(Kiyomi's POV).
The sun hung low that Monday afternoon, painting the sky in gentle shades of amber and rose. The day had been long — not because of lessons, but because of everything that went unsaid between us all.
By the time the final bell rang, most students rushed out of class in chatter and relief. But class 2A stayed a little quieter than usual. The laughter that once filled the air now felt selective — cautious, like everyone was afraid to say the wrong thing.
Hinata gathered her books slowly, waiting for Asahi. Their movements were small, almost synchronized now — she'd reach for a notebook, and he'd pick up the pen beside it before she could. When their fingers brushed, she didn't pull away this time.
Asahi: You're quieter than usual (He said, trying to sound casual).
Hinata smiled faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Hinata: I'm just… thinking.
He smirked.
Asahi: That's dangerous.
She gave him a look, half a glare, half amusement.
Hinata: Says who?
He shrugged, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
Asahi: Says the guy who's thinking about the same thing.
For a moment, the air between them softened — not awkward, just… heavy in a good way. They didn't need to name it.
At the back of the room, Akio packed up his things without looking at anyone. He'd seen that little exchange — saw the way Hinata's eyes lingered on Asahi just a bit longer than necessary. And though he said nothing, his silence felt sharper than words ever could.
I noticed it as I stood near the door. I wanted to say something — to Akio, to Hinata, even to Asahi — but Minato's quiet presence beside me pulled my focus.
When we finally stepped outside together, the sky had turned a soft orange, and the breeze carried the scent of wet earth — the kind that follows a light rain.
We walked side by side, not saying much. Our shoulders brushed now and then, and each time it happened, something fluttered inside my chest.
After a few more steps, our hands touched — just barely. This time, Minato didn't let go.
He reached for my hand fully, his fingers intertwining with mine. The touch was slow, deliberate, almost trembling. He glanced down once, then began to softly run his thumb over my fingers — one after the other, tracing them like he was memorizing me.
Kiyomi froze for a second. Her breath caught. Her cheeks flushed deep red, and she bit her lip to stop a moan from escaping.
He may have only touched my fingers but I felt it everywhere. His touch was paradise to me and I'm not quite sure if I can keep the moan in for too long.
Kiyomi: Minato… (I moaned, my voice barely above a breath).
He looked at me — face red, eyes calm and sincere.
Minato: I… I just wanted to hold it. Is that okay?
I nodded quickly, too shy to speak again. My heart beat faster than it should, and for once, I didn't want to think. I just wanted to feel.
We walked like that all the way home — hand in hand, quiet but full of meaning.
Tuesday Morning
The next day arrived quietly, with the world still damp from last night's rain. The sky was gray, the kind that made everything feel slower, softer — but inside class 2A, the air had begun to stir again.
The tension that had once been silent was starting to move — shifting into something sharper.
Akio came in earlier than usual, headphones in, not greeting anyone. He avoided Hinata's eyes entirely. When she walked in with Asahi, Akio looked away so fast it almost hurt to watch.
Minato and I sat together, closer than before. Our hands brushed again, but this time, it wasn't shy. I smiled, quietly glowing from yesterday's walk home.
Hinata noticed.
For a second, our eyes met — two girls who used to share everything now connected by a quiet understanding neither could explain.
I looked away first.
Asahi, meanwhile, leaned toward Hinata's desk.
Asahi: You okay?
Hinata: I'm fine (She said softly, though her tone carried the slightest tremor).
Behind them, Akio's pencil snapped in half. He muttered something under his breath, then stood up to throw it away — but his steps were sharp, restless.
Something in him was cracking.
And though no one said it aloud, everyone could feel it:
The quiet between us wasn't peace anymore. It was pressure.
The kind that could only last so long before it broke.