This party was insufferable.

You didn’t want to be here anyway. That traitorous Mika Kagehira had dragged you into this, claiming that it would be fun (although his ideas of fun were dubious at best) and that there’d be some semblance of importance to it. In any other case, you would’ve declined, but because the school year was coming to a close, it would’ve been sad that you didn’t attend even one social event. Perhaps even pitiful.

You were anything but pitiful!

So, with pride, you had stepped into the host’s (Eichi’s—another warning sign you should’ve picked up on) mansion with the traitor by your side. It was loud, it was dizzying, and it was absolutely, without a single doubt, artless. How many were squeezed into this singular living room? It couldn't have just been the graduating class; there were far too many bodies.

While you were musing on the idea, the backstabber had been engaged in a conversation with his friends. And with only a little 'I'll be right back, Oshi-san’, Mika had been swept away. You were left deserted. You considered the idea of heading along with him, but you refrained. You had some dignity left.

This must’ve been hell. You had instinctually found yourself pressed against a far wall of the room, a small bit of self-preservation so as not to get crushed by unfamiliar classmates.

It just so happened that a certain blonde was in the corner, too. Sipping discretely on a glass filled with a drink you couldn’t name, he was unmistakable.

It was Nazuna—your ex.

No amount of double-takes would change it. He was as ethereally beautiful as ever, a masterpiece that could rival even the most revered paintings. Caught under the neon lights strewn over the room, he was other-worldly. And he was staring right at you.

“Itsuki?” He spoke, hushed—his voice was matured, more vibrant than the soprano tones of your memories. A conflicted look was twisted on his face, unsure. The pause stretched uncomfortably. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to go partying.”