-THEATRE ARTS CLUB ROOM, AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-4:27 PM, NOVEMBER 16, 2016-
The stage lights were dimmer than usual.
Only a few were left on, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Most club members had already left, their voices fading down the hallway, leaving behind a quiet that felt heavier than silence.
Ichika Komori stood near center stage, script pressed lightly to her chest.
Rikuu Arakawa watched her from the edge.
"Advisor said we should try that scene again," he said. "Just us."
Ichika nodded. "Okay."
They stepped into position.
No audience.
No noise.
Just the two of them—and the lines waiting to be spoken.
Rikuu exhaled slowly, eyes lifting as he slipped into character.
"You always disappear when I look for you," he said.
Ichika met his gaze. Her voice was softer than before.
"Because if I stay… I won't be able to leave."
The words settled between them.
Rikuu paused—not missing a cue, but feeling something tug unexpectedly in his chest.
"You think running keeps you safe?" he asked, quieter now.
Ichika took a step closer. "No. I think staying hurts more."
That wasn't in the script.
Rikuu's brows knit slightly. "…Komori."
She didn't break eye contact. "I know."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The distance between them closed naturally—not rehearsed, not directed. Close enough for Rikuu to notice the way Ichika's hands trembled just a little. Close enough for Ichika to hear his breathing slow.
"…You're not acting like before," Rikuu said, low.
Ichika swallowed. "Neither are you."
That earned a small, humorless smile from him.
"Guess we're both bad at pretending."
They resumed—lines blending seamlessly with truths they didn't mean to reveal.
When the scene ended, neither of them moved.
The lights hummed faintly overhead.
Rikuu broke the silence first. "You make it harder to keep things separate."
Ichika looked up at him. "Is that… bad?"
He hesitated.
"…I don't know."
She nodded, accepting the answer without pressing further.
"I like acting with you," she said simply. "It feels… honest."
Rikuu turned away slightly, jaw tightening.
"Careful," he muttered. "That's dangerous."
Ichika smiled—not teasing, not afraid.
"Then I'll be careful."
They gathered their things in quiet understanding.
As they left the club room together, the stage remained behind—empty, dark, and still warm from the lines they had shared.
And though neither of them said it out loud…
Both knew something had crossed from fiction into something far more fragile.