The air inside the dance studio was thick with humidity and tension. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting nervous faces, tapping shoes, and the faint glimmer of sweat under white fluorescent lights.
The music teacher clapped twice. "Alright, everyone, we'll start practice for Saturday's competition. Partners— find your names on the list."
Whispers began. Shoes scraped. The rustle of paper filled the silence until the words reached Yui's ears:
"Haruto and Yuki… Riku and Yui."
Her stomach dropped. Just yesterday, fate had decided otherwise. But now? Haruto had changed partners.
She glanced at him, leaning lazily against the mirror, one hand in his pocket, Yuki standing beside him like a doll desperate for attention. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… when they flickered briefly to her, it felt deliberate.
He was doing it again. Pushing her away, only to pull her in from a distance.
The teacher turned on the music — a soft, emotional rhythm that rose and fell like a heartbeat.
"Haruto, Yuki, take center. Riku, Yui, to the left side."
Yuki practically glowed under the attention. "I've never danced before," she giggled, "but I'll try to keep up."
Haruto gave her a small smile. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you don't fall."
It wasn't loud, but everyone heard it. Even Yui.
Her hands froze mid-step. That tone — gentle, teasing — was the same tone he once used with her.
The teacher started counting."One, two, three, spin—"
Haruto led Yuki effortlessly at first, but halfway through, she missed a step and stumbled forward, crashing into his chest. The room gasped.
But instead of annoyance, Haruto chuckled softly and steadied her. "You're okay," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
The room buzzed with whispers.
"Did you see that?"
"He didn't even yell!"
"They look like they're dating or something…"
Each word stabbed at Yui like tiny, invisible needles.
On the other side of the room, Yui's hands trembled slightly as she tried to follow Riku's lead. "Yui, step in when I spin you," he reminded gently. "No rush, alright?"
She nodded quickly, but her rhythm faltered again.
The teacher sighed. "Riku, Yui— take a break. Come back when you've got the tempo."
Yui's head dipped in embarrassment. She could feel Haruto's gaze — she knew he was watching.
Riku grabbed two bottles from the bench and handed one to her. "Hey," he said softly, "come on. Let's get some air."
They stepped outside, into the quiet corridor. The hum of music faded behind the door, replaced by the faint scent of rain from the open window.
Riku leaned against the wall, watching her silently for a moment before asking, "He's the reason, isn't he?"
Yui froze. She didn't have to ask who "he" was.
Her fingers tightened around the bottle cap, knuckles white. She nodded, just once.
Riku sighed, his tone laced with concern but not judgment. "He's always been like that. Ever since we were kids."
Yui's eyes lifted slowly. "Like what?"
"Difficult," Riku said simply. "He pushes everyone who tries to get close. It's like he's scared of being cared for, so he ruins it before anyone else can."
His words hit too close to home.
Yui stared at her reflection in the window — her tired eyes.
"I don't understand him," she whispered. "One moment he's cruel, the next… he's saving me. And I never know which version is real."
Riku smiled faintly, a sad, knowing smile. "Neither. And both."
Yui frowned.
Riku chuckled quietly, ruffling his own hair. "He's… complicated. He used to give me headaches every week. But you know what?"
She looked up. "What?"
"I think because of him, I got a new friend."
Something warm flickered in her chest — fragile, hesitant. For the first time in days, someone wasn't treating her like the villain of a rumor.
Riku handed her a towel. "Come on, partner. Let's dance like we mean it this time."
Back inside the room, Yui inhaled deeply. The music started again.
This time, she didn't look at Haruto. She didn't look at the whispers. She just followed Riku's lead.
"One, two, three— turn."
Her feet found the beat, her body loosened. The rhythm moved through her like air. For the first time, she wasn't thinking about him.
Riku smiled. "That's it."
Their steps aligned perfectly. Each turn smooth, each lift precise. When the song ended, the teacher clapped.
"That's what I'm talking about. Excellent recovery, Riku, Yui."
The room broke into soft applause.
Yui felt her cheeks warm — from effort, from pride, from the rare feeling of being enough.
But when her eyes accidentally drifted to the right, she froze.
Haruto's expression was unreadable, but his jaw was tight, his hands clenched behind his back. Yuki was saying something beside him, laughing, but he wasn't really listening. His eyes — they were only on Yui.
The next round began, and Haruto's every move became sharper, almost violent in precision. When Yuki missed a step, he didn't scold her — he pulled her closer, too close, one hand on her waist longer than necessary.
Yuki blushed, laughing awkwardly. "You're so serious suddenly."
But Haruto's eyes weren't on her. They were locked across the room, burning holes into Yui's back.
Yui could feel it — that invisible thread of tension, stretching between them, even across the music.
When the teacher stopped the song, Haruto released Yuki abruptly and grabbed a towel. Yuki tried to speak, but he walked straight past her, ignoring her entirely.
He stopped by the window, arms crossed, watching Yui laugh lightly at something Riku said.
The sight tore something open inside him — something raw and ugly.
He'd wanted her to hate him. He'd wanted her to leave. But seeing her smile without him — that was something he hadn't prepared for.
When practice ended, the class began filing out. Yuki chattered beside Haruto, still trying to grab his attention. "We should practice after school too. Just you and me?"
He didn't respond. His eyes flickered once more toward Yui, who was packing her bag, still smiling faintly at Riku's joke.
He hated that smile.
Without thinking, Haruto stepped forward, cutting between them as he grabbed his bag.
Riku blinked. "Oh— Haruto. You okay?"
"Perfect," Haruto said curtly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Riku frowned. "Then stop glaring like you'll murder the mirror."
Haruto didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, tugging Yuki's hand suddenly. "Come on," he said, loud enough for Yui to hear. "You wanted to practice after hours, right?"
Yuki's eyes widened in surprise, then excitement. "R-really?"
He didn't even look at her. His gaze was still fixed on Yui — watching every micro-expression, every flinch.
Yui froze mid-motion. For a heartbeat, she almost said something. But then she forced herself to look away.
That small act — turning away — hit Haruto harder than anything else could.
He clenched his jaw, dragging Yuki along as they left the room. The door slammed behind them.
Riku exhaled softly. "He's impossible."
Yui gave a small, tired smile. "Whatever!"
Outside, Haruto stopped in the hallway, letting go of Yuki's hand abruptly.
"Haruto?" she asked, confused.
He didn't look at her. He stared down the corridor, eyes unfocused, his voice a low whisper. "She smiles like she's fine. But she's not."
Yuki frowned. "Who?"
Haruto didn't answer. He turned away, heading for the stairs, his shadow stretching long against the pale floor.
For the first time, his smirk was gone.
And when he reached the door to the roof, he whispered under his breath — so soft only the wind could hear:
"I told you to hate me, Yui. Not forget me."
In every step, they learned to dance without touching — yet every heartbeat still moved in sync.