Miyako could feel it.
It wasn't something he said Haruki rarely said anything he didn't have to.
It was in the way he breathed.
In the way he sat a little heavier than usual, like gravity had remembered him again. Like he'd just come from somewhere that had made him bleed but only on the inside, where the scars didn't show.
He hadn't even touched his drink. Just held the can of melon soda between both hands, as if its coldness could anchor him to now.
She didn't ask.
Not at first.
But as the movie flickered on for the fifth no, sixth time, painting warm colors across the walls, Miyako slowly scooted closer on the couch.
Her bare foot brushed against his.
He didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't shift to the side or throw out some dry one-liner to tease her back into her lane.
And that…
That scared her more than if he had.
She leaned her head gently against his shoulder, trying to pretend it was casual.
"You smell like wind," she murmured.
Haruki blinked, eyes still on the screen. "…What does that even mean?"
"Like you've been standing outside somewhere sad and silent. Where the air hurts a little when you breathe."
He exhaled, long and low. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.
She pulled back just enough to see his face. There was a tightness in it tonight around the eyes, along his jaw. Like he'd been clenching for hours.
"Haruki," she said softly, seriously this time. "Did something happen?"
A beat.
Then he nodded once, like it physically cost him to do so.
"Mina confessed."
The words hit Miyako like a soft, invisible slap. No pain just a jolt, like the floor had dipped a few inches under her feet.
"Oh," she said. Nothing clever. Nothing biting. Just… oh.
"She said she's liked me since she transferred," Haruki continued, staring at the screen, eyes unfocused. "Said she thought she could make me smile."
Miyako swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. "And what did you say?"
"I told her I didn't know how I felt."
Miyako tried to smile. It cracked around the edges. "That's… very you."
Silence drifted in like fog.
Heavy. Lingering. Almost comfortable, if not for the sharp edge underneath it.
"I thought I'd be happy if someone liked me," Haruki said finally. "But it felt like I was hurting her just by existing."
Miyako turned her eyes to the TV, which had looped back to the menu screen again bright, artificial music chiming cheerily into the thick quiet between them.
"She's a good girl," she said softly.
"She is."
"You could've said yes."
"I thought about it."
"Then why didn't you?"
He turned to her, and the look in his eyes made her stomach twist raw, vulnerable, and so real it made her feel like she couldn't breathe.
"Because I didn't want to be thinking about someone else when I held her hand."
Miyako froze.
Her fingers curled around the hem of her shirt.
"I've been thinking about someone else for a while now," Haruki added, voice low.
She turned her head slowly, afraid to hope. "And that someone is…?"
He smiled faintly.
"You, idiot."
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"I'm an idiot?" she said, caught somewhere between a breathless laugh and wide-eyed disbelief.
"For not noticing sooner."
She swatted his armtoo gently to hurt, more of a confirmation that he was still real. That this was real.
"You're such a jerk. Saying stuff like that with a straight face."
"I thought you liked it when I was rough," he deadpanned.
She choked, eyes widening. "Haruki!"
"What? I'm just quoting *you.*"
"Don't throw my words back at me unless you're ready to back them up!" she shot, her face flushed from both laughter and something warmer.
He smiled then.
Truly smiled.
And in that moment, she saw it really saw it.
That smile wasn't casual.
It wasn't a thank-you. It wasn't reflex.
It was hers.
Later that night
Miyako stood in front of his bedroom door, arms crossed like she was bracing for battle.
"I'm stealing your bed tonight," she announced.
Haruki raised an eyebrow from where he was toweling his hair. "Again?"
"Yup. Emotionally significant night. I deserve emotional comfort."
He didn't argue.
Just stepped aside.
"Just don't steal the blanket this time."
"No promises."
She flopped onto his bed like she owned it, pulling the covers up to her chin with theatrical flair. The oversized hoodie she still hadn't returned pooled around her knees.
Haruki turned to leave, switching off the main light.
But her voice stopped him mid-step.
"…Hey."
He paused.
"If I asked you to hold my hand right now," she said, voice quieter than usual, "would it still be a problem?"
He didn't speak.
Didn't hesitate.
Just turned around, walked back, and slid under the covers beside her.
Their hands found each other naturally under the blanket tentative at first, then steady.
Warm. Real.
Solid.
Miyako's breath hitched just once.
But she didn't let go.
And neither did he.
They said nothing more.
But in the silence between them beneath the thin covers and the weight of unspoken things they took their first real step.
A true step.
Small. Trembling. Brave.
Together.