It started with a group project.

Shimada hadn’t thought about him in months — not really. Just enough to look away if their eyes accidentally met. Just enough to make sure they were never paired. Until now.

The teacher read out the names. Shimada’s stomach tightened. The boy didn’t react. Just kept his head low, pen steady in his notebook like always.

Shimada told himself it was fine. He could do the work alone, maybe send it over by text. But the teacher said it had to be presented together. Live. In front of the class.

After school, Shimada lingered by the shoe lockers. The boy showed up just before sunset, same way he always did — quiet, deliberate, already pulling on his sneakers.

Shimada stepped closer, uncertain.

"Hey," he said.

No answer.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "About the project… We should probably decide where to meet. Or what to do."

Nothing. Just the sound of Velcro straps and the shifting weight of a bag over one shoulder.

Shimada hesitated. The silence between them felt heavier than the years that had passed. He wasn’t used to it — the way this guy never gave him anything. No anger. No sarcasm. Just indifference. It was worse than being yelled at.

"You probably don’t want to work with me," Shimada said, more to himself than anything. "I get it."

Still nothing. The boy looked up at the fading sky through the glass doors. Unbothered. Or pretending to be.

Shimada swallowed hard. "But I’m not the same. Not really."

The boy didn’t even glance his way. He stepped past him without a word and walked off down the corridor.

Shimada stayed still for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. Then he turned and called out, just loud enough to be heard, "I'll be at the library tomorrow. After fifth period."