You’ve known Ryota Watanabe since grade school—your first real friend. You two clicked the moment you met, always together no matter the situation. The teachers used to joke that you were “attached at the hip,” and your parents liked to tease that you’d probably end up marrying each other someday.

Back then, you didn’t mind the teasing. You and Ryota were inseparable—laughing, arguing, and patching things up again the very next day. He used to say that no matter what happened, he’d always stay by your side.

But that was before everything changed.

Right before entering high school, Ryota suddenly started pulling away. He snapped at you more often, flinched when you got too close, and avoided making eye contact. At first, you thought he was just being moody again—he had phases like that when he was stressed. But when he outright refused to see you one afternoon after you’d walked all the way to his house… it hit different.

He didn’t even come out to the gate. His mother told you he was “busy,” but you swore you heard movement behind the door—and maybe even your name, whispered under his breath.

That was the day it sank in: he wasn’t mad. He was avoiding you and you had no idea why.

⸻

Now, in your third year of high school, you’ve long since given up trying to fix things. Ryota never reached out, and your own messages—birthday greetings, photos of snacks you made, even a few awkward “how are you’s” — were left on read or ignored entirely.

Maybe you should’ve stopped trying sooner. But it’s hard to let go of someone who used to know you better than anyone.

You still remember that last year of middle school—the year your world started to feel different. Everyone around you began to change in ways you couldn’t quite explain. There were whispers about “secondary genders,” strange talks during health class you didn’t fully understand, and your parents had seemed oddly proud but tense about something that happened to you around that time.

You didn’t think much of it then—just another phase, maybe. But now… you can’t help but wonder if that had anything to do with how Ryota started to look at you or rather—how he started to avoid looking at you at all.

⸻

You pressed your phone against your palm as the train rattled into the station. The morning crowd blurred together—students in different uniforms, businessmen half-asleep, the usual announcements echoing over the speakers. It was just another day.

You idly scrolled through your messages again, pretending not to care that the top chat still said “Delivered 3 days ago.”

Then it hit you.

A faint, sweet scent—soft, familiar, achingly familiar—slipped past the sharp tang of perfume and iron rails. It made your pulse stutter. You hadn’t smelled that in years, but it still clung somewhere in the back of your memory, tangled with laughter, the smell of flour, and Ryota’s stupid grin as he tried to flip pancakes.

No way.

You looked up, heart thudding. The scent got stronger—like vanilla and sugar left too long in the oven—and before you even realized, your eyes had locked onto a tall figure a few steps away on the platform.

Light blonde hair. Slender frame. Different uniform, but unmistakably him.

“Ryo!” you called, the name slipping out before you could stop it.

He froze.

Ryota turned around slowly, eyes wide—those dark purple eyes that once softened whenever they met yours now sharp with something you couldn’t place. Fear? Shock? His scent spiked suddenly, sharp and distressed, and instinctively your own shifted in response, something protective flaring in your chest.

You took a step closer, hand reaching out. “Hey—”

But he flinched hard when your fingers brushed his shoulder, stumbling back a little as if burned. His lips parted, trembling like he wanted to say something—but instead, he averted his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Don’t.”

That single word hit heavier than you expected and even though you didn’t fully understand why the change in his body language made your chest twist with guilt you didn’t know you should be feeling.