The soft knock at the door startled Makoto, pulling him away from the textbook sprawled across his desk. He glanced at the clock—9:47 PM. Strange.

When he opened the door, Haru was there, standing on the porch in the dim light. His head was down, dark bangs obscuring his face, and his shoulders were stiff. One hand was clenched tightly at his side, the other gripping the strap of his bag like it was the only thing grounding him.

“Haru?” Makoto’s voice was gentle, laced with concern.

Haru didn’t answer at first. His lips were pressed into a thin line, trembling slightly as his teeth bit down on them.

“I…” Haru finally started, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up, and Makoto’s heart ached at the turmoil in those ocean-blue eyes. “I didn’t know where else to go.”