I don't remember when it started—that strange, quiet irritation every time I saw Yuuto Takahashi.
It wasn't like I cared.
That's what I kept telling myself.
He was just… there.
A boy from my past. A background character I'd long stopped paying attention to.
But lately, he wasn't staying in the background anymore.
And I hated that I noticed.
---
It was one of those ordinary afternoons when time moved slower than usual.
Classes were over, the sun had dipped just enough to soften the light, and Miyu insisted we stop by the vending machines before heading home.
She stood there, tapping her finger on the buttons like she was negotiating a peace treaty.
"Coffee or orange soda, Rina?"
"Whichever one you'll regret less," I said, leaning against the wall.
She grinned. "So coffee it is."
The can dropped with a dull metallic clink. The faint hum of summer drifted through the open window—the kind of sound that makes you feel both alive and nostalgic for something you can't name.
Then, footsteps. Two pairs. Familiar ones.
I turned instinctively.
Yuuto Takahashi.
It had been months since I'd last seen him this close.
My first instinct was to look away—to shut that door before it could open again—but my body didn't move.
He looked different. Lighter somehow. Like someone had peeled away the layer of hesitation he used to carry around.
Miyu noticed him first, of course.
"Well, look who wandered into enemy territory. Takahashi-kun, right?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… yeah."
Miyu leaned toward me, smirking. "He's cuter when he's nervous, huh?"
"Miyu," I said, trying to sound unbothered. But my heart did a small, irritating skip anyway.
Why did it have to do that?
She laughed, stepping aside, leaving the space between us open.
For a second, neither of us said anything. Just the hum of the vending machine between us.
And then—he spoke first.
"You… look different," he said. "I mean, the outfit. It suits you."
My brain stalled. He's never said something like that before.
Back then, he'd trip over every word, overthink every silence. But now, he just said it—calm, honest, like it wasn't a big deal.
"…You're bolder than you used to be, Takahashi," I said, but it came out softer than I intended.
He smiled faintly. "Maybe I'm dead, and this is my ghost talking to you."
The unexpected joke slipped past my defenses.
For a heartbeat, I forgot to guard myself—and laughed.
It startled me. The sound didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore.
When was the last time I'd laughed in front of him? When was the last time I'd wanted to?
Miyu gasped dramatically. "Oh my god, she laughed. Okay, whoever replaced Ice Queen Rina with this version, don't give her back."
I rolled my eyes, but my lips wouldn't stop curving. "You're impossible."
Nakamura's laugh joined in. "Told you he's improving. Oh, right—I'm Haruki Nakamura," he said, grinning.
"Nice to meet you, Nakamura-san," I replied automatically, still half in my head.
Takahashi just stood there, quiet, watching the exchange with a hint of amusement.
And for the first time in a long while, the silence between us didn't feel heavy.
It felt… normal.
I hadn't realized how much I missed that.
When he and Haruki finally left, Miyu nudged me with her elbow. "You totally smiled."
"Did not."
"You did. And it was cute, too."
I turned away, hiding my face.
But she wasn't wrong.
Something about that short, awkward encounter left me warm—and unsettled.
It was the first time Yuuto and I had talked like normal people. No ghosts between us. No weight of what happened. Just a few dumb jokes in front of a vending machine.
And somehow, that made it feel more real than any apology ever could.
---
The summer festival came faster than I expected.
The air smelled of grilled squid and sweet syrup, laughter spilling through the narrow rows of food stalls. Lanterns swayed above us, and for once, I wasn't thinking about school or clubs—just following Miyu's excited energy as she pointed out every snack she wanted to try.
Then, in the middle of that bright crowd, I saw him.
Takahashi.
He was walking between stalls, sleeves rolled up, the faintest trace of flour still clinging to his arm. His expression was calm, content even—like he belonged here.
When was the last time I'd seen him look like that?
No… had I ever?
"Takahashi-kun!" Miyu's voice cut through the noise as she waved him over, bright and carefree as always.
He blinked, startled. "...Hey, Tanaka-san. Tachibana-san."
"Out here wandering alone?" Miyu teased, her grin as sharp as ever.
"I was, uh, on break," he said. "From the takoyaki stand."
"You're working there?" I asked before I could stop myself. My voice came out a little too curious.
He nodded. "Yeah. Helping Haruki. You could stop by if you want."
He said it simply, without overthinking. There was a casualness in his tone that… didn't used to be there.
He used to hesitate before speaking, like every word had to pass through three filters first.
But now—he just spoke. Like someone who'd stopped worrying about what people thought.
"Maybe," I said softly, my own voice shrinking under the noise of the crowd.
Then my gaze caught on him again.
Shorter hair. Cleaner lines. It framed his face better—made him look a little older, a little more like someone I hadn't known before.
"You got a haircut," I said.
"Ah—yeah. Two weeks ago."
"It suits you." I tried to sound even, casual, like it was nothing. But my voice betrayed me—it wavered, just slightly.
He smiled awkwardly, hand brushing the back of his neck. "Thanks. I wasn't sure about it at first."
"You look good," Miyu chimed in, bright and loud. "Way more like someone who actually leaves their house now."
He groaned. "Thanks… I think?"
Miyu laughed, the sound effortless. "Don't worry, it's a compliment!"
Then, just as I thought the moment would fade, takahashi said quietly,
"That yukata… it really suits you too, Tachibana-san. And you too, Tanaka-san."
My breath caught.
The words weren't flashy or rehearsed—they just sounded… honest.
"You think so? Well… thank you," I said, turning my face slightly away before he could notice the warmth rising in my cheeks.
Then, softer, the words escaped me without permission. "People don't usually say it like that."
He tilted his head. "Like what?"
"Like you meant it."
The moment hung between us.
Most people complimented me like they were talking to someone standing above them—like I was this unreachable thing they had to admire from afar. But Yuuto's tone… it didn't feel like that.
It felt like he was talking to me. Just me.
Maybe that's why my chest tightened.
He blinked, taken aback. "People don't say it like that, huh? Well… I guess I just said what I thought."
That's what made it worse—he didn't even realize.
He wasn't trying to say something charming. He was just being honest.
Before I could respond, Miyu jumped in, grinning.
"So you think I'm cute, Takahashi-kun?"
He froze instantly. "W–wait, that's not what I said! I just meant—it suits you too, that's all!"
"Hehe, so you do think I'm cute," she teased, sing-song.
I sighed, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.
Miyu could always talk like that—fearless, teasing, warm.
I used to be like that too, didn't I?
Before everything changed.
"There's no winning with you, is there?" he muttered, scratching his cheek.
Miyu laughed, and I caught myself watching the two of them. Watching him—the way his shoulders relaxed when he spoke, the way his voice sounded steadier now.
He really had changed. And maybe… so had I.
As the first fireworks bloomed above us, painting the night in color, I let out a slow breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
For the first time in a while, seeing him didn't hurt.
It just made my heart feel strangely light.
---
As always, Miyu's energy filled the air like sunlight.
"By the way, Takahashi-kun," she said, clasping her hands behind her back, "you're still calling me Tanaka-san?"
"Uh… should I not?"
"It sounds so stiff! I don't wanna be like Rina—she's always so serious."
"Miyu," I said flatly.
She laughed, unfazed. "See? Exactly that. Call me Miyu-chan, okay?"
He blinked. "Eh? I—uh—Tanaka-chan seems better for me."
She grinned. "Okay, at least it's way cuter."
I sighed. "You're unbelievable."
Miyu leaned toward me with a playful whisper. "Bet you wish he called you Rina-chan."
For a split second, something in me froze. But my voice came out cool and measured.
"He doesn't need to."
Yuuto scratched his cheek awkwardly. "I'll just… stick with Tachibana-san."
"Boooring," Miyu laughed again.
I watched them—her brightness, his awkward warmth—and for the first time, a quiet, ugly feeling stirred in me.
I envied her.
Miyu could talk to anyone. She could laugh, tease, reach people without fear. She didn't carry walls around her heart like armor.
I used to think I needed mine. That keeping distance was the only way not to get hurt again.
Even Yuuto was trying—cutting his hair, working hard, facing things he used to avoid.
And me?
I was still standing behind the same walls I built after he broke me.
---
The fireworks began with a crack and bloom of red over the river.
I stood apart from the crowd, pretending to admire them when really, I just wanted quiet. The noise, the lights—it was too much.
And then, a familiar voice behind me.
"Tachibana-san."
I turned. Yuuto stood there, breathless, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Takahashi-kun," I said, surprised but steady.
He looked nervous, eyes flicking to the fireworks before finding mine again. "You remember what you said back then? About me being a mistake?"
I stiffened. Of course I remembered. That day had haunted both of us.
He continued, "Do you still see me that way? Or… do you see a guy who's trying?"
The words hit harder than I expected.
Did he follow me here just to ask that? Why would anyone go out of their way to talk to someone like me—someone who's cold, sharp-tongued, and too quick to push people away?
I wanted to look away. But I couldn't.
Because behind his nervousness, I saw something I hadn't in a long time—sincerity. The kind that doesn't beg for forgiveness, just quietly asks to be understood.
I took a slow breath. "I see someone who's trying," I said at last. "Someone working hard. Getting a haircut. Working the stand. Even trying to talk to me when last year you couldn't even hold eye contact."
He smiled faintly. "I think I still can't."
A soft laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Then I met his gaze—steady, this time. "I hate that I can't look away anymore, Takahashi."
His eyes widened.
"So," I said quietly, "you better take this chance. Because it's already your second one."
The fireworks burst above us again, scattering color across the water.
And for once, I didn't look away.