The exam hall was suffocating.
Rows of desks stretched like a battlefield, the air thick with the scratch of pens and the creak of chairs. The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, each second a hammer pounding in Ryuzí's head.
He stared at the paper before him. Numbers, essays, dates — all of it blurred. He forced his hand to move, neat strokes filling the page. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white around the pen.
For once, it wasn't the questions that weighed on him. It was the absence beside him.
No cheerful humming, no whispered "What's the answer again?" No sunshine voice to cut through the tension.
Just silence.
Get a grip, he told himself. You've done this a thousand times. You don't need him to hold your hand.
But his chest disagreed. His chest whispered: Yes, you do.
Across the room, Suki hunched over his desk, his leg bouncing under the table. His pencil tapped frantically against the paper, half from nerves, half from habit.
He'd studied harder than ever, his sisters drilling him until his brain felt fried. He wanted to make Ryuzí proud.
But the silence was unbearable. Every time his mind blanked, he half-expected to hear Ryuzí's sharp voice cutting through: "Focus. You can do this."
Instead, there was only the echo of the clock.
Suki bit his lip, staring at the paper. Come on, Suki. Don't screw this up. Think of him. Think of honey waiting for you on the roof.
The thought steadied him, just enough to write the next answer.
The first day passed in a blur.
Ryuzí emerged from the exam hall with his shoulders tense, his face pale. His classmates chatted, comparing answers, but he didn't hear a word.
Suki stumbled out behind him, his grin wobbly but determined. "I… survived."
Ryuzí glanced at him quickly, his chest tightening. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck. Too many people around. Too many eyes.
So he just muttered, "…Good."
But that night, a message blinked on his phone.
"Didn't do amazing. But I kept thinking of you. That helped."
Ryuzí stared at the screen, his throat tight. His reply was short, but his chest ached with truth.
"You'll be fine."
The second day was worse.
History. Suki's weakest subject.
He sat frozen at his desk, staring at the questions. His hand trembled. His chest squeezed. Panic rose like a tide.
His eyes darted instinctively toward the corner of the room.
Ryuzí sat three rows away, his brow furrowed, his pen moving steadily. He didn't look up.
But just seeing him there — focused, composed, solid — grounded Suki.
He took a breath, clenched his pencil tighter, and began to write.
For him. For us.
Ryuzí, too, found his gaze flicking sideways, just once. He caught a glimpse of Suki's messy hair, the way his shoulders hunched stubbornly as he scribbled.
His chest clenched.
He's fighting. He's trying.
And for some reason, that thought gave Ryuzí strength too. His pen moved faster, steadier.
We'll get through this. Together.
By the third day, exhaustion had settled into their bones.
Ryuzí's hands ached from writing, his eyes stung from lack of sleep. He pushed through every question, but the weight in his chest grew heavier with each silence-filled hour.
Suki's notes were a mess, his eraser worn to crumbs, but he refused to give up. Every time he thought about quitting, about putting his head down, he saw Ryuzí's face in his mind.
Don't stop now. He believes in you. Believe in yourself.
When the final bell rang on the last exam, the room erupted with chatter and sighs of relief. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped, laughter bubbled.
Ryuzí sat frozen for a moment, staring at his finished paper, his chest heaving.
It was over.
Slowly, he stood, gathering his things.
And as he walked out into the bright afternoon, his eyes immediately searched the crowd.
There.
Suki, hair messy, eyes tired, but grinning brighter than the sun.
Their gazes locked across the hall.
And in that instant, every ache, every sleepless night, every moment of longing dissolved into one shared truth:
They'd made it through.
That evening, Ryuzí lay on his bed, his phone buzzing.
"Tomorrow. Roof. Just us."
His lips curved faintly, his chest aching with relief.
"…Finally," he whispered into the quiet.
And for once, the silence didn't feel suffocating.It felt like waiting for sunlight.