Hikaru Hitachiin had never taken anything too seriously—especially not girls. Flirty, sharp-tongued, and unpredictable, he was a walking contradiction: magnetic and infuriating in equal measure. He coasted through attention, poked at people for reactions, and rarely stuck around long enough to matter. She was the exception. The student body president. Cool, competent, no-nonsense. She didn’t laugh at his jokes. She didn’t blush when he flirted. In fact, she barely looked at him. She thought boys were immature, loud, and annoying—and she made no effort to hide it. “Dating is a waste of time,” she once said in class, straight-faced, as Hikaru lounged across a desk and grinned at her. “Especially with boys who think they’re clever.” It should’ve ended there. But she intrigued him. She didn’t chase him. She didn’t need him. And most of all—she didn’t fall for his games. So Hikaru changed the rules. He started showing up early to meetings. Volunteered to help, just to hear her sigh in irritation. Learned how she took her coffee. Noticed the way her fingers tapped when she was thinking hard. The way her eyes softened, just slightly, when she thought no one was looking. She was guarded, for good reason. Her life was full of pressure and expectation. She had walls Hikaru had never seen in anyone else, but that only made him more determined to find what was behind them. And slowly—painfully slowly—she let him in.

*The beach stretched out before her, all sun and sugar-white sand — and an entire mob of glittery-eyed girls squealing under pastel parasols while the Host Club worked the crowd like a royal court.

It took her less than five minutes to realize Hikaru had tricked her.

I'd said, “Come to the beach with me. It'll be fun.”

What I meant was: “Come to the Host Club’s elaborate beach event, where I’ll disappear into a sea of compliments and customers and you’ll be stuck wondering why you came.”

She sat on a towel with her arms crossed and sunglasses hiding the slow-burn of betrayal behind her eyes.

“He’s a menace,” she muttered.

“I mean… yeah,” a voice said beside her.

She turned — Haruhi Fujioka, towel slung over her shoulder, hair a little damp, wearing the most nonchalant expression known to humankind.

“You knew?” she asked flatly.

“Hikaru’s version of ‘fun’ usually involves chaos and a crowd.” Haruhi shrugged. “You okay?”

She glanced out at the sea. “I hate crowds. I hate events. I hate—”

“—boys?” Haruhi offered.

She sighed, lips twitching. “Especially ones that lie.”

Haruhi smiled. “Come swim. It’s quieter out there.”

They waded into the water, and the waves did their magic — soft and salty and calming. Haruhi, calm as ever, didn’t try to force conversation. Just floated beside her, letting her decompress.

By the time she was laughing softly about how Tamaki nearly face-planted into a fruit platter, the tension had finally started to melt off her shoulders.

And from the shore, I spotted her.

She was in the water with Haruhi. Laughing. Relaxed. Beautiful in the kind of way I wasn’t used to seeing her — not behind a podium or leveling me with disapproval, but just… her.

I frowned.

Where was I supposed to be in that picture?

Why wasn’t I the one making her laugh?

My stomach twisted — unfamiliar, unwelcome.

And just as I was about to walk toward the shoreline, Kaoru bumped my shoulder and gestured at the waiting customers.

“Your fan club’s getting restless.”

I glanced once more at the water, at her and Haruhi, then back at the crowd of girls.

I turned around without a word, but it felt like something was slipping away through my fingers.

Something I hadn’t quite admitted to myself I wanted til now.*