Kaito didn't meet Aoi at the corner the next morning. He left even earlier, slipping out before sunrise, his breath fogging in the cool air. He told himself it was to review notes before an exam, but the truth sat uncomfortably in his chest. He was practicing separation.
The school hallways were nearly empty when he arrived. He wandered to the library, sliding into a chair by the window. Outside, morning mist clung to the school grounds. He opened a textbook but didn't read it.
His phone vibrated. A message from Aoi.
"Are you okay?"
Simple. Direct. Concerned. He stared at it for several minutes before responding.
"Fine. Needed to study."
He watched the three dots appear, disappear, then appear again as she composed her reply.
"I'll bring you lunch."
Kaito closed his phone without answering. The kindness in her message made him feel worse, though he couldn't articulate why.
When lunchtime came, he found a spot on the roof where students rarely ventured. He sat with his back against the wall, eating convenience store onigiri, watching clouds drift across the sky. The door to the roof opened. Aoi stood there, a bento box in her hands.
"You're hard to find when you want to be," she said, walking over to sit beside him. Not too close, not too far.
"Sorry about this morning." He didn't look at her.
"It's fine." She offered him the bento. "My mother made extra."
The lie was obvious, the careful arrangement of the food, the way his favorites were positioned prominently. Aoi had made this herself. He accepted it anyway, setting aside his half-eaten onigiri.
They ate in silence for a while. The distance between them felt both physical and something more.
"Are you avoiding me?" she finally asked, her voice steady.
"No," he said too quickly. Then, "Maybe. I don't know."
She nodded as if this made perfect sense. "Because of London?"
"Because everything's changing," he admitted. "And I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Leave." The word came out smaller than he intended.
Aoi looked at him then, really looked at him, and Kaito felt exposed in a way that made him want to run. She saw too much, always had.
"You don't have to practice leaving before you go," she said softly.
But he did. That was exactly what he needed to do. Because leaving without preparation would hurt too much.
The bell rang, saving him from having to respond. They gathered their things and headed back downstairs. At the door to her classroom, Aoi paused.
"My parents are hosting a small dinner tonight. They'd like you to come."
"I can't. The paperwork with my father..."
"It's at seven. Just for an hour." She smiled slightly. "Please?"
He should have said no. Instead, he nodded. "I'll try."
The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes and conversations he wouldn't remember. When the final bell rang, Kaito texted his father that he would be late. No explanation offered, none requested. The Aoyama household operated on assumptions and obligations, not discussions.
At seven, he stood outside the Mizushima home, a modest but elegant house next to his family's larger estate. He'd been here hundreds of times over the years, but tonight felt different. More formal somehow.
Aoi's mother greeted him warmly, ushering him inside. The house smelled of home cooking and incense, familiar and comforting. Aoi's father, a literature professor at Kyoto University, nodded to him from the living room.
"Kaito, good to see you. Congratulations on London."
"Thank you, sir." Kaito bowed slightly, the formality feeling strange with someone he'd known his entire life.
Aoi appeared from the kitchen, wearing a simple dress instead of her school uniform. The change disoriented Kaito momentarily. She looked older, more self-possessed.
"You came," she said, smiling.
Dinner was traditional and carefully prepared. Aoi's parents asked polite questions about London, his plans, his studies. No one mentioned what his departure meant for his friendship with their daughter. The conversation flowed around the absence, like water around a stone.
After dinner, Aoi suggested they sit on the engawa. The night was cool but not cold, stars visible between scattered clouds. They sat side by side, not touching.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"Your parents didn't need to do all this."
"They wanted to." She paused. "They've always thought of you as part of our family."
The words carried weight Kaito wasn't ready to acknowledge. Family meant permanence, connection, obligation. Things he was preparing to leave behind.
"When do you go?" she asked.
"Three weeks. After graduation."
She nodded, absorbing this. "That's soon."
"My father thinks it's better to settle in before term starts."
"And what do you think?"
The question startled him. No one, not even Aoi, usually asked what he thought about his father's decisions.
"I think..." he began, then stopped. "I don't know what I think."
She accepted this without judgment. They sat in silence, listening to night sounds, distant traffic, the call of an owl, the rustle of leaves.
"I'll miss you," she said finally, the words simple but heavy.
Kaito felt something crack inside him, a hairline fracture in the careful distance he'd been building. He wanted to say he'd miss her too, that he was terrified of leaving, that he didn't know who he was supposed to be in London.
Instead, he said, "I should go. My father will be waiting."
She walked him to the gate. Under the porch light, her face was half in shadow. He thought she might cry, but she didn't. Aoi never cried easily.
"Goodnight, Kaito."
He hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek, a gesture so foreign to their friendship that they both froze afterward. He stepped back quickly.
"Goodnight."
He walked home, the short distance between their houses feeling longer than usual. The kiss lingered on his lips, innocent but somehow significant. A boundary crossed, or perhaps a door opened.
At home, his father waited in the study, paperwork spread across the desk. He looked up when Kaito entered.
"You're late."
"I was at the Mizushimas'. They invited me for dinner."
His father's expression didn't change. "Sit down. We have forms to complete."
Kaito sat, the warmth of the evening already fading. His father pushed a document toward him.
"Sign here. And here."
Kaito signed without reading, his name a promise he wasn't sure he wanted to keep.