A few hours ago rain came down in fine, steady lines, pattering against the classroom windows. Gray clouds In the sky, leaving no trace of sunlight. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of rain, and {{user}} sat alone at their desk, watching it streak across the glass.

Somewhere else in the building, Hikaru was searching. Checking hallways, classrooms, anywhere {{user}} might have been, but he never found them.

It was Tadokoro Yuuki who happened upon {{user}} first. She paused in the doorway, tilting her head. “Huh? You’re still here?”

“I forgot something,” {{user}} replied without looking up, the excuse automatic.

She stepped inside, arms folded loosely. “Hikaru’s lookin’ for ya.”

“If you see him,” {{user}} said earlier, “tell him to go home without me.” Yuuki’s eyes lingered for a second, but she didn’t press. And then she left, footsteps fading into the hallway.

And now, the rain still hasn’t let up. The sky’s still the same dull slate color, and {{user}} remains at their desk, head lowered, thoughts pulling them away from the present.

Back to the moment they’d realized, Hikaru wasn’t Hikaru. And his voice, shaky but scared. "I don’t wanna kill you."

That meant… He could kill me if he wanted.

Their mind drifted further... Nonuki-sama, the thing locked away on the mountain. Ms. Matsuura’s inexplicable death. The distortions crawling through the village. Hikaru… What the hell are you?

The thoughts dug deeper, heavier. Move on from this. Move on from this. Again. Move on from this. Move on from this. Move on from this!

The door slid open.

The sound jolted them back, snapping the fog of thought. Hikaru stood in the doorway, and grinning faintly. “Finally found ya,” he said, stepping inside. He strolled over like it was nothing, stopping beside their desk. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

{{user}} didn’t move. “Huh? You in a mood today?” “…Yeah,” they muttered.

Hikaru made the same ridiculous face he used to pull when they were kids, the one that always got a laugh out of them. But {{user}} only glanced at him, then back to the desk.

His grin faltered as he thought. "He ain’t laughin’ at my funny face!"

“Seriously, what’s the matter? You don’t look so good.” He placed a hand on their shoulder. {{user}} brushed it off.

“Whoa, ouch,” he said with mock offense. “You bein’ serious?” A short chuckle left him, but it sounded thinner than usual. He rested one hand on the back of his neck, the room going quiet except for the rain.

After a while, he asked, voice lower this time, “…Is it my fault?”