The next few weeks slid by almost unnoticed — sunlight, laughter, and the soft hum of fans in the classroom.
Summer had deepened, wrapping the days in a lazy warmth that made even time itself feel slower.
Haruto's routine hadn't changed much: morning walks to school, quiet lunches, afternoons that drifted between club meetings and borrowed books.
But somehow, everything felt lighter — not because the world had changed, but because he'd started paying attention to it.
---
One afternoon, he found himself in the courtyard, sketchpad balanced on his knee.
He wasn't much of an artist, but Aoi had encouraged him to try during one of their quiet talks in the art room.
> "You don't have to draw well," she'd said. "You just have to notice things."
So he did.
The way sunlight caught on the edge of a leaf.
The way wind moved through tall grass like ripples on water.
It wasn't art — not yet — but it was something that made him feel present.
He heard footsteps behind him and didn't even need to look up to know it was her.
"You're getting good at disappearing into corners," Aoi teased, crouching beside him. "Mind if I join?"
He smiled, shifting to make space. "As long as you don't laugh."
"No promises," she said, settling down beside him, her skirt brushing against the grass.
When she saw his page — a messy, half-drawn tree — her grin softened. "You're actually trying."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all," she said, resting her chin on her knees. "It suits you."
He blinked. "Drawing badly?"
She laughed. "No. Trying."
---
They sat there for a while, quiet but comfortable, like the silence itself was a kind of language between them.
Every so often, Aoi would glance at his sketch, offer a small suggestion — "Try lighter strokes" or "Look at the shadows, not the lines."
He'd nod, and she'd smile, the kind of smile that made the summer air feel cooler.
> This is nice, he thought.
No pressure. No pretending.
Just… being.
---
As the sky began to turn orange, they packed up their things. Aoi dusted grass off her skirt, then looked at him with that thoughtful expression she wore when she was about to say something real.
"You know," she began, "you've changed."
Haruto looked at her, uncertain. "Changed?"
She nodded. "Before, you always looked like you wanted to be somewhere else.
Now… it's like you're finally here."
He hesitated — then smiled, a little embarrassed. "Maybe it's your fault."
"Mine?"
"Yeah," he said softly. "You make it easier to stay."
Aoi's eyes widened for just a moment before she looked away, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.
She pretended to focus on the fading sky, but her heart felt strangely full.
> He says things like that so casually now, she thought.
Like he doesn't realize what they do to people.
---
They walked home together, taking the long route through the park.
Children chased each other near the swings, the smell of grilled yakitori drifted from a nearby stall, and the cicadas' song blended into the evening air.
"Do you ever get scared?" Haruto asked suddenly.
Aoi blinked. "Of what?"
"Of... not knowing where things are going."
She thought for a moment before answering. "Sometimes. But maybe that's why we draw, right? So we can see what we're feeling, even if we don't understand it yet."
He nodded slowly. Her words stayed with him — like paint sinking into paper.
---
Aoi's Thought (Short POV)
That night, Aoi lay on her bed, the faint scent of summer still clinging to her hair.
She thought about Haruto's quiet smile, the way he listened more deeply now, and how he looked at the world with soft curiosity instead of tired distance.
> He's growing, she realized. Not just changing — growing.
And maybe… I am too.
She opened her sketchbook and began to draw — two silhouettes sitting under a tree, sunlight caught between them.
For the first time in a while, the page didn't feel empty.