Morning sunlight filtered weakly through the classroom blinds, catching on the edges of desks and half-dried raindrops on the window. The storm had passed, but the silence it left behind clung to the air.
Aoi sat near Haruto, their chairs angled just enough to look accidental. Her eyes were swollen from the night before, but her voice, when she spoke, was steady.
"Did you sleep?"
Haruto's answer was a small shrug. "A little."
"Nightmares?"
"Just… noise," he murmured.
She wanted to reach for his hand but stopped when the classroom door opened. Miyako stepped inside, holding a folder tight to her chest. The usual confidence in her stride was gone; her eyes looked rimmed in red.
When she saw Haruto's face—the faint bruise along his jaw, the thin line near his temple—her breath caught. The folder slipped from her hands, scattering worksheets across the floor.
Suki bent to help, cheerful by reflex. "Hey, careful—these desks bite—"
But Miyako didn't answer. She crouched, frozen halfway to the floor, staring at Haruto as tears blurred her vision.
Haruto blinked, startled. "Miyako?"
Her voice came out like a crack in glass. "Who did that to you?"
The question was soft, but it filled the room. Aoi looked at her in surprise; Ryuzí stopped mid-sentence by the board.
Miyako pressed a trembling hand over her mouth. "I heard… people talking outside the faculty office. About a fight. About blood." She swallowed hard. "And I thought—no, it can't be him. Not you."
Haruto opened his mouth, then closed it again. "It's… nothing now."
"Nothing?" She let out a shaky laugh that wasn't really a laugh. "You look like you walked through hell. Don't tell me it's nothing."
Aoi stood slowly. "Miyako—"
But Miyako shook her head. "I know what that looks like. When someone hurts you and you can't tell anyone. When you think if you just stay quiet, it'll stop."
Her words trembled, too raw to be rehearsed. The others exchanged glances; no one asked what she meant.
Suki, usually the first to fill silence, simply whispered, "Miyako…"
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
Haruto rose halfway from his seat. "You didn't do anything wrong."
For a moment, their eyes met—two people who understood too much without needing to explain.
After School — Art Room
They gathered again after classes, the familiar six, the door locked behind them. The hum of the overhead lights seemed louder than usual.
Ryuzí had been on the phone with the counselor earlier; the report was filed, the bullies suspended pending investigation. The official words sounded clean, clinical—nothing like the reality they'd seen.
Suki drummed his fingers on the desk. "So that's it? They're 'suspended'? For what—attempted murder via school supplies?"
"Better than nothing," Ryuzí said quietly. "At least they're gone for now."
Aoi leaned against the windowsill, arms folded. "They won't stay gone. People like that don't just stop."
Miyako sat opposite Haruto, twisting a tissue between her fingers. "Then we make sure he's not alone anymore."
Haruto looked down, voice barely audible. "I'm not good at being helped."
Miyako smiled through her tears. "None of us are. We just pretend better."
The others fell quiet. The soft hum of the lights filled the space again.
Aoi broke it first. "Haruto, what about your family? Do they know?"
He hesitated. "No."
Suki frowned. "You mean you didn't tell your mom? She'd—"
"She already has enough to worry about," Haruto said quickly. "She works late most nights. My little sister's still in middle school. If she finds out, she'll try to fix it, and she can't."
Ryuzí's tone softened. "So you protect her by letting it eat you alive?"
Haruto managed a faint, crooked smile. "Something like that."
Aoi exhaled slowly. "Then maybe let us protect you this time."
He didn't answer, but his shoulders loosened just enough to show he'd heard.
Evening — Haruto's House
The small apartment smelled faintly of miso and detergent. His mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of receipts, her reading glasses perched low on her nose. His sister, Hana, sat cross-legged on the couch, sketching something in her notebook.
"Welcome home," his mother said without looking up. "You're early."
Haruto hung his bag by the door. "Club finished quick."
"Dinner's in the fridge. Don't forget to warm it."
He nodded, starting toward his room—but Hana's quiet voice stopped him."Your face."
He turned. "What?"
She pointed with her pencil. "You've got a bruise."
He touched his jaw automatically. "Oh. Yeah. Walked into a door."
Hana's brows knitted. "That's dumb."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah."
His mother looked up then, catching the exchange. For a second her expression softened, concern flickering behind her tired eyes. "You're sure you're all right?"
"Promise," he said, forcing lightness into the word.
She nodded slowly, turning back to her receipts, but the crease between her brows didn't fade.
In his room, Haruto sat on the edge of his bed, the soft sounds of the TV bleeding through the wall. The same ache returned, but it wasn't from bruises. It was the kind that came from being seen too late.
He pulled out his sketchbook. The latest page held Aoi's outline—half finished, all certainty. He added Hana beside her, then his mother at the table, then the rest of the group, clustered like constellations that somehow fit.
Next Morning — At School
The rumors had already started. Whispers chased them down the hallways—half-truths dressed as gossip.
"Did you hear? The quiet kid snapped.""No, it was that honors girl—they said she went crazy.""I heard blood on the walls—"
Suki shut his locker with a loud clang. "Unbelievable. We save a guy from being pummeled and somehow we're the villains."
Ryuzí placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let them talk. Noise fades."
Miyako passed by a cluster of whispering students; her glare was enough to scatter them. "They'll stop when something shinier happens," she muttered.
Haruto kept his head down, but the words still reached him—every rumor, every twist. He felt Aoi's hand brush his sleeve, a small, grounding touch.
She leaned close enough for only him to hear. "Ignore them. Look at me."
He did. Her eyes were red-rimmed but sure.
"We'll walk through this," she said. "All of it."
He nodded once. "Okay."
Miyako watched from a few steps behind. There was a strange steadiness in her now—like seeing Haruto survive had steadied something broken inside her too. She caught Aoi's eye and mouthed thank you.
Aoi's only reply was a nod.
Afternoon — Quiet Rooftop
The group met there after classes, their new habit. The city stretched below them in clean lines and distant traffic.
Suki tossed a juice box at Haruto. "Drink. You look like a ghost."
Haruto caught it, barely. "Thanks."
Aoi leaned against the railing. "Counselor called my parents this morning."
"What'd they say?" Kenji asked.
"That I was 'emotionally reactive.'" She snorted. "As if that's a diagnosis."
Suki grimaced. "Classic."
Miyako laughed softly for the first time in days. "You swung a bat at someone's head, Aoi. They're probably just impressed you hit the target."
Aoi rolled her eyes. "Not funny."
Haruto actually smiled. "A little funny."
Their laughter—small, uncertain—still sounded like a miracle.
Ryuzí looked around at all of them, then said quietly, "We can't undo what happened, but we can choose what happens next."
Miyako nodded. "Then we choose not to let him be alone again."
Aoi looked at Haruto. "Starting with that."
He held her gaze for a long moment before whispering, "Thank you."
She answered simply, "Always."
Evening — Haruto's Room (again)
Rain tapped faintly against the window, a softer rhythm this time.Hana was asleep on the couch; his mother's door was closed.
Haruto sat at his desk, pencil moving slowly across the page. The drawing took shape: six figures under one umbrella, faces turned toward a rising sun.
In the corner, he added small initials—A.H.R.S.M.K.—their messy, perfect group.
When he finished, he whispered the same words he'd written once before:Keep walking.
He thought of Aoi's tears, Miyako's trembling hands, Suki's nervous jokes, Ryuzí's steady calm. Of how each one had stayed.
For the first time, the ache in his chest didn't feel empty.It felt alive.