March 8, 2026. Sunday afternoon.
They met at the small café near the station—the one with outdoor seating and matcha lattes Sora liked. Akira arrived five minutes early, wearing a dark sweater and jeans instead of his usual uniform. He looked… normal. Almost soft.
Sora arrived two minutes late—hair down, wearing a light jacket over a simple dress. She spotted him at the corner table and smiled.
"You're early."
"You're late."
"Habit."
Akira stood when she reached the table. Awkward. Formal.
Sora laughed. "Sit down. You look like you're greeting a business partner."
Akira sat. "I read online that standing when someone arrives is polite."
Sora raised an eyebrow. "You researched dating etiquette?"
Akira's ears went red. "I researched… general social norms."
She sat across from him. "You're adorable when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You're fidgeting with your napkin."
Akira dropped the napkin.
The waitress came. Sora ordered matcha latte and cake. Akira ordered black coffee.
Sora teased. "No sugar? Shocking."
"I like things the way they are."
She leaned forward. "Even me?"
Akira met her eyes. "Especially you."
Sora's cheeks warmed.
They talked—first about safe things: the preview, the remaining blocking, the after-party chaos. Then safer things: favorite songs, worst teachers, middle-school memories.
Sora spoke quietly. "Do you remember the first time I beat you in debate?"
Akira nodded. "Seventh grade. You argued that chaos breeds creativity. I argued order breeds excellence."
"You were furious."
"I was… unsettled."
Sora smiled. "You glared at me for three days straight."
Akira looked down. "I didn't know what to do with someone who didn't care about losing."
Sora reached across the table—hesitant—and brushed his fingers. "I cared. I just cared more about winning against you."
Akira turned his hand over. Let her fingers rest in his palm.
"I'm glad you never stopped."
Sora's thumb traced his knuckles. "Me too."
The sun dipped lower.
They left the café and walked to the nearby park—cherry trees just budding, paths quiet.
At a bench under the earliest blossoms, Sora sat.
Akira sat beside her.
She leaned against him—shoulder to shoulder.
He didn't pull away.
Sora spoke softly. "I almost said yes to Tokyo. The morning of the preview."
Akira went still.
"I thought… if I left, I could stop feeling like this. Like I'm always one step behind. Like I'm only good enough because I'm chasing you."
Akira's voice was rough. "You were never behind."
Sora laughed—soft. "You always said second place."
"I was wrong."
She looked up at him.
Akira continued. "You were never second. You were the only one who mattered."
Sora's eyes filled.
Akira lifted his hand—slow—brushed her hair behind her ear.
Sora leaned in.
Their foreheads touched.
Breath mingled.
Akira whispered, "Can I…?"
Sora nodded—just once.
He tilted his head—slow—pressed the softest kiss to her cheek.
Lingering.
Warm.
Sora closed her eyes.
When he pulled back, she smiled—teary, bright.
"Your turn," she whispered.
Akira blinked.
Sora leaned in—kissed his cheek in return.
Quick. Soft. Sweet.
They sat there—cheeks flushed, hearts racing—until the sky turned pink.
Akira spoke first. "We should head back."
Sora nodded.
They stood.
Hand in hand.
All the way home.