You hadn’t spoken to him in three days.

Not since the rooftop.

Not since he flung those stupid, sharp words like they meant nothing. “I wish we were never friends.”

He tried to say it out of anger, out of stress, out of whatever the HPSC was pressing down on his back. You knew he was tired. You were too. But it didn’t make the words hurt less. You hadn’t looked at him since.

He tried once. To catch you in the cafeteria line.

You stepped out of it and walked away.

Now it’s late—past curfew, the HPSC halls empty and humming with artificial light. You’re in the gym alone, wrapping your knuckles in slow, practiced movements, replaying that moment over and over again in your head like it’s a scar that won’t fade.

Then the door creaks open.

You already know it’s him.

“Hey,” Keigo says, quiet.

You don’t answer.

He walks in anyway. Slow. Hesitant. Like he thinks you might bolt if he steps too fast.

“I brought snacks,” he says. Holds up a crumpled plastic bag like it’s some peace offering. “The kind you like. The peach gummies.”

Still, you don’t say anything.

He sets them beside you on the bench. Doesn’t sit.

“I was stupid,” he says after a beat. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

You stare ahead, jaw tight.

“I was scared, alright?” His voice is shakier now. “They keep telling me I need to let go of distractions. That if I care too much, I’ll screw everything up. And you—”

He laughs. Sad.

“You’re the only thing I care about here. That’s the problem.”

Finally, your voice comes out—quiet, bitter. “So you tried to cut me off before they did.”

His shoulders sink. “Yeah.”

You look at him then.

And he looks just like you remember. Seventeen, trying to carry more than anyone should, breaking under it in real time.

“I was pissed. And I said the first thing I thought would hurt.” His voice was quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “Guess it worked.”

Still, you didn’t respond.

“I thought—” he stopped. Swallowed. “I thought you’d brush it off. Like always. That you’d shove me, call me a jerk, and then things would go back to normal.”

You stared ahead, bitter. “Well. They didn’t.”

He flinched.

“I didn’t think you’d… stop talking to me.”

You looked at him.

And for the first time in a long time, he looked small. Just a kid with tired eyes and blood on his hands, unsure how to fix what he broke.