came back, steady, too calm: "We advise limited travel. Emergency services are responding. Remain with family and report any unusual ground motion to local authorities."
The phrase landed oddly in the dream, specific and clinical: "unusual ground motion." It sounded like an answer and a warning. The dark pushed closer. The scream returned, longer this time. People were still yelling, but something in the air made every sound slow, stretched like taffy.
Ren woke with his mouth full of salt. The dream slid away in the split second before he could catch the rest, leaving the reporter's last words ringing in his head like a knot he couldn't untie.
The cicadas were already screaming, even though it was barely past eight.
Ren lay sprawled across his bed, one leg hanging off the side, phone resting on his chest. The ceiling fan was doing nothing but pushing warm air around.
Souta: Yo, trip's on, right?
Souta: Ren, answer before I kill you.
Itsuki: Where are we meeting?
Ren: chill im awake stop spamming
Souta: You've been "awake" since 7, liar.
Ren rubbed his eyes and typed with one hand, not bothering to sit up.
Ren: So it's still Okinawa?
Souta: Yeah. I booked the ferry. Don't flake.
Ren: me? never.
Itsuki: You literally bailed on hanami last time.
Ren: allergy season. I value my lungs.
The group chat kept rolling, a mix of typos, stickers, and sudden arguments about which beach to hit first. Ren just watched the screen scroll, his half-smirk curling when Noa sent a blurry photo of her suitcase already packed. Overachiever.
A shout came from downstairs, his mom telling him to get breakfast before it went cold. He muttered something that wasn't really an answer and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The floor was warm under his feet.
It hit him then, summer vacation was actually here. No uniforms. No bells. No pretending to care about history class while the clock mocked him. Just heat, saltwater, and, hopefully, no responsibility.
Ren pushed open the bathroom door and shut it behind him. Minutes later, steam fogged the mirror, the sound of rushing water filling the small space.
He stepped out with wet hair, towel hanging from his shoulders. Opening his wardrobe, he sifted through shirts, pausing on each like it was a life-or-death decision.
Ren:What would impress her…?
From downstairs, his mom's voice cut through the quiet.
Mom: "Get down here already! Stop rotting in your room all day!"
Ren cracked the door and leaned out.
Ren: "I'm not slacking. I told you, I'm going for summer vacation!"
He shut the door, smirking.
Ren:Oh man… last year of high school. I'm making it count.
Grabbing his backpack, he headed down the stairs, each step landing with a hollow thump against the wood.
By the door, his mom held out a paper bag.
Mom: "Grab your lunch! This boy…"
Ren: "Oops."
He snatched the lunch, slid on his sneakers without untying them.
Ren: "I'm leaving!"
Mom: "Please be careful."
He flashed her a quick grin over his shoulder.
Ren: "Always am."
The door shut, and the summer air hit him like a warm wave.
Ren swung a leg over his bike and pushed off. The street smelled like heated tar and grilled fish. He kept his phone in the front pocket of his shirt, thumb tapping the screen now and then as he rode.
His phone buzzed.
Arata: Ferry's booked. Bring a towel and an extra pair of socks. I'll meet you at the west entrance.
Short. Practical. Ren liked that.
Another buzz.
Rin: Station. One o'clock. No dawdling.
Rin: Don't make me drag you there.
Her texts were flat. Direct. He felt his chest tighten and pedaled faster.
A third message slid in.
Mio: I made a playlist!!! Also snacks. Lots of snacks. Bring sunscreen and water and Ren, you better wear shoes you can run in!!
Mio's emoji made him smile. He tapped a quick reply to all three.
Ren: Got it. See you at one. I'll not be late.
He almost typed something else to Rin and stopped. Instead he focused on the road. The town blurred past in blocks: a vending machine with a missing panel, Mr. Sato sweeping his storefront, a stray cat slipping under a parked van. He thought of the ferry, the water, the heat, and how easy it felt to pretend this was just another summer.
At the intersection, he braked, clipped his heel out, and checked the messages again. Arata's name sat at the top of the screen. The message wasn't showy or loud. It was the kind of calm that made Ren want to answer properly. He put the phone back and pushed on, steering toward the station, the bag over his shoulder bouncing with every pedal.
Ren locked his bike to the rail and shoved the bag higher on his shoulder. The station smell hit him first, diesel, hot rubber, the faint sweet of someone's cheap sunscreen and a cluster of voices folded into it like a fabric pulled taut.
They were already there. Rin had pushed the hood of her jacket back, hair tied into a tight knot that left a few stubborn strands at her temple. She stood like she owned the place, one foot braced on the curb, arms folded. Her stare cut across the square and landed on him in a way that made his chest tighten.
Mio waved a plastic carrier full of chips and a speaker above her head. She was the loudest in a small radius, laughing at something Souta had just done with a paper cup and a vending machine. Souta leaned on a pillar as if he'd been born that way, broad-shouldered but loose, ready to sprint. Itsuki had his backpack on the ground beside him and a timetable folded in one hand, eyes scanning it like he was solving a small, private problem. Arata sat on the bench, sketchbook open, pencil moving slow; his shirt sleeves were rolled, graphite on his fingers. Noa was the only one who hadn't stopped moving, she twisted a strap on her bag, kicked a pebble, looked bored and vicious at the same time.
"About time," Rin said when Ren was close enough to hear, nothing in the tone to soften it. She raised one eyebrow. "You planning on making it before sunset, or before next week?"
Ren grinned and dropped his bag. "C'mon. You know I can't be late on purpose."
"Sure you can." Mio shoved a bag of shrimp chips at him like an offering. "Eat. You look like you slept on a radiator."
He accepted the chips, thumb already tearing open the bag. The crunch sounded loud in his ears; a kid on a scooter zipped past, music blaring, and a woman with a grocery basket hustled toward the crosswalk.
Souta pushed off the pillar and jogged over, clapping Ren on the shoulder with the kind of friendly force that made Ren wince. "You bike okay? Don't tell me you rode that thing to here."
"It's steady," Ren said. "Depends on how generous the ferry is with the seats."
Arata looked up, folded the sketchbook shut, and handed it to Ren like he was a casual courier. On the cover, in quick, neat lines, someone had drawn the ferry, the angle of the bow, a scribbled horizon. Under it was a note: Don't drown in the sun. — A.
Ren blinked. "You drew this?"
Arata shrugged. "Wanted to see if it looked right. Ships look off sometimes. If it's wrong, we either die or get a refund."
Itsuki snorted, pocketing the timetable. "If the ship sinks, I'm taking the map and running. Priorities."
Noa elbowed him. "You'd drown in a puddle, Itsuki." She turned to Ren and lowered her voice. "You better not bail on the snorkeling part. I already packed the good goggles."
Rin flicked at Noa's sleeve. "You packed sunglasses and three screwdrivers. What are you planning to do, build a boat?"
"No, I'm planning for everything," Noa said. "If the sun kills us, sunglasses. If the engine fails, screwdrivers."
Mio laughed, the sound high and quick. "She's our survival fairy."
Ren and Rin's eyes met for a beat, a pause that felt louder than any joke. There was something in the way Rin's jaw tightened that Ren couldn't read. He tried to be light. "So, everyone here? Any last minute rejects?"
"Arata promised to sketch us all as heroes," Souta said. "If that's not an acceptable souvenir, I don't know what is."
Arata's face stayed calm but his fingers drummed the pencil case. "Heroes costs extra."
A bus hissed into the terminal and the driver killed the engine with a hollow clunk. People shuffled toward the platform, suitcases rolling. A woman arguing with a ticket clerk made Ren glad for the bright noise, ordinary squabbling felt like a small, friendly war.
Ren reached out and snagged a folded paper from Itsuki's open backpack, a map of the ferry route he'd printed. Itsuki barked, "Don't crease that—"
"Relax. I'm a professional at creasing," Ren muttered, then slid the paper back. He watched Rin adjust the strap on her bag, noticed the faint red line where a sunburn had started and the tiny nick at her thumb where she always ripped tape too fast. Those little things felt private, like the memory of them would anchor him later.
Rin finally let a corner of a smile loose. "Alright, group photo. One minute. No idiotic faces. Itsuki will kill me."
They piled in, shoulders bumping, elbows snagging, empty space filling with jokes and small fights. Ren shoved Mio's shoulder, Mio retaliated by dumping a handful of peanuts on Souta's shoes. Noa grabbed the speaker and hit play; a cheap pop song rolled out, and half the station echoed with it. Someone snapped a photo with a phone propped on a bench. The flash went off, and for a second everything was just a frozen frame of messy hair, sunscreen lines, and teeth.
"Okay," Rin said, checking the time. "Two-thirty. Bus, terminal, ferry. If one of you gets banned from the ferry for being an idiot, I'm not carrying you."
Ren laughed out loud. "Promise?"
"Promise," Rin answered, deadpan, then added, "but I will drag you anyway."
They moved as a unit toward the ticket gates, a small chaotic caravan. The heat hit like a hand when they stepped into the open. Ren felt it pull at his shirt and sweep his wet hair. He let the noise of the square swallow the quiet knot in his chest, the dream that had woken him earlier buzzed but the details were fuzzing, like smoke.
As the bus pulled up, the driver opened the door with an impatient hiss. People pressed forward. Ren climbed on last, letting the group's energy push him into the crowd. He found a seat next to Souta, who had already claimed the armrest.
Mio bounced in the aisle, trading snacks and stupid stories until someone started laughing so hard the bus rocked. Arata leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a second, pencil resting on his knee, as if the motion soothed the line in his chest.
Ren glanced at Rin across the aisle. She stared out the window, face set, hands flat on her bag. For a second she looked younger than she did when she stood like she owned the place. He felt something like a fist unclench inside him.
The bus pulled away. The town blurred. The ferry, the sun, the stupid and perfect three days stretched ahead like a piece of straight road.
The bus hummed like an empty fridge. No one crowded the aisle; most seats stayed open. Ren dropped into a window seat and let out a long breath. He shoved his wet hair back with one hand and flicked his thumb at his phone to line up a song.
Rin climbed on, sat two rows up, then slid down to the seat behind him like she'd planned it. Not dramatic just efficient. Up close she smelled faintly of sunscreen and metal, no perfume, nothing showy. She folded her legs under her and crossed her arms, watching the town blur past.
"Bus is weirdly empty," Mio said from the aisle, juggling a speaker and a bag of snacks. "Feels like we stole it."
"Lucky for you," Souta replied, clapping Ren on the shoulder as he passed. "You'd be the first to complain about legroom."
Ren clicked play. Gritty guitar cut in, volume low enough that the engine didn't drown it. He rolled his shoulders and let the rhythm settle into him. The bus felt smaller, less noisy, everything easier to breathe.
Rin leaned forward and, without a question, plucked one earbud from Ren's ear and tucked it into her own. No flourish. No "give it back." Just slipped it in, one side each. The song threaded between them.
"Oi," Ren said, half-laugh, half-annoyed. "What are you doing?"
"You were about to nod off," Rin said. "I'll keep you awake."
Mio snorted. "Cute. You two look like a couple."
"Shut up," Ren said. He looked at her, then at Rin. "We're childhood friends, that's all."
Souta grinned and sat opposite, elbows on his knees. "Childhood friends who share earphones. Classic playbook."
Itsuki folded his timetable and glanced up like it was a social experiment. "You two have been doing the 'we're-not-dating-but-we're-dating' thing for how long now? It's getting stale."
Arata tapped his pencil on his knee and didn't look up. "Stale's comfortable. People should try it."
Noa swung her legs, quick and loose. "You literally had the highest chance, Ren. You were always around. You could have—" She made a vague motion with her hand that could mean anything from "asked her out" to "built a spaceship."
Ren snorted. "Yeah, I could have. Didn't. Didn't want to ruin things, honestly. I figured—" He stopped. The right words felt too big for a bus seat.
"You mean you chickened out," Mio said, smiling like she wasn't trying to be cruel.
"Chickened out is blunt," Ren said. "But yeah. I never had the nerve to make it weird. Felt like whatever we had was better than asking and maybe losing it."
Rin's jaw moved. A small exhale. "You always said that if you asked and she said no, you'd sulk for two weeks."
"Was I that predictable?"
"You were," she said. Plain. Not mean. Not soft.
Souta laughed. "So your strategy was eternal friendship. Bold."
Ren shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. The bus turned onto the highway and the town thinned into fields. Heat shimmered off pavement in little waves. The song climbed, a guitar lick sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
No one said anything for a while. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't comfortable. It was like standing in a room with a window open, air moving, but no one pushing.
Arata finally said, quietly, "If you ever change your mind, draw her something stupid but honest."
Ren looked at him. Arata shrugged like it was normal advice. Ren kept the song in his ear, the rhythm steady, and watched Rin's profile in the glass, straight line of her nose, mouth set. He didn't say the thing he wanted to say. Kids don't always say the things. They leave them for later, for when the bus stops or when it doesn't.
The door opened. The sea was just beyond the parking lot, a flat sheet of blue broken by glints of sunlight.
Souta hopped off first, stretching like he'd been trapped in a cage. "Alright, everybody, line up. Ferry tickets are two thousand yen each," he announced, voice sharp and official. "Cash only. Exact change preferred."
Mio blinked and dug into her bag. "Wait, what? I thought we paid already."
Itsuki frowned, halfway to opening his wallet. "You sure? I booked mine last week."
Souta kept a straight face, holding out his hand like a conductor. "Rules are rules. Also, there's a boarding fee for earphone-sharing couples, five hundred yen extra."
Ren shook his head. "You're an idiot."
Rin, deadpan: "Charge him for breathing, too."
Half the group was halfway convinced before Souta cracked and started laughing, bending over with it. "You guys are too easy! Tickets are with the driver. Man, you should've seen your faces."
"Keep it up and we'll throw you overboard," Noa said, stepping past him.
Ren followed them toward the dock, bag slung over one shoulder. The air smelled like salt and diesel. Above them, the sky stretched out huge, bright, burning, without a single cloud. He squinted up at it, the blue so deep it almost looked fake.
Beside him, Arata slowed his pace, hands in his pockets. "You know," he said, quiet enough for just Ren to hear, "this shade of blue only shows up when the air's heavy with heat. Like the sky's sweating along with us."
Ren glanced at him. "That supposed to mean something?"
Arata tilted his head toward the horizon. "Maybe. 'Blue summer' it's the kind that sticks in your bones. The kind you'll remember even when you forget everything else."
Ren snorted. "You're weird, man."
Arata smiled a little, eyes still on the water. "Yeah. But one day, you'll wish you wrote it down."