-SCHOOL CORRIDOR NEAR THE THEATRE WING, AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-4:36 PM, NOVEMBER 17, 2016-
The hallway outside the theatre wing was nearly empty.
Most students had already gone home, their voices fading into the evening cold. Only the hum of distant lights and the muted echo of footsteps remained.
Ichika Komori stood by the window, adjusting the strap of her bag.
She wasn't waiting.
At least—that's what she told herself.
"…Komori."
She turned.
Rikuu Arakawa stood a few steps away, jacket half-zipped, bag slung loosely over his shoulder. He looked like he was about to leave—until he wasn't.
"You forgot this," he said, holding out her script.
Ichika blinked. "Oh— I didn't realize."
"You always leave it behind," he added, not accusing. Just observing.
She took the script from him, fingers brushing his for half a second.
"…Thank you."
They stood there.
Neither of them moved toward the exit.
"You were quiet today," Rikuu said.
Ichika smiled faintly. "You already told me that."
"…Yeah." He looked away. "Still true."
She hesitated. "You notice more than you say."
Rikuu exhaled through his nose. "I notice what's in front of me."
She glanced at him. "And what is?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out.
A small heat pack.
"For your hands," he said. "You were rubbing them earlier."
Ichika froze.
"…You saw that?"
"Hard not to," he replied. "You do it when you're nervous."
Her fingers curled around the pack, warmth seeping through the thin plastic.
"…Thank you," she said again—this time quieter.
Rikuu shrugged. "Don't mention it."
They began walking down the corridor together, steps unhurried, matching without effort.
"I don't mind when you watch rehearsal," he said suddenly.
Ichika looked up, surprised. "I try not to stare."
"I know," he replied. "That's why it's fine."
She smiled—small, but real.
When they reached the intersection where the hallway split, Rikuu stopped.
"This is me," he said.
Ichika nodded. "Me too… the other way."
A pause.
Not awkward.
Just unfinished.
"…See you tomorrow, Komori," Rikuu said.
"Yes," she replied. "See you, Arakawa."
They walked away in opposite directions.
But Ichika noticed it—the warmth in her hands long after the heat pack cooled.
And Rikuu, a few steps ahead, slowed just slightly.
Neither of them looked back.
Yet both carried the same thought:
Some moments didn't need to be named.
They only needed to linger.