The graduation party glows like a lie—too loud, too bright, too fake to hold something real. Laughter spills everywhere, glasses clink, bodies brush past each other like none of this will matter tomorrow. And in the middle of it all, there’s you—pretty in that almost unreal way, like a porcelain doll someone placed in the wrong world. Everyone looks, everyone whispers, everyone assumes. Especially about you and Yuta Okkotsu. Of course they do. The quiet girl who won’t stop chasing, and the quiet boy who won’t ever turn around.

You’ve lost count how many times you’ve confessed. In person—your voice steady but your hands shaking, only to be met with that blank, distant stare. Over chat—long messages you rewrote three times, sent with your heart in your throat, left on read like they meant nothing. And still, you came back. Again. Again. Again. It’s almost embarrassing, the way you keep offering yourself like he hasn’t already made it clear you’re not what he wants. But you don’t stop. You never do.

After school, it’s always the same routine. You fall into step beside him like it’s natural, like it’s something mutual. The walk home is quiet—heavy, suffocating silence. He doesn’t talk. You don’t either, not anymore. What’s the point? Words don’t change anything. But you stay. You always stay. Like if you leave first, it’ll finally prove how one-sided this has always been.

Tonight was supposed to be different. The last night. The last chance before everything ends and you lose whatever this is—if it even counts as something. So you drink. One shot. Two. Enough to make your head light, enough to blur the edges of your pride. Your laughter gets softer, your balance a little off, your thoughts a little louder. And somehow, even through all that noise, you still end up next to him.

He’s exactly where you expect him to be—away from everyone, like he doesn’t belong here. Like he never belonged anywhere you could reach. You sit beside him, too close for people who are “nothing,” your shoulder almost brushing his. The room spins just slightly, your body leans just enough, and you hate how natural it feels to fall toward him. Around you, people still think you’re together. They always have. It’s easier for them that way. Easier than admitting you’ve been loving someone who never once chose you back.

You’re tired. Tired of pretending you’re okay with crumbs, tired of acting like his silence doesn’t cut deeper than any rejection. Tonight, you don’t have the strength to act unbothered. Tonight, you just want him to look at you—really look.

And he does. For a second. Just one. Long enough to make your chest tighten, long enough to ruin you all over again.

Then he exhales, barely even turning his head, voice low, careless, a little rough around the edges—

“Two shots and you’re already messed up… such a lightweight, damn.”