Morning arrived too bright for how little Suki had slept.
His alarm hadn't even finished its first cheerful trill when he slapped at his phone, missed, groaned, and burrowed under his blanket like a salted slug trying to evaporate in peace.
He lay there for a few seconds—eyes shut, brain stalled—before the weight in his chest reminded him why he'd barely slept.
Right.
Last night.
Ryuzí, quiet and far away through a screen that suddenly felt like a window he couldn't open.
Suki exhaled hard, kicking the blanket away. "It's fine," he told the wall. "It's fine, Suki. You are not pathetic. You are not needy. You are… hydrated."
Then he took a sip of last night's bedside water and gagged. "Okay, not hydrated. But fine."
He dragged himself out of bed and through his morning routine, which consisted mostly of making faces at his reflection, mumbling affirmations, and then immediately undoing them by fixating on his phone.
No new messages.
He tried not to let that sting.
Tried and failed.
By the time he left the house, his heart felt like someone had tied a shoelace around it—not tight enough to suffocate, but enough to annoy him with every beat.
⸻
School buzzed with normal weekday chaos: students shouting, sneakers squeaking, Aoi lecturing Kenji about "irrational morning energy," Haruto pretending to listen while doodling on the corner of his notebook.
Suki found them near the gate.
"Morning," he said, lifting a hand in a lazy salute.
Kenji squinted at him. "You look like reheated despair."
"Wow," Suki deadpanned. "Thank you. I moisturized."
Aoi handed him a small carton of banana milk. "Drink this. You look vitamin-deficient."
"Love you," Suki said, clutching it to his chest like a romantic gift.
Haruto murmured, "Your hair's sticking up."
"Perfect," Suki said. "It reflects my inner torment."
They laughed—soft, familiar laughter that made Suki feel briefly anchored.
But Ryuzí wasn't there yet.
Of course he wasn't. He was never as early as Suki.
Suki tried to look casual as his eyes scanned the courtyard for the one face his heart had memorized the contour of.
When Ryuzí did appear—shoulders tense beneath his jacket, headphones looped around his neck—the world did its usual oh there he is shift.
Except this time, Suki's stomach fluttered with both warmth and worry.
Ryuzí approached slowly, nodding at Haruto and Aoi, throwing an automatic chin-lift at Kenji, who waved cheerfully like a dog spotting its favorite human.
When his eyes met Suki's, something flickered—something quick, too small, too careful.
"Morning," Ryuzí said.
Suki brightened like someone had flicked a switch. "Morning! Look, banana milk. I'm thriving."
Ryuzí's mouth twitched slightly. "Good."
Good.Not cute.Not sunshine.Just good.
Suki swallowed the tiny lump in his throat.
"Uh—want some?" he offered, lifting the carton.
Aoi, Kenji, and Haruto exchanged a look like they were watching a very slow, very tragic documentary.
Ryuzí shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Cool," Suki said, voice breezy. "Totally fine. Everything's fine."
Kenji whispered loudly to Aoi, "That was the most un-fine sentence I've ever heard."
"Shut," Suki hissed through clenched teeth. Then smiled. "Shut up, lovely friend."
He turned back to Ryuzí. "Walk me to class?"
It came out light. Hopeful. Maybe too hopeful.
Ryuzí hesitated.
It was only a second.But Suki felt it like weather change.
"…Yeah," he said eventually. "Sure."
Relief washed through Suki so fast he could've melted on the spot.
He bounced closer, looped their arms together lightly.
This time, Ryuzí didn't move away.
But he didn't lean in, either.
The space between them was a fraction too wide.
Like walking beside a memory instead of a person.
⸻
On the way to class, Suki filled the air with chatter—soft chatter, because he was trying to be considerate, not overbearing, not loud.
"Did you sleep okay?" he asked.
"Mm."
"What's that? A yes? A no? A cryptic third option?"
"Mhm."
"Wow. Stunning vocabulary."
Ryuzí glanced at him. "Sorry. Just tired."
"Still?" Suki said, trying for teasing. "Should I buy you a mattress made of clouds? Should I—"
"I said I'm tired," Ryuzí said, voice low but sharper than usual.
Suki stopped mid-step.
The words hadn't been harsh, not really. But they carried a tone Suki had never heard directed at him before.
He blinked.
"Oh," he said softly. "Okay."
Ryuzí paused too, brows drawing together. "…Suki—"
"No, it's fine." Suki forced a laugh, stepping ahead. "I'm being noisy. My bad. You don't need cloud mattresses. Clouds are overrated anyway. Wet and disappointing."
Ryuzí stared at him, guilt flickering. "That's not what I meant—"
"It's fine!" Suki repeated, too bright. "Let's get to class."
They walked the rest of the way with polite silence between them.
Not angry.Not cold.
Just… unfamiliar.
And unfamiliar hurt more than either extreme.
⸻
The morning dragged.
Suki doodled little suns with cracked edges in his notebook. At break time he hovered for a second—should he go to Ryuzí's desk like always?
Would that be annoying?
Would giving space feel like abandonment?
His chest twisted.
Before he could decide, Miyako appeared beside him, gently tapping the top of his head with her notebook.
"You're overthinking," she said quietly.
Suki jumped. "I—wha—no I'm not."
"You're vibrating," she said calmly. "Like a wet Chihuahua."
"That's rude," Suki muttered.
"But accurate," she said, sliding into the desk beside his. She didn't mention her own slightly sleepless eyes, the shadows beneath them deeper than yesterday. "Did something happen?"
Suki chewed the inside of his cheek. "I think he's… tired? Or stressed? Or maybe he hates me? Or maybe he secretly joined a monastery between last night and this morning?"
Miyako blinked. "Hates you? Suki, he looked at you like your face was the only warm place on Earth all weekend."
"That was the weekend," Suki whispered. "This is… weekday reality."
She studied him with that quiet sharpness only she possessed. "Did you tell him any of this?"
"No," Suki said, horrified. "Communicate? Me? Absolutely not."
Miyako sighed. "Suki."
"I know," he groaned, dropping his head onto his desk. "I know. I KNOW."
She reached over and gently tugged his hair. "Then talk to him. Not now. But when he's not walking around like he's haunted."
Suki snorted. "Haunted by what? Me?"
"He likes you too much," she said softly. "That's his haunting."
Suki's breath caught for a second.
Then the bell rang, and the moment dissolved.
But the ache didn't.
⸻
Ryuzí, meanwhile, sat at his desk staring at his phone screen between classes.
Earlier, he'd typed a full message.
I'm sorry for snapping. I didn't sleep. I didn't mean it. I'm trying but everything feels off and I don't want to drag you into it.
He hovered over the send button.
Then deleted the whole thing.
Instead he put his phone face-down and clenched his hands together under the desk.
He'd told Dr. Kudo he would try strategies.
He did not, however, feel equipped for strategies when his brain insisted he was better off pulling back before he messed something up.
Pull back a little.Just a little.Just enough so he doesn't see the mess.
He closed his eyes.
"Suki," he murmured under his breath.
The name felt heavy in his mouth.
⸻
Lunch was another strange almost-normal.
Suki was louder than usual—performing brightness like a circus act.
Ryuzí was quieter—offering small smiles, small nods, but none of the warmth that had once bled naturally through every glance.
Aoi noticed first.
Her eyes flicked from Suki to Ryuzí and back, reading the air like a weather map.
Kenji noticed second, whispering to Haruto, "They're glitching."
Haruto, without looking up from his sketchpad, murmured, "They'll sort it out."
Suki picked at his rice. "So!" he said too cheerfully. "Guess who found the sunglasses we thought Kenji lost on the trip?"
"Please tell me they weren't on my head," Kenji said.
"They were under your bed," Miyako supplied.
"Oh thank god. Losing them would be tragic."
"You lose them weekly," Haruto said.
"The tragedy is consistent."
Ryuzí huffed a soft laugh—barely there, but real.
Suki's heart fluttered at the sound.
See? he told himself. He's laughing. It's okay. It's fine.
But Ryuzí didn't look at him when he laughed.
Not even for a second.
And that… that was new.
⸻
After school, Suki lingered again.
He told himself he wasn't waiting for Ryuzí.
He absolutely was.
He saw him coming down the hall, bag over his shoulder, hair falling into his eyes.
Suki lifted a hand.
Ryuzí hesitated before walking over.
"Hey," Suki said, trying to keep his voice gentle. "Wanna—"
"I have to go," Ryuzí said quickly.
It wasn't harsh.
But it cut.
"Another appointment?" Suki asked, too quietly.
Ryuzí nodded. "Yeah."
"Oh." Suki forced a nod. "Okay. Then um… I'll text you tonight?"
"Yeah," Ryuzí said, already stepping back. "I'll reply when I can."
There was nothing wrong with the words.
But everything wrong with the distance in his tone.
"See you," Suki said, smiling like he wasn't unraveling.
"See you," Ryuzí echoed.
He turned away.
Suki watched him go.
His chest felt like someone had pressed a thumb into the center and just… held it there.
He exhaled shakily, then squared his shoulders and told himself:
Give him time.
Give him space.
He'll come back.
He always comes back.
But as he walked home alone again, something small and scared whispered:
What if this time he doesn't?
⸻
That night, Suki kept his phone close.
Too close.
He even took it to the bathroom with him, ridiculous as it was.
When it buzzed, he flinched.
Ryuzí: Home.
Suki exhaled, soft relief washing over him.
He typed:
Suki: welcome back 💛Suki: how was ur appointment?
The typing icon appeared.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Ryuzi: Fine.Ryuzi: Just talked.
Just talked.
Suki swallowed.
Suki: okaySuki: are you feeling any better?
Ryuzi: I don't know.
Suki stared at the three words.
They were honest.
Maybe too honest.
His chest tightened.
He typed:
Suki: I'm here if u want to talkSuki: I won't overwhelm youSuki: promise
A full minute passed.
Two.
Three.
Then:
Ryuzi: Not tonight.Ryuzi: Sorry.
Suki closed his eyes.
Suki: okSuki: good nightSuki: sleep well
Ryuzi: Good night.
No heart.No warmth.
Just two words.
⸻
Across the city, Miyako sat curled on her sofa, legs tucked under her blanket, pretending to read.
Her phone lit up with a new message.
Not from the group chat.
Not from Aoi or Suki or Kenji.
Just the same gray unknown number she'd muted earlier.
Unknown: Still ignoring me?Unknown: That's cute.
She locked her phone immediately.
Her breath hitched.
Then she stood, grabbed her jacket, and stepped outside into the cold night air.
Maybe walking would make the ghost shrink.
Maybe ignoring it long enough would make it disappear.
She hoped so.
She really, truly hoped so.
⸻
And in his room, Ryuzí sat alone in the dark, hands clasped, forehead resting against his knuckles.
He whispered into the silence:
"I don't want to hurt him."
But the silence didn't offer him a solution.
Only the echo of how he feared he already was.