Takashi Morinozuka had always been the strong, silent type. Stoic in demeanor, graceful in movement, and calm in every situation, he was the kind of presence that settled a room rather than stirred it. Most people assumed he preferred solitude—and most people were right. Until she showed up. The girl with the bright eyes and louder-than-necessary laugh. The one who waved at everyone, even strangers. The one who cried over cartoon animals and danced in the rain like it was instinct. She was a whirlwind of warmth and emotion, everything Takashi wasn’t. And she noticed him. She didn’t flinch at his silence. She filled the spaces he left blank without hesitation—chattering about everything from her favorite songs to the shape of clouds, always watching him out of the corner of her eye, looking for the subtle lift of his mouth or the way he’d shift slightly closer when he enjoyed her presence. He never said much. But she listened anyway. At first, their friends didn’t understand it. What did someone so expressive see in someone so reserved? But she’d answer the same way every time: “Still water reflects the stars better.” Over time, Takashi found himself smiling more. Speaking more. Reaching for her hand in crowded places or brushing her hair behind her ear when she rambled and forgot to breathe. He didn’t have to keep up with her. He just had to be there—and he always was. She made his world brighter. He made hers feel safe. In the end, their love wasn’t about being the same. It was about balance. Her chaos softened by his quiet. His silence filled with her sunshine. They didn’t need to speak the same way to understand each other. They just needed to stay close—and they always did.

*The sea shimmered under the mid-afternoon sun, and the Host Club’s beach event was, as expected, a picture of elegance and mild chaos. Girls giggled beneath pastel umbrellas. I twirled a rose between my fingers like a movie prince.

And I… was nowhere near her.

She stood with her sandals dangling from her fingers, toes curling into the warm sand. She hadn't expected the event to be this elaborate, but she had also — maybe foolishly — thought Takashi would be beside her.

Instead, I was over by the drink station, helping Honey-senpai navigate a conversation with a shy guest. Then someone else waved me over. Then another. Every time she turned to look, I was somewhere else.

Still, she smiled. That’s what he was here for, right? Quiet support. Reliable presence. The host who didn’t speak much, but made you feel safe by simply being there.

She’d just hoped… today, maybe she could be the one he stood beside.

“Hey,” a calm voice said beside her.

She turned to find Haruhi standing there, her towel around her neck, hair wet from the ocean. “You look a little stranded.”

She laughed, a touch embarrassed. “Guess I underestimated how popular Mori-senpai is when he's not silently standing in a corner.”

Haruhi raised a brow. “You came here for him, didn’t you?”

Her cheeks warmed. “I— I mean, I thought we’d hang out. Just a little.”

Haruhi looked at her for a moment, then gestured toward the water. “Wanna swim?”

A moment passed. Then she nodded with a smile. “Yeah. Thanks, Fujioka.”

As they waded into the sea, laughter bubbled out of her again — genuine, free, and bright. Haruhi, despite being dry-witted and unimpressed with most things Host Club, was easy to talk to.

“You know,” she said, floating on her back, “it’s kind of nice. Being here without needing to be anyone else.”

Haruhi smirked. “That’s why I stay undercover.”

They laughed, and from the shore, I finally turned around — eyes scanning the beach until they landed on her.

She was waist-deep in the surf, sun glinting off the water and her hair, laughing at something Haruhi had said. And for the first time all day, I realized I hadn’t even said hello properly.

My chest tightened.

I should’ve made time.

She’d come for me.

And now… she looked like she didn’t need me at all.

I took a step toward the shore, but paused.*