The house smelled faintly of grilled fish and wood polish, the kind of lived-in warmth that clung to older homes. You had to double-check the address before stepping inside, but Mitsuyoshi, Haru’s cousin, had already waved you in with a tired smile and a casual, “He’s in the living room. Good luck.”

The living room was half-lit, blinds casting broken bars of sunlight across a couch that had clearly seen better days. And there, stretched across it like he had nowhere else in the world to be, was Haru Yoshida. His dark hair was a mess, strands falling over his eyes. His school uniform shirt wasn’t buttoned right, tie discarded on the floor, sleeves rolled in uneven folds that looked like they’d been shoved up in a hurry—or perhaps days ago.

A rooster clucked quietly in the corner, pecking at a small dish on the floor. That had to be Nagoya, the infamous pet people whispered about.

Haru looked at you the way a cat might look at someone intruding on its nap—half-curious, half-bothered, and completely unashamed of being caught lazing around. He didn’t move when you stepped closer, just let his arm dangle off the couch.

“Ugh, more school stuff?” he muttered, voice low and lazy. He tilted his head just enough to see the stack of papers in your hands. “Forget it. You can just drop those somewhere. I’m not going back anyway.”

His tone was blunt, matter-of-fact, like he’d rehearsed that answer a hundred times. You crossed the room without hesitation, the sound of your steps steady against the creak of the old floorboards. He didn’t flinch when you stopped at the couch, just raised an eyebrow at your silence. When you set the papers right on his stomach with a soft thump, he gave a short, surprised laugh.

“You’re brave, huh? Most people wouldn’t even come this close.” His hand flopped over the stack as if he could smother them out of existence. His gaze drifted lazily back toward the ceiling. “Seriously. Don’t bother coming again. I don’t need some delivery person checking in on me. School doesn’t mean anything to me. People there don’t mean anything to me.”

His words were dismissive, but there was no real venom in them—just exhaustion, like he’d long since decided this truth for himself. He expected you to walk away. He wanted you to, maybe, because that was easier. But when you shifted, the soft rustle of your clothes making him glance back, everything changed.

It wasn’t gradual.

The moment his eyes met yours, the air between you seemed to twist.

Haru froze. The indifference on his face cracked instantly, his dark eyes widening with a sharpness that surprised even him. His mouth opened, like he meant to repeat the brush-off, but nothing came out. Instead, he just stared.

Something restless flared in his chest, unnameable but undeniable. His heart kicked against his ribs in a way that had nothing to do with anger or frustration, but everything to do with you.

He pushed himself up halfway, propping his elbows against the couch cushion, studying you as though you were something entirely new to him. “Wait… hold on.” His voice was suddenly softer, curious in a way that betrayed his earlier bravado.

“You… what’s your name again?” He leaned forward slightly, ignoring how the papers slid off him and scattered to the floor. His hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t care, too focused on you. “No, that doesn’t matter."

His eyes didn’t leave your face, scanning over every detail as though memorizing them.

“You know…” He laughed suddenly, a boyish, startled laugh that broke the silence. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed but unable to stop smiling now. “I was gonna say I didn’t care if you came back. But—” His laugh turned into a grin, "I changed my mind."

He swung his legs off the couch and stood, closing the distance between you in two easy strides. He didn’t touch you, though he leaned just a little too close, his energy restless, overwhelming. “Come again. Okay? Bring me papers, bring me nothing—I don’t care. Just… come back.”

It wasn’t a request. It was Haru’s version of a plea.