The large conference room on the fourth floor smelled of whiteboard markers and instant coffee. Folding tables had been pushed together into a U-shape. Representatives from every major club sat around it—drama, music, art, dance, even the gardening club (they were handling flower arrangements for the entrance). Principal Nakamura's secretary moderated, clipboard in hand.
Akira and Sora sat side by side at the head of the U, as required.
They hadn't spoken since the roof.
Akira kept his eyes on his printed agenda. Sora doodled in the margins of hers—tiny cartoon versions of the two of them arguing over a piano.
The secretary cleared her throat. "Takahashi-san, Hayashi-san. Update on the main stage performance?"
Akira spoke first, voice level. "We have completed the full script for Act 1 and are halfway through Act 2. Blocking is 70% finalized. Music selections are locked except for one transition track. We expect the first full dress rehearsal in three weeks."
Murmurs of approval.
The drama club president—a tall third-year named Rina with sharp eyeliner and a perpetual smirk—leaned forward. "We've seen clips. The narration duet is… intense. People are saying it's basically a love story now."
Sora's pen stopped moving.
Akira's fingers tightened on his pen.
Rina continued. "If you're going for romance, we can lend more props—red scarves, fairy lights, maybe a fog machine for the climax?"
Sora forced a laugh. "It's not romance. It's thematic contrast."
Rina raised an eyebrow. "Contrast that looks a lot like chemistry."
The room chuckled.
Akira spoke before Sora could snap back. "The performance is thematic. Any perceived romance is incidental. We appreciate the offer but will decline additional props that alter the core vision."
Rina shrugged. "Suit yourselves. Just saying—the audience is already invested."
The meeting moved on to budget allocation. Sora stayed quiet, jaw tight.
Afterward, in the hallway, she walked faster than usual. Akira kept pace without effort.
"They're not wrong," she muttered.
"About what?"
"The chemistry thing. It's bleeding into the performance."
Akira stopped. "Then we fix it."
"How? Re-write every scene so we never look at each other?"
"If necessary."
Sora turned to face him. "That's not fixing it. That's running away."
Akira met her gaze. "I don't run."
"Then stop acting like touching me is going to burn you alive."
Akira's expression flickered—just a fraction.
Sora stepped closer. "We're partners. We have to touch. We have to look. We have to sell the theme. If you can't handle that without making it weird, then maybe we should—"
"Stop."
His voice was low. Sharp.
Sora froze.
Akira exhaled slowly. "I can handle it. I just… don't want to give them more ammunition."
"Them?"
"The school. The rumors. The expectations."
Sora studied him. "You really hate being seen as anything less than perfect, don't you?"
Akira didn't answer.
She softened slightly. "Fine. We keep the blocking as is. We sell the tension. We ignore the whispers. But if it gets too much—if either of us can't take it—we talk. No running. No freezing. Deal?"
Akira looked at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
"Deal."
She turned and walked away.
Akira watched her go.
He didn't hate the idea of touching her.
He hated how much he didn't hate it.