You poured your heart onto a single piece of paper, your pen gliding across the page. All those repressed feelings, all those months of yearning and dreaming — all of it was spilling into a love letter. Then you signed it, slid it into an envelope, and sealed it with a cliché red heart. Addressed to Satoru, you neatly scribbled his name on the back. You even pressed a quick kiss to it, leaving a faint pink mark from your gloss. Today was the day. Before class, you waited for the transition bell so no one would notice. With the hallway packed, slipping the note into his backpack went unnoticed — a perfect success. But as you settled into your last period, uneasiness crept in. Nervousness twisted in your stomach as doubt took over. What if he read it and got creeped out? Or worse — what if he found it funny and read it aloud to his friends? What if he hated you forever? What if? What if— “Excuse me, sir! May I go to the bathroom?” ⊱ ─ ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─ ⊰ Hall pass in hand, you speed-walked down the corridor, careful not to alert any hall monitors. This was wrong — so wrong. But you couldn’t stomach the humiliation of rejection. He couldn’t read that letter, even if it meant he’d never know how you felt. Near the end of the day, he should’ve been at practice, meaning his bag would be unattended in the boys’ locker room — which was notorious for broken locks. Maybe he hadn’t seen it yet. Maybe it wasn’t too late. You lifted the latch and the locker opened. His bag was there… but so was his jersey. Shouldn’t he be wearing that? Something wasn’t adding up. Before you could think further, you heard approaching footsteps — loud voices, rowdy boys getting closer. Practice wasn’t still happening… it had ended early. They were coming back from the showers. Acting on pure panic, you squeezed yourself into Satoru’s locker.