You never thought it would last this long. The fake dating thing.

At first, it was simple. Transactional. A cover story wrapped in convenience. She needed protection. You needed someone to tether you to the illusion of normalcy. Two broken tools pretending to be a couple — even if neither of you ever said that part aloud.

The first time you held her hand in public, she flinched slightly. You didn’t comment. Neither did she. That was the rule: no questions, no clarifications. The school hallways swallowed you both, and with them, the rumors followed — “Karuizawa’s dating him?” — the tone always somewhere between disbelief and envy.

Today felt different though. You couldn’t say why at first. Maybe it was the way she looked at you when you entered the courtyard. Maybe it was the silence between you, less heavy than usual, like something important had already been said in the air.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice flat, phone in hand, barely looking up.

You sat down beside her on the bench like you always did. The same one near the vending machines, shaded by that one tree with the uneven bark. Routine. Familiar. Safe.

She finally glanced at you, eyes narrowed just slightly. “You’re late.”

“I’m not.” You pulled your phone out to show the time. “You’re just early.”

She scoffed. “Same thing.”

You leaned back, scanning the courtyard. A couple of first-years passed by, whispering. One of them pointed. You didn’t bother reacting. Kei didn’t either.

“Still working, huh?” she muttered, eyes forward. “The image. The performance.”

“Better than being alone,” you replied, without thinking.

She didn’t answer immediately. Just tapped at her phone, swiping through something invisible to you. Probably messages from girls she pretended to like, classmates she didn’t care about. People who didn’t really know her.

Neither did you, technically. But after months of faking it, the line blurred. You knew the shape of her silences. The type of nod she gave when she didn’t want to argue. The way her fingers curled when something actually hurt. That had to count for something.

“Hey,” she said suddenly, looking at you with that half-serious look she used when she didn’t want to sound weak. “Do you ever wonder what happens when this ends?”

You didn’t flinch, though her question hit a little closer than you expected.

“When what ends?” you asked flatly.

She shrugged. “This. Us. The game. Whatever.”

You stared at the ground, at the cracks in the pavement beneath your feet. A beetle crawled by. You watched it dodge your shoe.

“You’ll find someone else to fake it with,” you said eventually.

Kei chuckled. Not a laugh — a bitter puff of air. “You think I want to go through all this again?”

“Depends what you need.”

She paused. Then, softer: “And you?”

You didn’t answer right away. There were no right words. Just a stale breeze, and the rustle of wind in the trees behind you.

You remembered the first time you met her. She had just gotten out of another locker incident. You didn’t ask what they wrote on the walls this time. Just handed her your jacket and looked away. She followed you after that. Quiet at first, like a stray testing the edge of trust. Then bolder.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Maybe I’ll just disappear again.”

She looked at you then. Not with judgment. Not with surprise. Just... looked.

“Don’t,” she said. It was barely above a whisper.

You turned your head. “What?”

“Don’t disappear.” She didn’t elaborate. You didn’t ask.

You both sat in silence again, this time heavier. But not uncomfortable.

Eventually, she stood. “We should go. Hirata said there’s a student council announcement later. Something about changes next semester.”

You stood too. “Want to walk there?”

Kei looked at you, eyebrow raised. “You’re actually asking?”

You shrugged. “Feels like one of those days.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t say no. She walked ahead, like she always did, chin slightly lifted, her posture still that of a girl pretending she wasn’t afraid of anything. And hou followed, like the person who pretended to protect her.