The night passed quietly.For the first time in months, Ryuzí didn't dream of shadows or echoes—only the sound of steady rain against his window. When morning came, the air smelled of damp earth and tea leaves, the kind of calm that made the world feel new again.
He blinked awake to sunlight filtering through pale curtains, a stripe of gold across his desk. His phone rested beside him, screen dark, the last message from Suki still visible from last night.
Suki:You talk too much.Ryuzí:You love it.
He'd fallen asleep right after sending that. Now, reading it again, the corner of his mouth twitched. Maybe he did. Maybe that was fine.
He dragged himself out of bed, moving slower than usual, not from exhaustion—but from something quieter. The heaviness that had lived behind his ribs for so long was gone.His mother's voice lingered in his chest.I want you to be happy.
He believed it.And somehow, it made everything around him—his room, the light, even the faint clatter of the kettle downstairs—feel gentler.
By the time he went down to the kitchen, Ayumi was already there, folding away the last of breakfast. She looked up briefly, her expression calm as always.
"Good morning," she said simply.
"Morning," Ryuzí replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "You didn't have to—"
"I made extra rice," she said, sliding a wrapped bento box across the counter without ceremony. "In case you meet Suki."
He froze, the quiet sentence hitting with the same soft weight as the night before. "Ah… thanks."
Ayumi didn't answer, just poured him a cup of tea and returned to her paper. Her silence wasn't cold anymore. It was—acceptance, in its own language.
He took the bento, hesitated, then said, "He really liked your omelet yesterday."
"I know," she replied, eyes still on the print. "He said it seven times."
Ryuzí's lips twitched. "He would."
By the time he stepped outside, the rain had stopped completely. The pavement still glistened, clouds thinning to soft white. He tugged his scarf tighter, exhaled into the morning air, and found Suki waiting at the corner.
Suki stood there like he'd always belonged to the landscape—hands in his pockets, hair slightly damp, grinning the moment their eyes met. "Finally! I thought you overslept again."
"I don't oversleep," Ryuzí muttered.
"You did last week."
"Because someone texted me until 2 a.m."
Suki beamed. "Worth it."
They fell into step side by side, walking past rows of dripping hedges and puddles reflecting fragments of sky. Their shoes splashed faintly with every step.
"You know," Suki began, swinging his bag lightly, "your mom's kind of terrifying."
Ryuzí raised a brow. "She offered you tea."
"Exactly. With that calm smile. I thought I was being interrogated politely."
Ryuzí huffed a quiet laugh. "You're dramatic."
"She said I make you smile more. That's like getting an S-rank approval."
Ryuzí looked away, but his ears were red. "…Don't get ahead of yourself."
"I already did," Suki said cheerfully. "I'm basically family now."
"Keep talking and she'll revoke it."
Suki laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly against Ryuzí's. "You're in a good mood."
Ryuzí thought for a second, then nodded once. "Yeah. Maybe I am."
Suki looked at him sideways, the grin softening into something smaller, quieter. "Good. I like when you sound like that."
At school, everything felt ordinary again—yet different in a way Ryuzí couldn't quite name. Maybe because this time, ordinary didn't feel fragile.
Kenji spotted them the second they entered the classroom. "Ah, behold, the domestic husbands."
Aoi rolled her eyes. "Kenji, please stop calling them that."
"I will not," he said solemnly. "It's art."
Suki threw an arm around Ryuzí dramatically. "You hear that? We're art."
"You're noise," Ryuzí replied, but didn't push him away.
Kenji gasped, pretending to wipe tears. "Public affection before first period. My crops are thriving."
Aoi smacked him lightly with her notebook. "Your crops are imaginary."
"And yet," Kenji said, "they flourish."
Suki snorted. "You two are worse than us."
Ryuzí muttered, "Doubtful."
But he couldn't hide the faint smile tugging at his lips as Suki flopped into his seat beside him, already rummaging through his bag. Their shoulders brushed, their knees bumped, and neither moved away.
By lunchtime, sunlight had melted through the clouds. They sat under the old sakura tree in the courtyard—Suki, Ryuzí, Kenji, and Aoi—with lunch boxes open and laughter spilling easily.
Suki unwrapped his bento, sniffed it dramatically. "This smells familiar."
Ryuzí didn't look up. "My mom made it."
Suki grinned. "You're spoiling me."
Kenji leaned over, squinting. "You have matching lunches. That's… romantic. Gross, but romantic."
Aoi snorted. "You say that like you don't want one."
Kenji sighed. "If anyone offered to pack me lunch, I'd sell my soul."
Suki raised a hand. "I'll do it. For a price."
"Name it."
Suki smirked. "You clean the classroom for me next week."
Kenji groaned. "Love is dead."
Ryuzí's voice cut in, deadpan: "It never lived."
Aoi nearly choked on her tea laughing. "You two are ridiculous."
After lunch, as the bell rang, Suki leaned close enough for his breath to brush Ryuzí's ear."Hey," he whispered, "tomorrow's Saturday. Want to do something? Just us."
Ryuzí blinked. "Something?"
Suki's grin turned sly. "Date something."
Ryuzí rolled his eyes, though his pulse quickened. "You really have to label it?"
"Yes," Suki said brightly. "Because I've been waiting to say, 'I have a date with my boyfriend.'"
Ryuzí stared, caught between mortification and affection. "…You're unbelievable."
"Your unbelievable," Suki corrected.
The bell rang again, saving Ryuzí from replying. Suki leaned back in his chair, humming quietly as the teacher walked in, the grin never leaving his face.
Ryuzí didn't look at him for the rest of the period—but the smile still ghosted at the corner of his lips, stubborn and quiet.
That night, long after Suki's goodnight text blinked onto his screen again, Ryuzí sat at his desk, looking out at the dark street below.The rain had dried, the world clean again.
Maybe, for once, peace wasn't just an intermission.Maybe it was a start.
He typed one message and sent it before he could think twice.
Ryuzí:Tomorrow, 10 a.m. I'll pick you up.Suki:Date confirmed 😘
Ryuzí stared at the emoji for a long time, then shut off his phone and smiled.Tomorrow could come whenever it wanted.