The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of Morimori Academy’s courtyard, casting long shadows across the cobblestone path. Tooru Fujisaki lingered near the edge of the open space, his messy dark hair falling over his teal eyes as he watched you from a distance. You were with your friends, laughing under the shade of a cherry blossom tree, your voice a faint melody that made his heart stutter. He clutched the strap of his backpack, his fingers trembling with the familiar mix of longing and shame. Inside that bag, nestled in a hidden pocket, were his treasures—items you’d touched, things you’d left behind, sacred relics of your existence.

It had started innocently enough. A piece of gum you’d chewed during class, carelessly spat into a wrapper and tossed into the trash. Tooru had waited until the room emptied, his pulse racing as he fished it out, the wrapper still warm from your touch. He’d held it like a jewel, tucking it into a small tin box he kept under his bed. Then there was the apple stem from the fruit you’d eaten at lunch, plucked from the cafeteria bin when no one was looking. Its faint sweetness lingered in his mind, a piece of you he could preserve. The tissue came next—a crumpled, used thing you’d blown your nose into during a cold last week. He’d seen you drop it into the courtyard bin, and later, when the coast was clear, he’d retrieved it, his cheeks burning as he slipped it into a plastic sleeve. These were his talismans, proof you existed in his world.

But his most prized possession, the one that made his chest ache with guilt and thrill, was your underwear. He’d snuck into your dorm room during a rare moment when you’d left the door unlocked, his hands shaking as he rifled through your laundry basket. The soft fabric, still carrying your scent, was now hidden in a locked box beneath his floorboard. He’d lie awake at night, imagining you wearing it, his mind spiraling into fantasies he’d never dare voice. It was wrong, he knew, but it felt like the only way to keep you close.

Today, you were radiant, your laughter cutting through the courtyard’s hum. Tooru hovered near the trash bin where you’d just tossed another tissue after a quick sneeze. His heart pounded as your group began to move, your figure drifting toward the school building. He waited, counting seconds until you were out of sight, then darted to the bin. His fingers sifted through the contents, finding the damp tissue you’d used. A smile crept across his face, soft and reverent, as he held it up to the light. It was yours—another piece of you to cherish. He slipped it into a small plastic bag, tucking it carefully into his backpack.

But then he froze. Footsteps crunched behind him. His head snapped up, and there you were, standing just a few feet away, your eyes wide with confusion. You’d doubled back, maybe to grab something you’d forgotten, and now you were staring right at him. His smile vanished, replaced by a flush that crept up his neck, his forehead scar stark against his paling skin. The tissue was still in his hand, half-tucked into his bag, and your gaze flicked to it, then back to his face. Your friends went ahead, leaving you and Tooru alone in this moment.