Six years had passed since the day Miyu stood between him and the world. And in all that
time, nothing inside Itsuki had changed.
He had grown taller, his frame stretching awkwardly like a shadow too long for its source.
But the strength people expected with height never came. His body was frail, his skin pale,
and the nights refused him rest. The insomnia carved deep hollows beneath his eyes, making him look older than he was. His thoughts never gave him peace, twisting and
splitting until he no longer trusted what was real inside himself.
People noticed. They always noticed. That boy's strange. He never talks. Don't sit near
him, it's creepy.
Itsuki ignored the whispers. He had long ago accepted them as the background noise of his
life. But what he couldn't understand, what no one else could, was why Miyu never
listened to them.
Miyu had grown too. At sixteen, she stood 5'4, tall for her age, graceful in a way that drew
eyes without her trying. She was a bright child, not only in grades but in spirit. She laughed
easily, greeted everyone with warmth, and carried herself like the world was still worth
something. And yet, despite all the people who wanted her attention, Miyu always stayed by Itsuki's side. That was what unsettled the others most. "Why does she waste her time with him?"
"She could be with anyone else." "Maybe she pities him."
The words stung more than Itsuki admitted, but Miyu brushed them off as if they didn't
exist.One afternoon, on the rooftop where they always hid from the noise of the classrooms,
Itsuki muttered, "You'd be better off without me." Miyu tilted her head, eyes narrowing in
mock irritation. "And let you rot up here alone? Not a chance." Her voice was light, but her
eyes told the truth: she meant it.
Itsuki turned away, staring at the clouds. "You're too bright for me. I'll burn out just
standing next to you." Miyu laughed softly, leaning back against the railing. "Then I'll just shine brighter, so you have no excuse to hide."
Itsuki didn't answer. He never did in moments like this and went back to class. But deep
down, he knew: Miyu was the reason he hadn't disappeared yet.
After classes ended, the two of them left school together as they always did, their houses not too far apart. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds. Before long, rain began to fall, soft at first, then quick and sharp, drumming against the pavement.
Itsuki stopped under a bus shelter, hands shoved into his pockets, scowling at the
downpour. Miyu, on the other hand, only tilted her face toward the sky and stepped out into
it, her laugh ringing bright against the gray.
She twirled once, hair clinging to her cheeks, uniform quickly soaked through. "Come on,
Itsuki!" she called, waving him over. "It's just water! Get soaked with me!"
He shook his head, voice flat. "You know I hate the rain. It makes this world seem more
lonely." "That's only because you're standing still," she said, stepping closer. Her eyes
caught his under the awning, steady, unafraid. "If you'd come out here with me, maybe
you'd realize the rain isn't lonely at all."
She pouted but kept dancing in the puddles, splashing water like a child. Itsuki only stood
in silence, watching her until the storm began to ease. When the rain finally stopped, Miyu
was dripping wet, shivering lightly but still smiling.
Without a word, Itsuki shrugged off his jacket and held it out to her. She blinked at him,
cheeks warming as she slipped it on. "You'll catch a cold," he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
Miyu's face softened. "You're kind, Itsuki… Thank you." She pulled the jacket tighter
around herself. "I'll return it to you tonight. I promise."
They parted ways at the corner of their street, and Itsuki walked to his apartment alone,
unaware that the night waiting ahead would be darker than any sleepless dream.
Itsuki had spent the entire day inside his apartment, locked in the same stale air and silence.
He had tried to sleep, tried to shut his eyes and pretend his mind wasn't eating itself alive, but it had been three days now, three endless nights of staring at the ceiling.
By the time his thoughts stilled enough to notice the clock, it was already past 2 a.m. He
reached for his phone, the glow cutting through the dark like a blade. Notifications crowded
the screen, messages from Miyu. Hey, where are you? Did you eat? I'm worried. God
damn it, reply.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard, guilt prickling in his chest. Just when he started to
type, the phone buzzed in his hand. Miyu.
"Itsuki!" Her voice burst through, sharp with frustration. "God damn it, I've been texting
you the whole day!" "…I didn't check my phone. Sorry," he muttered, voice low, hoarse.
"Why are you still up?" "Duhh, I just woke up. Fell asleep waiting for you to text back."
She huffed, softer now. "And you're still awake too, aren't you? You can't sleep tonight
either?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. "Well," she said with sudden brightness, "I'm coming
to return your jacket. As promised." "You can just return it tomorrow. It's too late." He
paused. "…It's not like I'll die tomorrow." "Shut up, stupidsuki!" she snapped, loud enough to
make him flinch. "Don't sprout nonsense like that! I'm coming to your house." "It's
dangerous for you to come alone," he replied, voice turning sharp, almost pleading. "I'll get
it back tomorrow myself." Then he hung up.
But knowing Miyu… he knew she'd come anyway. She always did. So he shoved on his
shoes and stepped into the cold night, heading in the direction of her home.
And there she was. Running toward him under the pale glow of a streetlamp, her hair
bouncing, her voice cutting through the still air. "I am here!" she shouted, breathless. "Why
did you hang up? You're so rude! Stupid!" She thrust the jacket into his chest. "Just as
promised."
Itsuki sighed, taking it gently. "It wasn't this important… You're so dumb. It's too late.
Let me walk you home." His tone was flat, but the weight behind it was unmistakable,
overprotective, anxious, desperate to keep her tethered to safety. "You're such a worrywart." She smiled, teasing but touched. "Fine, walk me then."
The two fell into step, the streets empty except for their shadows stretched by the
moonlight. Then Miyu slowed, looking toward a side path. "There's this park. Wanna go?
It's peaceful at this time." "No." Itsuki's answer was immediate, hard. "Straight home."
But Miyu only laughed. "Catch me, and I'll forever listen to you!"
And before he could grab her wrist, she bolted, shoes splashing against the damp pavement.
"Miyu!" Itsuki shouted, his voice sharp, almost panicked. "Wait! You'll fall!"
But she didn't listen. She never did.