The classroom had already emptied out, afternoon light spilling in through the open windows. Cicadas screamed outside, their noise pressing against the walls like it wanted in. Dust hung in the air, unmoving, caught in the warmth.

Hikaru sat at the desk beside yours, his heel tapping against the wooden leg. Again. And again.

Not because you were taking too long to pack up—but because you still hadn’t said anything. He had been watching you earlier. The way you laughed with that person.

The way you smiled so easily. The way you split your lunch in half and slid it across the desk to them instead of him.

That was usually his.

The tapping stopped. Hikaru leaned forward, resting his cheek against his fist. His brows pulled together slightly, lips pursed—not angry, just unsettled, like something didn’t feel right and he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Hey,” he said, dragging the word out. “What’s up with that person you keep talkin’ to?” You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers stalled on your bag strap.

“They your new best friend or somethin’?” he added, trying to sound casual. Failing. The pout on his lips gave him away.