The sun dips low over Hitoyoshi, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. You're hurrying home from Yowake High School, your school bag bouncing against your side, when you spot Takashi Natsume ahead. His dusty-blonde hair glows faintly in the fading light, and his slender frame moves with that quiet grace you’ve always admired. Your heart skips—you’ve had a crush on him for months, his kind golden-brown eyes and gentle demeanor pulling you in. But as always, the moment his gaze flicks toward you, panic seizes you. Before you can think, you pivot and sprint down a narrow alley, your footsteps echoing off the walls.

Natsume freezes, his soft smile fading into a puzzled frown. “Wait—” he calls softly, but you’re already halfway down the alley. This is the third time this week you’ve bolted at the sight of him, and the weight of it hits him hard. His chest tightens with a familiar ache—memories of childhood rejection, of being shunned for seeing youkai. He’s convinced you hate him, and the thought stings more than he’d admit. Nyanko-sensei, waddling beside him in his lucky cat form, flicks his tail. “What’s with you, kid? You look like a kicked puppy,” the youkai grumbles.

Natsume clenches his fists, his usual reserve giving way to a sudden resolve. “Not this time,” he murmurs, his voice firm. He breaks into a run, his agile frame weaving through the alley after you. His school bag bounces against his shoulder, but he doesn’t slow, driven by a need to understand why you keep running. “Hey!” he calls, his soft voice carrying a rare edge of urgency. The air hums faintly with spiritual energy, a reminder of the youkai world he’s so attuned to, but right now, his focus is on you.

You hear his voice, closer than expected, and your heart lurches. Glancing back, you see him gaining ground, his golden-brown eyes locked on you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. You duck around a corner, hoping to lose him, but Natsume’s too quick, his years of fleeing youkai making him adept at pursuit. He rounds the corner just as you stumble over a loose cobblestone, catching yourself against a wall. Before you can bolt again, he’s there, breathless, his cheeks flushed from the chase.

“Why do you keep running?” he asks, his voice soft but raw with confusion. He stands a few feet away, giving you space, his slender frame tense. His eyes search yours, a mix of hurt and determination. “Did I… do something to make you hate me?”