Spring had faded into the easy warmth of early summer — the kind that made the air hum with cicadas and the sky look too blue to stay inside.
The second term had begun quietly: no big events, no announcements, just the same classroom with the same faces, rearranged by sunlight and time.
Haruto sat by the window again, his usual spot — though he hadn't chosen it on purpose this time. Maybe habits just lingered that way.
Across the room, Aoi was helping a few first-years from the Art Club carry boxes of paint and brushes.
She wasn't the president anymore — she'd stepped down after the cultural festival last term, saying lightly,
> "It's time to let the younger ones take over."
But lately, she'd been learning how to guide without leading — to teach gently from the sidelines, where her quiet encouragement mattered most.
And still, she dropped by the art room almost every day, sleeves rolled up, smile easy.
Haruto watched her for a moment — how she tied her hair into a messy ponytail, how she laughed with her juniors — then quickly looked back at his notes when their eyes almost met.
> I used to hate mornings like this, he thought. Too bright. Too many people talking.
But now... maybe it's not so bad.
---
The day passed in its usual rhythm — chatter, lectures, the scratch of chalk.
By the time the final bell rang, the classroom had already begun to empty out, chairs scraping against the floor.
Aoi stopped by his desk, clutching her sketchbook.
"Heading home?" she asked.
"Probably," Haruto said, glancing at the fading light outside. "You?"
"I was going to drop by the art room. The new kids messed up their brushes again."
He gave a small laugh. "You really can't let go, huh?"
She smiled. "Maybe I just like seeing the mess. It reminds me we're all learning."
Her words made him pause. Learning. That word used to feel heavy — like he was always behind. But when she said it, it sounded... kind.
"Mind if I come with you?" Haruto asked, surprising even himself.
Aoi blinked, then beamed. "Of course not! But don't blame me if you end up holding paint jars again."
---
In the Art Room
The air smelled faintly of turpentine and paper.
Sunlight spilled across half-finished canvases and jars of cloudy water, each one a story frozen mid-brushstroke.
Aoi rolled up her sleeves and began washing brushes in the sink. Haruto leaned against a table, watching her hum quietly.
"You really like it here," he said softly.
"Mm," she nodded. "It's... peaceful. I think people forget how comforting a quiet mess can be."
He smiled faintly at that — it sounded like something she'd say.
Maybe it wasn't one thing that changed him — just small days like this, collecting quietly, until staying didn't feel so heavy anymore.
> She hasn't really changed, he thought.
But maybe that's why everything around her feels easier.
---
When the sun started dipping lower, Aoi wiped her hands and turned to him.
"Thanks for helping," she said. "You didn't even complain once."
Haruto shrugged. "You make it look easy to stay."
Aoi tilted her head, curious. "Stay?"
He looked at the half-finished painting by the wall — soft pastels of a sky, streaked with orange and blue.
"I used to think people only stick around if they have to. But... you always stay because you want to."
Aoi blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity. Then, slowly, her expression softened.
> He's changed, she thought. He says things like that now.
Gently. Like he's not afraid of being heard.
She smiled. "Maybe that's what makes staying worth it."
Outside, the cicadas buzzed lazily as the sky turned to watercolor gold.
They left the art room together, their footsteps echoing softly against the empty hallway.
---
Aoi's Thought (Brief POV)
That evening, as she walked home, Aoi thought about what Haruto had said — about staying.
He used to avoid long conversations, used to answer everything with "yeah" or "maybe."
But now, his pauses felt different — thoughtful, not distant.
She noticed it most in the way he looked at the world now, slower, like he was finally seeing the colors she always talked about.
> "He's still quiet," she thought, smiling faintly.
"But maybe now... I want to hear what his quiet is saying."