The chime of the school bell echoed through the hallway, signaling the start of lunch break.
Instantly, the classroom erupted into a familiar chaos.
Desks were pushed together.
Chairs scraped against the linoleum floor.
Conversations overlapped into a dull, comfortable roar.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the bento I had hastily packed that morning.
Before I could even untie the wrapping cloth...
"Yuuma."
A familiar voice called out.
I looked up.
Miyu was standing beside my desk, her own lunchbox held casually in one hand.
She offered a bright, easy smile.
"Want to eat outside?"
I glanced toward the window.
The weather was clear, a stark contrast to the previous evening's fading light.
"Sure," I replied, standing up. "The courtyard?"
"Or the roof. But Kiyoyama and Amane are probably up there arguing about something stupid."
"Probably."
"Courtyard it is."
We navigated through the crowded classroom and made our way down the stairs.
The spring breeze was warm as we stepped outside.
We found an empty wooden bench beneath a large tree, its leaves rustling gently in the wind.
It was quiet here.
A welcome change from the noise of the classroom.
We sat down, placing our lunches on our laps.
"..."
"..."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
We just unpacked our food.
Miyu had a perfectly arranged bento, complete with small octopus-shaped wieners and neatly rolled tamagoyaki.
Mine was... significantly less impressive.
Just some rice, a slightly burnt piece of salmon, and whatever vegetables I could find in the fridge.
Miyu noticed my gaze.
She chuckled.
"Did you cook that yourself?"
"...Yes."
"It looks very... rustic."
"I call it survivalist."
"I can see that."
She picked up a piece of her tamagoyaki with her chopsticks and held it out.
"Here. Trade you for a piece of salmon."
I blinked.
"You want my burnt salmon?"
"I like the crispy parts."
I hesitated, then swapped a piece of my fish for her egg.
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
It was easy being around Miyu.
There was no pressure.
No need to overthink what I said or how I acted.
We were just friends.
It had always been that way, and it probably always would be.
"So," Miyu said suddenly, breaking the quiet.
She didn't look at me, keeping her eyes on her lunch.
"Yesterday was fun."
"Yeah," I agreed. "It really was."
"I'm glad Kanon invited everyone."
"Me too."
Miyu took a slow sip of her tea.
Then, she turned her head to look at me.
Her expression was relaxed, but her eyes held a familiar, knowing glint.
"You know..."
"Hm?"
"You and Kanon are pretty hopeless."
I nearly choked on my rice.
"..."
I coughed, reaching for my own water bottle.
"What are you talking about?"
Miyu rested her chin on her free hand, a small, amused smile playing on her lips.
"You heard me."
"I have no idea what you mean."
"Yuuma-kun."
She said my name with the patience of a teacher dealing with a stubborn student.
"You spent the entire evening orbiting each other."
"We were just walking."
"You were walking in your own little world."
"That's what Kiyoyama said. He exaggerates."
"Does he?"
She tilted her head.
"What about the tomatoes?"
"..."
I looked away.
"That's just... a habit."
"A habit," she repeated flatly.
"Yes."
"You take her tomatoes because you know she hates them, and she lets you take them because she knows you don't mind."
"..."
"And you remembered exactly how she laughed when you fell out of a swing ten years ago."
"..."
I gripped my chopsticks a little tighter.
"We grew up together, Miyu. We remember a lot of things."
"Right."
She didn't sound convinced.
In fact, she sounded entirely unconvinced.
"It's just..."
She sighed softly, her teasing tone shifting into something a bit more genuine.
"...It's obvious, you know."
"What is?"
"How you feel about her."
My heart did a strange, uncomfortable flip.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yuuma."
"We're childhood friends."
"I know."
"That's all it is."
"Is it?"
She leaned back against the bench, looking up at the canopy of leaves above us.
"When she smiled at the restaurant... you looked at her like she was the only person in the room."
"..."
I didn't have a response for that.
Because...
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I had.
But saying it out loud made it real.
And I wasn't ready for it to be real.
"You should just tell her," Miyu said simply.
"Tell her what?"
"How you feel."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because..."
I stared down at my half-eaten bento.
"...Things are good right now."
Miyu watched me quietly.
"You're afraid of ruining it."
"..."
"If I say something... and she doesn't feel the same..."
I trailed off.
The thought alone made my chest tight.
"Everything would change."
Miyu was silent for a moment.
Then, she let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh.
"You really are an idiot."
"Hey."
"I mean it."
She bumped her shoulder against mine.
A friendly, entirely platonic gesture.
"Kanon isn't as oblivious as you think she is."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Miyu just smiled, closing her bento box with a soft click.
"Figure it out yourself."
"..."
"That's not helpful."
"I'm not here to do your emotional heavy lifting, Yuuma. I'm just an observer."
She stood up, stretching her arms above her head.
"Besides, it's not my place to interfere."
She looked down at me, her expression softening.
"I just want you both to be happy. And right now, you're both dancing around each other."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Can we talk about something else?"
Miyu laughed.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The subject change."
"I'm not changing the subject."
"You literally just asked to change the subject."
"..."
"...Fine."
I cleared my throat, desperate to steer the conversation into safer waters.
"Did you finish the history assignment?"
Miyu raised an eyebrow.
"Really? That's your shift?"
"It's due next period."
"I finished it yesterday."
"Of course you did."
She sat back down, clearly amused by my discomfort.
"What about the math quiz?" I tried again.
"Also done."
"Kiyoyama's jellyfish anime?"
"Probably still in development."
"..."
I glared at her.
She just grinned.
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
She reached over and patted my head, like one would comfort a stressed dog.
"Relax, Yuuma. I won't bring it up again."
"Thank you."
"Unless Kanon asks me for advice."
I froze.
"Wait, what?"
Miyu stood up again, picking up her lunchbox.
"Oops. Look at the time. Lunch break is almost over."
"Miyu."
"Coming?"
She started walking back toward the school building, her steps light and bouncy.
I sat there for a second, staring at her retreating back.
Then, I let out a long, defeated sigh.
I quickly packed up my own lunch and hurried after her.
"Wait up."
She glanced over her shoulder, her smile bright and completely unapologetic.
"Hurry up, childhood friend."
I caught up to her as we reached the doors.
"You're the worst."
"I'm the best friend you have."
"Debatable."
We walked back into the noise of the hallway together.
But as we headed back to class...
Miyu's words echoed in my mind.
It's obvious, you know.
You and Kanon are pretty hopeless.
I looked toward the classroom door.
Kanon was already there, talking to Shiori.
As if sensing my gaze, she turned around.
Our eyes met.
And for a split second...
She offered me a small, familiar smile.
My chest tightened again.
Maybe...
Miyu was right.
But changing the subject was definitely going to be my strategy for the foreseeable future.
Kanon's POV
The classroom was still noisy when Yuuma and Miyu walked through the door.
I saw them immediately.
Not that I was watching for them or anything.
It was just... hard to miss Miyu's bright laughter echoing from the hallway, or the way Yuuma was running a hand through his hair with that slightly exasperated expression he always got when she teased him about something.
Their shoulders brushed as they navigated between the desks.
Miyu said something I couldn't hear, and Yuuma's ears turned faintly pink.
My chopsticks paused halfway to my mouth.
"You're staring again," Shiori said softly beside me.
I jerked my gaze back to my desk, nearly dropping my lunchbox.
"I wasn't staring."
"You were definitely staring." Shiori rested her cheek on her palm, her dark eyes watching me with the kind of gentle scrutiny that made me want to hide under my desk. "Your chopsticks have been hovering over that same piece of karaage for thirty seconds."
I looked down. She was right. The fried chicken was getting cold.
"I was just thinking," I muttered, finally eating it.
"About Yuuma?"
"About the math quiz."
Shiori's smile was sweet and entirely disbelieving. "The one we already took this morning?"
"...History assignment, then."
"Kanon."
She said my name like a sigh. Like she was tired of watching me dance in circles.
I set down my chopsticks. The appetite I'd had five minutes ago had evaporated somewhere between Yuuma's return and the sight of him bumping shoulders with Miyu in that easy, familiar way.
"She's just his friend," I said, keeping my voice low. "They're childhood friends too. Miyu and him, I mean. Not just... not just me and him."
"I know who Miyu is," Shiori said. She reached over and adjusted my bento box, closing the lid properly since I'd apparently forgotten to finish. "But you know, she was looking at you earlier."
"What?"
"When they walked in. Miyu looked right at you, then at Yuuma, then back at you. She had this... smile." Shiori paused, searching for the word. "Like she knew a secret."
My heart did a complicated flip. "That's just how Miyu is. She's always smiling."
"And you're always deflecting."
I looked down at my hands. They were gripping the edge of my desk too tightly.
The truth was, I'd spent the entire lunch break talking to Shiori about everything except yesterday evening. About the restaurant. About the way Yuuma had automatically reached across the table to steal my tomatoes without asking, his fingers brushing mine as he took them.
About how, when I'd laughed at Kiyoyama's terrible joke, Yuuma had been looking at me instead of the punchline.
"He took my tomatoes again yesterday," I heard myself say.
Shiori blinked. "The ones you hate?"
"Yeah."
"And you let him?"
"I always let him." I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. "I pack extra now. Just in case."
Shiori was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and placed her hand over mine, stopping my nervous fidgeting.
"Kanon," she said gently. "That's not a friendship thing."
"It is for us," I insisted, but my voice sounded small. "We've been doing it since elementary school. He hates seeing food go to waste, and I hate tomatoes, so... it's practical."
"You pack extra tomatoes for a boy who has been stealing them for ten years because it's 'practical'?"
When she put it like that, it sounded ridiculous.
"It would be weird if I stopped now," I mumbled.
"It would be weird if you stopped denying how you feel," Shiori countered. She squeezed my hand once before letting go. "Miyu sees it. I see it. Half the class sees it when you two go into your little bubble and forget everyone else exists."
"We don't—"
"Yesterday," Shiori interrupted, her voice still soft but firm. "When we were walking to the station. You and Yuuma fell behind the group. Do you know what you were doing?"
I remembered. The streetlights had been coming on, painting everything in gold and violet. Yuuma had been complaining about his new shoes hurting, and I'd been laughing at the way he walked, like a penguin. Then he'd bumped his shoulder against mine, and I'd nearly reached for his hand.
"We were just walking," I said weakly.
"You were glowing," Shiori said. "Both of you."
The word hit me like a physical thing. Miyu had called us hopeless. "I can't say anything," I whispered. "If I do, and he doesn't... if he looks at me like I'm crazy, or like he pities me..."
"You'd rather just keep packing extra tomatoes forever?"
"Yes." I looked up at her, feeling the burn of threatened tears. "Yes, because at least this way I still get to have lunch with him. I still get to walk home with him. I still get to be the person he texts at midnight about stupid jellyfish documentaries. If I say something and he doesn't feel the same, Shiori, everything changes. The tomatoes stop. The walks stop. Everything stops."
Shiori's expression softened. She reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, motherly and kind.
"And if he does feel the same?" she asked. "Then you're both just... what? Going to orbit each other until graduation? Until college? Until one of you marries someone else and the other has to smile through the wedding?"
The image made my chest ache.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't know what to do."
Before Shiori could answer, a shadow fell across my desk.
"Hey."
I looked up.
Yuuma was standing there, his own bento box tucked under one arm, looking slightly flushed from the stairs or the spring heat or something else entirely. His gaze flickered between me and Shiori, probably sensing the heavy atmosphere.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat on my other side. "Kiyoyama's having some kind of crisis about his anime pitch and I need... refuge." he looked at where Kiyoyama's seat is.
His voice was casual. Normal.
But his eyes lingered on my face a second too long, searching, like he was trying to read something I'd left exposed.
"Sure," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Refuge granted."
As he sat down, his knee brushed mine under the desk.
Neither of us moved away.
Shiori stood up, gathering her things with deliberate slowness. She leaned down close to my ear.
"Extra tomatoes," she whispered. "That's your answer, whether you like it or not."
Then she walked away, leaving me alone with Yuuma and the weight of everything I wasn't saying.
The bell rang for fifth period.
But I barely heard it over the sound of my own heart.