(Akio's POV)
Friday mornings used to be the best part of the week.
That sweet, lazy relief of "just one more day" before the weekend always gave the air an easy rhythm.
But now?
Now the rhythm felt broken.
When I walked into Class 2A, laughter filled the air — except it wasn't mine anymore.
It was theirs.
Kiyomi and Minato sat by the window, whispering about something that made her cheeks turn red.
Asahi leaned across Hinata's desk, teasing her softly, and she actually laughed — a real laugh, not that polite one she gave me when things were awkward.
And me?
I was just another shadow in the corner of the room.
I used to be part of their laughter.
Now I just listened to it.
I told myself it didn't bother me. That I didn't care.
But the truth was, it did. It really did.
It was like watching the pieces of a world I built slowly fall apart, one smile at a time.
I wanted to say something.
To joke again. To step into the sunlight of their warmth.
But I couldn't. My throat locked itself, my pride held me back, and the bell rang before I could move.
The day passed in fragments — voices, footsteps, fading laughter — all blending into one long, quiet ache.
And when the final bell rang, I stayed behind a little longer, pretending to pack my books while everyone else left.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Minato glance at Kiyomi, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips.
Even without words, I knew — he was planning something for her.
Something small, something that would make her smile the way she used to smile at me when I first joined the group.
And for a moment, I almost hated him for it.
Almost.
(Hinata's POV)
The last bell rang, and the world outside the classroom turned golden — sunlight spilling across the hallways, soft and warm.
Asahi was waiting by the shoe lockers, holding his bag like he had nowhere to go.
Asahi: Heading home?
I nodded, trying to hide my smile.
Hinata: Yeah. You?
Asahi: Same direction, remember?
We walked together in silence, the sound of cicadas humming faintly in the distance.
For once, it didn't feel awkward.
Just… quiet.
The kind of quiet that holds something unspoken.
Halfway down the street, he stopped walking.
Asahi: Hey… can I tell you something weird?
I tilted my head.
Hinata: Weird how?
Asahi: Like… "you might not want to hear it" weird.
I blinked.
Hinata: Okay. Try me.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away for a second before landing back on mine.
Asahi: When you smile, it makes my day feel less heavy. Like… no matter how crappy it's been, it feels worth it again.
My heart thudded in my chest.
I didn't know what to say, so I laughed — that small, nervous kind of laugh that feels more like a heartbeat than sound.
Hinata: That's not weird.
Asahi: Maybe not for you. But for me… it's kind of dangerous.
He looked down, his hand brushing against mine — and for a second, I thought that was it.
But then he did it — he took my hand.
Not fast. Not bold. Just quietly, like he wasn't sure if he should.
And I didn't pull away.
The world around us blurred — just the sound of our footsteps, the sun dipping behind the rooftops, the air warm between us.
It wasn't loud, or dramatic.
It was simple.
But in that simplicity, I felt everything shift.
Maybe it was the start of something I wasn't ready to name yet.
(Minato's POV)
When the class finally emptied, I sat by the window, tapping my pen against the desk.
The sunlight painted long streaks across the floor, and I could still hear Kiyomi's laughter echoing faintly from the hallway.
That sound always did something to me.
I'd noticed how tired she looked lately — how her eyes sometimes lingered on Akio's empty seat before she looked away.
She missed him.
We all did.
But the group didn't feel the same anymore.
Too many quiet distances, too many things left unsaid.
I wanted to fix that. Or at least, to make her smile again.
Maybe something simple would work — like a small sketch, or a note, or that origami flower she once said reminded her of spring.
Something light. Something that said: "Hey, not everything's broken yet."
I smiled to myself, already picturing her face when she'd find it on Monday morning.
That is it — Monday.
I'd leave it on her desk when no one is around.
And have a weekend to plan.
A weekend to hope.
As the afternoon sunlight burned deeper into gold, I packed my bag and looked once more at the empty seat across the room — Akio's.
I didn't know how to reach him.
None of us did.
But maybe, just maybe, if we kept holding on to the little things, we could still find our way back.
That evening, the school faded into memory — the laughter, the tension, the quiet steps home.
But beneath all of it, something fragile lingered in the air.
A distance that no one wanted — and yet, everyone kept feeding.