I can't hear or feels anything.
Not the breeze outside. Or pencil and paper on my hands.
Even my own breath feels far away.
Only the thud in my chest, fast, faster, too loud, drowning everything else.
A faint echo of… a high-pitched laugh. Not real, not here.
But… bad. Wrong.
My head aches.
My lungs won't open. My fingers tremble, and I don't know why.
I blink—
And the porch is gone.
Somehow I'm upstairs, door closed, my back pressed against it.
I don't remember walking, I don't remember climbing the stairs, only the noise in my chest, the shaking in my hands, the fear that doesn't have a name.
A creak from the floorboards under my feet makes me flinch. Then… a scrape. Like nails on wood? No. Just the memory of it? Something, someone… maybe?
I stumble forward, knees weak, breath still uneven, too fast, too shallow, every inhale sharp like broken glass in my chest.
My workstation.
I sit in front of the desk. Papers are scattered, countless canvas hanging on the wall, and the pens tipped over.
My chest twists tighter.
I don't even think about it... I just start rummaging, hands sliding over drawers and small boxes, pulling things out without seeing, without thinking.
Then my fingers close around it.
Nyaboron charm. All of Sakurasou member has one.
I don't understand why we even made it when we started developing games.
But I squeeze Nyaboron charm in my left hand, fingers tight around the crooked little body.
The paint is uneven, the lines is wobbling.
This thing is so… clumsy.
Just like him.
I don't think about why it calms me. I don't even think at all.
I just hold it.
My right hand grabs my school notebook without meaning to, tearing a page out, corners crumpled from my grip. Pencil slides into my fingers like it knows more than I do.
I scribble. Lines, loops, shapes, circles that don't close,
Nothing makes sense, nothing is supposed to,
The scribbling doesn't stop. Pencil scratches over and over, frantic, reckless, like I'm trying to bleed something out, or make the world listen, or maybe just let it go.
I don't know.
My hand slows. The pencil drags across the paper, half lines, half smudges. I don't look at what I've made. Don't care. The pain?? in my chest… quieter?
Maybe. Not gone, just… softer.
Nyaboron charm still in my left hand.
Somehow holding it stops me from shaking completely.
And the music… I can still hear it, somewhere behind my eyes. Quiet guitar, soft synth. Looping.
"Despite everything… it's still you."
The words... I don't understand them.
I can't.
But they press against something in me.
My chest rises, falls. Faster than normal. Slower than before. I'm not sure.
I'm not sure of anything.
A knock.
"Mashiro… sorry if I'm disturbing you, but can you open the door?" Sorata's voice came through.
I freeze, fingers clutching Nyaboron tighter. My right hand still rests on the pencil.
"Usually you don't just leave your pen and manuscript lying around… maybe you're tired, Mashiro? The deadline's in three days, but we can go over it together… okay?,"
Soft. Warm. Understanding.
I can't answer. I… why… why now? I don't know why, I just… I don't want him to see me like this, I just…
But… I want that warmth. That sense of being safe.
My chest beats harder again. Faster.
Too loud.
My hands trembling.
I clutch Nyaboron, pencil still in my right hand, trying to anchor myself somewhere, anywhere.
A few seconds pass.
Too long.
"Mashiro?" Sorata's voice, quieter this time, a little hesitant. "Are you there? Can I… come in?"
Silence stretches.
I heard something, my head hurt.
So hurt..,,
This sound is like faint static from the TV.
'The clock ticking is too loud.'
"…I'm tired," I say finally, voice flat, "…Want to sleep before dinner."
There's a pause. A soft shuffle on the other side of the door.
"Um... I understand. We stayed up late yesterday working on your manuscript and Nyaboron. So, I'll leave your manuscript and tools by the front door, okay? Happy sleep, Mashiro… I'll wake you up when it's time for dinner."
"…Okay," I whisper
Then, almost without thinking… "…I love you, Sorata."
A pause. And then his voice, quiet, a little hesitant but steady, smooth in that awkward way he always has. "I… I love you too, Mashiro. Really."
Something presses in my chest. Warm? Relief? Maybe. But… empty too. Why… why does it feel empty? Why now? Why me? Why… why do I even feel this?
Confusion twists inside me. My chest still pounds, hands still trembling. And yet… curiosity creeps in. This strange, ugly feeling?
Not because of the word "Love."
But because of that.
I can still feel it.
I don't know what it is, but it feels… mine.
It's messy. Sharp and hollow, and maybe a little… real.
My chest still beats too fast. Still too loud.
But it's… smaller.
Somehow.
Enough that I can… rest.
---------------------------
Sorata is still warm. Still safe.
But… why does it feel odd?
Like I'm not… satisfied?
The warmth is there, the sleeve is the same, the quiet comfort hasn't changed.
But inside me, something moves.
That ugly feeling again.
The game.
The pixel shapes, awkward, yet alive and oddly charming.
The music... not sweet like Nyaboron, but… breathing.
Different.
Different from my paintings.
Because someone made me feel that.
Not Sorata.
Ren.
He makes me scared.
But then… why?
Why am I not satisfied with 'safe'?
Why am I curious about him?
Why does it feel like… something I shouldn't want… but still do?
The brush feels heavier than before.
I remember it. That game. The little pixel boy with the flat face, walking through a colorless house. The sound... just a guitar, repeating, repeating, but it made the air feel alive.
Too alive.
Then the mirror.
That mirror.
I don't know why, but I keep seeing it.
Him?Her?
ADULT. ME
My hand moves without thinking.
It hurts. Every stroke feels wrong, but I can't stop.
It isn't Nanairo Drops. It isn't 'my' painting.
It's ugly. Messy.
Just like scribbling of children that I have seen with Sorata when we are in date.
But it's mine.
When I finish, I don't feel relief.
I exhale like something broke out of me, something sharp, something burning. My throat tight, my body trembling.
Pain, hurts. but....
'I feel more lighter'
I hide the canvas right away. I don't want Sorata to see.
I don't want everyone to see.
Because this… this isn't what they expect from Shiina Mashiro.
But when I close my eyes, I can still see the mirror.
And for the first time, I feel like it's looking back
---------------------------
Morning sunlight slipped through the trees, cutting the street into patches of light and shadow. Nanami's ponytail moved ahead of us, swinging like a metronome I didn't need to follow.
Beside me, Sorata's steps dragged, his hair uneven and soft-looking, as if sleep still clung to him.
My fingers curled tighter around Sorata's sleeve. The world felt… quieter here, closer to him.
Ren was there, just at the edge of her sight. It made my chest feel tight.
She didn't understand why it bothered her.
Only that she wanted to disappear into the warmth press against her side, to fold herself into the familiarity of him.
Clinging to Sorata. It was… safer. Predictable. Something she could hold onto when everything else was confusing and loud.
Her mind traced the soft slope of his shoulder, the way his sleeve smelled faintly of yesterday's air and coffee and him.
It made her feel something she couldn't label. Relief? Curiosity? Maybe just the faintest echo of… "home," though that word felt too big, too human for her to actually own.
She pressed closer, her head tilting slightly, eyes half-lidded. If anyone asked why, she wouldn't have an answer.
"Honestly, Sorata," Nanami said with an exasperated sigh, "it's the first day of the new term and you already look half-dead. Did you stay up late again?"
I felt Sorata shift slightly beside me, rubbing his eyes. His tired smile. Soft. Familiar. I notice it more than I feel it.
"I was finishing up the proposal layout for class… and tweaking the script for the game club. Besides, you were up late too, weren't you? Practicing your lines," he said.
Nanami's cheeks flushed pink. "Th-that's different! I have an audition coming up soon. If I don't practice properly, I'll never stand out."
I tugged gently at Sorata's sleeve without looking up. "Sorata… warm."
He glanced down at me, sleepy, embarrassed, and said, "Yeah… it's warm today. Spring's finally here."
Nanami shook her head, half amused, half annoyed. "Don't just agree like that. Mashiro, are you ready for art prep this afternoon?"
"Art… is art," I answered, not looking at her.
Nanami let out a small laugh under her breath. "Honestly… the both of you."
As we neared the school gates, she turned to Ren. "What about you, Ren-kun? Which class are you in?"
"1-B, Nanami-senpai," he said softly. "It's near the art rooms."
"That's good," Sorata said, stifling another yawn. "If Mashiro wanders off again, you can help her find her way back."
I notice Ren's gaze. My fingers press Sorata's sleeve tighter.
Closer.
With him, the world doesn't hurt as much.
Nothing more. Nothing else.
He gave a small, polite smile. "Of course. I'll do what I can."
I stay like this, steadying each step, sketchbook tucked in, head resting lightly. Spring sunlight, people, voices—they exist. I follow.
Sorata.
That's enough.
---------------------------
I dream again.
Not of Sorata. Not of warmth.
But of a cold house.
A long hallway with polished floors.
Shadows sitting at a table. Faces without mouths.
Paintings of me, painted by others, not me.
A voice that says: "You are talent. Nothing else."
I wake with my chest tight, hands damp, throat dry.
I feel suffocated.
I painted again. The pain was still there.
The colors moved differently.
Something was changing.
And then… I thought of the game.
I exhaled, and my chest burned. My breath was uneven.
Why?
Why did his game make me feel that?
Sorata says video games are art. He wants to show me that, and I understand his dream.
I feel the same with manga. I understand that.
But I didn't feel anything with Nyaboron. Even when everyone worked together, I only drew. I didn't care for the characters.
Ren's game is different.
It made me feel something.
That is new.
That is frightening.
So I avoid him.
When Nanami is there, I stand behind her. When Sorata is there, I stand beside him.
Never alone with Ren.
I don't want to feel that again.
But…
For the first time, I am curious.
More curious than that warmth Sorata gives me.
---------------------------
The backyard was quiet.
Sakura petals drifted down, pale against the fading sky. I stared at them without thought. My eyes followed their fall, but inside me, nothing moved.
I didn't blink until the sliding door creaked open.
"Yo, Mashiro."
Chihiro-sensei stepped out, beer in her hand like usual.
She didn't lean in the doorway this time. Instead, she crossed the yard slowly and lowered herself beside me on the wooden step.
For a while, she didn't say anything. Only the faint rustle of the blossoms between us.
"…Are you okay?" she asked at last.
Her voice was flat, but the weight of it pressed into me, heavier than the silence had been.
"I've been watching you this week," she said, voice low but edged. "You're clinging to Sorata more than usual. Always glued to his side, and even more so when Ren's around."
I tilted my head, like her words were just information.
"I'm okay, Chihiro," I said. "I just want to feel Sorata's warmth. That's all."
Her eyes narrowed, searching.
"And Ren?"
"He's new," I replied. "A stranger suddenly living here… it makes me nervous."
Chihiro cracked open a can of beer and took a slow sip. Her posture slouched back into that familiar lazy curve, but her gaze didn't soften.
Silence stretched between us. I kept my face still, the same practiced blankness, only tilting my head a little as if puzzled by her persistence.
Chihiro studied me for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, her eyes softened. She lifted the can and took a deeper gulp this time, the carbonation fizzing sharp in the quiet.
"Ahh… well, I thought there was something serious," she muttered. "You kids are closer than ever. Not bad. In just one year, you've gone from an alien who couldn't even hold chopsticks to this. Friends, a dream, even ordinary teenage problems."
She leaned back against the door, smirking faintly at her own words. "Honestly, that's already more than enough. For an adult like me? That's more than most people ever get."
Chihiro tipped the can again, foam catching on her lip before she wiped it with the back of her hand. Her gaze shifted, past me, toward the garden where the sakura petals kept drifting in slow circles.
When I glanced at her, she was smiling.
I don't know why she smile.
I only recognized the shape of a smile.
"You know, Mashiro," she said, eyes following the blossoms as if they carried something away with them. "I'm glad you're enjoying your youth like this… like a normal girl. I hope, before you go back to England, you get to feel all of it. Friends. Stupid fights. Even heartbreak, maybe. All of it."
Chihiro's gaze drifted to the yard, following the petals tumbling in the breeze. She tipped back her can and took another sip, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"Because once you're older, you don't get another shot at this."
For a moment, something unreadable crossed her face, then she huffed a quiet laugh, masking it. "Still… maybe you'll thank me one day. For shoving you into this circus with Sorata and the rest. Annoying as they are, they're the kind of mess worth keeping around."
From my seat, all I caught was the smile.
Just another smile.
I stayed quiet, letting the wind stir the petals while Chihiro finished her beer.
With a soft grunt, she pushed herself up, brushing off her skirt. "Don't sit out here too long, you'll catch a chill."
She paused, as if weighing her words, then glanced back at me. "And Mashiro… if something's bothering you, just tell me. We're family. Distant or not, you can be honest with me."
Before I could answer, the front door slid open.
"I'm back!" Sorata's voice rang out, easy and familiar.
A beat later, another voice echoed his. Ren's. "I'm back."
Their voices overlapped.
The sound was the same, but it wasn't.
Chihiro exhaled, half a laugh, half a sigh. "Well, they're back. Guess I'll have a beer while waiting for dinner."
Sorata's footsteps came closer, his voice following. "Mashiro? You out here again?"
Ren trailed behind him, pausing at the porch. "Good afternoon, Mashiro-senpai. Chihiro-sensei." He offered a small, polite smile.
Chihiro chuckled, lifting her can. "Your politeness is weird in this dorm, Natsuki… but I like it."
Sorata came over, shaking his head with a grin. He slipped his jacket from his shoulders and, without asking, draped it gently over mine.
"You'll catch a cold if you keep sitting out here. You really worry me sometimes, Mashiro." His voice lowered, soft but firm, the kind that left no room for argument.
I blinked at him, my hands brushing the fabric, unsure how to answer. Warmth pressed against me, closer than the air.
Ren's eyes met mine.
Too steady.
Too close.
Like he knew me.
Myself.
I didn't… understand. Couldn't.
Anywhere but that gaze.
I turned away, letting Sorata's presence fill the space instead.
Ren broke the silence first. "Sorata-senpai, should I prepare the ingredients for dinner?"
Sorata straightened, a little relieved. "Yeah… thanks, Ren."
"You're welcome, Sorata-senpai." With a small nod, Ren turned and slipped into the kitchen.
Chihiro grinned, taking another sip from her can. "You know what? Watching the two of you feels like sitting in the wrong genre. I'll step out before I get dragged into some romantic comedy."
She pushed herself up, the hiss of her can soft against her palm, and wandered toward the hall. At the kitchen doorway she slowed, leaning in.
Her voice was lighter, playful. "Ren, be a good kid and humor your tired sensei. What's a proper snack that goes with beer? I'm too lazy to Google it."
I caught the sound of his answer, low, even, like always. "Sensei, please don't drink too much. Moderately is best."
Not quite scolding or gentle.
Chihiro laughed, the sound sharp, then fading as she waved him off and padded down the hall. The clink of her can echoed until it didn't.
Sorata laughed softly, the sound loosening what little tension clung to the air. Then, without warning, he leaned closer and brushed his lips against my cheek.
"I'm home," he said.
The words I had practiced, again and again, until they were smooth enough not to catch in my mouth... rose automatically.
"Welcome home, Sorata."
It came out almost steady, almost natural. The thousandth rehearsal wearing the shape of something real.
Home.
I don't understand that concept.
When I feel warmth… maybe that is home. Right?
But ever since that afternoon, since that game—
empty.
empty.
empty.
empty.
I keep thinking.
I want to know.
I want to feel it again.
Scared. Curious.
Both.
Friend. Family.
I don't understand those either.
Ordinary.
I know I'm not that.
People call me anomaly. Genius. Abnormal. Crazy.
But Ren—
when Ren spoke through his game, my chest… heavy. Then lighter.
It wasn't like copying or pretending.
It was mine.
Genuine.
Maybe that's what this is.
Maybe that's why Sorata's warmth feels different.
But… not enough.
Something missing.
Like… the shape of it isn't right.
Warmth… safety… love…
The words blur.
Overlap.
I reach—
and it slips.
And even when I hold it,
why does it still feel… hollow?
---------------------------
Dinner was finished.
As usual, we gathered in the common room, in front of the TV.
Sorata was busy with his laptop, Nanami kept talking, her voice filling the space.
And Ren.
In front of me with his sketchbook, drawing something.
Same as me, with my canvas.
We just sat in silence.
Ren is closer now.
I'm becoming more used to his presence.
I'm still scared… still uneasy when I feel his gaze.
But I allow it.
I want to feel that again—
That genuine? emotion? I felt.
His pudding is good. His cooking too.
He is a good friend to Sorata.
And that is good.
Nanami is his friend too.
Friend… I'm their friend.
How do people feel something when they say that word?
Friend.
Misaki and Jin are also friends with me. With everyone.
All of us… friends with Sorata.
Why am I thinking this?
Why does my chest feel tight?
Before I can think further...
"I've… I've always loved you…!"
Nanami's voice.
Clear.
Her face froze after saying it. Eyes blinking fast, mouth pulling into a nervous laugh.
"Ahaha… sorry, you two. Did I disturb you?"
Sorata shook his head, tapping his stylus against the tablet. "It's fine. You're improving a lot."
Nanami's face brightened. Her eyes moved next, toward Ren.
"Ren-kun… what are you drawing?"
He turned his sketchbook a little. A strange old woman with an engine on her back. A boy with block shoulders, with weird line in his eyes.
Nanami tilted her head, then smiled. "Wow… they're… unique." Her laugh was soft, though her eyes stayed on the old woman's grin, uneasy. "Do you plan to use them for something?"
Ren's voice was quiet. "Just a hobby. Game sprites are fun to imagine, even if I can't program them yet."
Lie.
But I didn't tell Sorata or Nanami.
I don't know why.
Maybe because he let me see. And I wanted to keep it hidden, safe.
This ugly me. Not Shiina Mashiro like.
Sorata leaned over slightly to glance at my sketchbook. His brows rose in mild surprise.
"Pixel art, huh…" he murmured, his tone thoughtful.
He looked up at Ren, there is a faint smile in Sorata.
"You know, Ren… if you're interested, I might want to ask for your help someday. For illustrations… and soundtrack production too.
He chuckled softly, scratching his cheek with a hint of embarrassment.
It's so Sorata.
"I mean… it's still just a vague plan for now, but… having someone like you on the team would be reassuring."
"…Yeah. Someday," Ren whispered.
Why does he look like that? The corners of his mouth, the way his shoulders drop. Sadness. Is that the word for what I felt when I played his game?
Their talking is finished. I should continue my drawing. The white space on the canvas is waiting, but my hand doesn't move. Instead, I look at what Ren is making.
A little fox with pixel art style.
I feel a strange pull.
Curiosity.
I want to know if the fox will be in the game. I want to know what is happening inside Ren's head. Without meaning to, I keep glancing away from my work to his sketchbook, watching his face.
He has the same expression Sorata has when he is making something. There is a light in their eyes when they look at their creations.
But Ren's light is brighter.
I don't know why, but seeing it makes my chest tighten.
'Is there a light in my eyes, too?'
Sorata says there is. Nanami, Jin, Chihiro and Misaki... they all say the same thing.
They tell me I am at my brightest when I am painting, or when I am working on my manuscript.
But they are wrong.
Even when I am painting, I feel empty.
I glance at him again, and this time, I meet his gaze.
I avoided his gaze, back to my canvas.
*thump* *thump *thump*
'My heart... beat a little faster. What is this?.. it's not like scary one or uncomfortable like last time but...'
The sound of tearing paper cuts through my thoughts.
I watch Ren pull a page from his sketchbook, his movements careful and gentle. He looks at Sorata, and Sorata gives him a small, silent nod.
Then, Ren stands up and walks toward her.
"This might be useful for your canvas corner mascot. Or just… keep it," he said, placing the page on the small table beside her paint jars. I didn't respond, only continuing to paint with my usual silent focus.
I didn't hear the rest of the conversation after Ren left. My world had narrowed down to that single piece of paper.
The little fox.
My chest felt tight again, but this time, I recognized the sensation. It was the same feeling I got watching Sorata feed the cats on the front porch every morning.
As Misaki would say,
'Cute.'
I'm still scared of him. I don't understand why I'm like this... why I never seem to know anything for sure.
But there is one thing I am certain of.
I want to observe him.
I want to see his art, to know it better.
'I want to play his game again.'
---------------------------
The light was gone again.
I couldn't see my hands, but I could feel the weight of the brush on my palms.
It was heavy.
"_____Look..... Are you proud of ____?"
My voice sounded small, and fragile.
Dream?
"_____said it's ugly."
Am I crying? When did this dream start?
Then—
A touch. Soft.
A voice, drifting through the dark, wrapping around me like a blanket.
"My Mashiro… it's okay."
The words were quiet, but they reached me.
Warm.
"I don't care about your genius. Or your painting. Not today. Let's just sleep. Let's forget all of it for now."
Before I can respond, someone pulls my head into their lap. A hand rests gently on my forehead.
And then they begin to hum.
It's familiar.
"Sov, lille venn, nå er dagen over."
(Sleep, rest, little friend… now the day is over…)
"You're just my little girl," it murmurs, between the notes. "My special, golden girl. Hide the light, Mashiro. If they can't see it, they can't hurt you."
Warm. So warm.
Even in the dark, her voice is clear. A murmur, yes, but it's warm.
I want to hear it more.
"Alle mus i alle land ligger nå og sover."
(Lull me a bit, mother spins the wool... sleep is coming now, filled with magic and gold...)
*Pat* *Pat* *Pat*
Her hand on my head matches the thumping in my chest.
For a moment, I thought…
Please don't let this end.
But then the humming stops.
The warmth of it fades. The darkness shifts.
And suddenly, I'm back in the dorm.
The ceiling above me.
And I wake up.
---------------------------
I sat up and stayed there for a moment
My chest... it hurt. My heart was beating so fast, slamming against my ribs like it was trying to break through.
It reminded me of that time Ren showed me his game.
But...
Something was different.
Why were my eyes blurring? I reached up and touched them.
Wet.
And then something cracked open in my chest.
"Hah... hah— *sob* — *cough* — *sob*—"
The water wouldn't stop.
I couldn't stop it.
It just kept coming, spilling down my face.
Is this what they call crying?
It hurt. It felt like suffocating, like something pressing down on my lungs from the inside.
And I didn't even know why.
I didn't know why.
I looked up.
There I was, in the mirror.
The blankness I usually see in my reflection is gone. My eyes are red and swollen.
'Ah… so, even I can feel something real?'
I try to smile. I pull at the muscles in my face, imitating the expressions I've observed in "normal" people.
'Do I feel… relieved?'
I looked at my face and turned away.
Ugly. Truly ugly.
This wasn't the Shiina Mashiro everyone knew.
I didn't want Sorata to see this. I wanted to stay safe for him.
But then I thought of Ren.
Ever since he showed me that game, something in my world became unpredictable. I couldn't explain it. I still can't. There were nightmares that left me sitting up in the dark.
And then there was that dream. The warm one.
It hurts.
But for the first time, underneath the pain, there is a pull.
Longing.
I wanted to know who I was.
I wanted to remember.
And....
I wanted to know whose voice that was.
The dream was already fading, like usual.
But the voice stayed.
Warm. So warm that remembering it made my chest hurt all over again, and I didn't understand why.
I still don't.
Warmth isn't supposed to hurt. That's not how it works.
Is it?
"Ah— *sob*"
Again.
I was crying again. I pressed my fingers against my chest like I could hold the feeling still long enough to understand it.
Grief? or something I didn't have a name for yet.
Maybe both.
Maybe neither.
I just knew that voice felt like something I had lost.
---------------------------
Ren is part of Sakurasou now. Fully.
I found myself waiting for dinner everyday. Not just for the company, but for the food. Ren's cooking. It's become a ritual.
Everyone become addicted to It.
Even Sorata is trying to learn, He said to make me more happy.
It means I have more fresh baked baumkuchen.
Since I discovered that I could cry, something in my chest feels... lighter.
I went on a date with Sorata last week.
His warmth felt safe, like usual. His lips were soft against mine.
It should have been enough.
But...
My chest feels empty.
It feels.... hollow?
"Mashiro?"
Sorata's voice cut through my thought. He was looking at me, "It's rare to see you frowning," he said softly. "What's wrong? Did I do something?"
I opened my mouth to say 'nothing.' To say I was fine.
But the words stuck in my throat.
Because I didn't know the answer.
"It's just my Nanairo Drops, Sorata," I said. My voice was flat, steady.
"Alright," he said, sitting on the bench near the fence. "I'll help you work it later. But for now... I'm starving. And I want your honest feedback on the new recipe I learned from Ren."
He patted the space next to him.
I sat down. The bench was warm from the sun.
"Okay," I said.
We didn't talk much. Just the sound of the wind and the rustle of the bento box. I watched him open the container.
Instead of the usual rice, these were white, pillowy shapes nestled together.
Ren had been teaching him more recipes outside Japan. It was called Gua Bao.
He picked up his chopsticks, took a piece of Gua Bao, and held it out to me.
"Here. Try it."
I looked at the food, then at his eyes. They were waiting, hopeful.
I opened my mouth.
"Aa..."
He fed me.
It was soft. The pork was warm, and the crushed peanuts felt sharp against my tongue.
I swallowed. Sorata was still looking at me, his eyes wide, waiting for the "Review" he always asks for.
"It's... good," I said.
Sorata beamed, looking way too proud of himself. "Right? Ren told me that if I didn't get the fermentation time perfect, it wouldn't have that 'pillowy' feel. I worked really hard on it."
I tilted my head, leaning just slightly against his shoulder. He didn't move away.
"More," I said.
He laughed, his shoulders shaking. "Yeah. More."
I took another bite. Then another.
The wind tugged at my hair. The school hummed below us.
For a moment, the hollow feeling in my chest didn't feel so heavy.
Just the taste of the pork, the warmth of the day, and Sorata watching me like I was something precious.
But, it still there.
The hollowness.
"It's strange to think that Ren-kun has that identity, isn't it?"
Sorata looked away, his voice trailing off into the wind.
"It shocked me, honestly. He's accomplished so much already... it makes it feel like he's a genius, just like you."
Just for a seconds, beneath my cheek, Sorata's shoulder went tense. Then they relaxed again.
"Well," he said, his voice regaining its strength. "It just makes me more determined. I'm going to make sure Ren collaborates on our project."
I looked up at him. "Are you okay with that, Sorata?"
"Of course," he said, giving a small, sharp nod. "It means our game will be more than just a school festival project. We can actually publish it. Not just for other schools, but for the public. For everyone."
He looked toward the horizon, his eyes narrowing as if he could see the future written in the clouds.
"It also means the first step of my dream... the one where I become an actual, accomplished game creator... it's almost done."
Sorata's voice was determined. Just like always.
But something tugged at the edge of my perception. A dissonance.
Why? I couldn't name it. It just felt... wrong.
I tilted my head, studying him. The way the wind messed up his hair.
Sorata caught me staring. He froze, then shifted uncomfortably, his ears turning that tell-tale shade of pink.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" he asked, looking away.
"I just..." My voice was quiet, but clear. "I like staring at you, Sorata."
The color on his face deepened, spreading down his neck.
"M-Mashiro, you..." He stammered, then stopped. He let out a long, shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away.
His expression softened into something warm. "I really do adore this side of yours," he murmured, looking back at me. "The way you just... say what you mean."
He leaned in.
I didn't pull back.
When his lips met mine, it wasn't the careful, tentative peck from before. It was different this time.
Intense.
Desperate, almost. Like he was trying to pour everything he couldn't say into the kiss. The taste of the pork, the salt of the wind, the heat of his hands on my waist.
Few weeks ago; before the game, before the dreams, this would have been enough. His warmth would have made me feel "satisfied."
But now, as he kisses me with such intensity...
The hollowness inside me only feels bigger.
I didn't pull away. I held it in, letting him stay close, because I love Sorata.
Right?
I have to.
For so long, he was the only one who was colorful. In a world of grey, he was the only thing I could truly see.
But now... there is another person who is also colorful. Someone who is even brighter than the warmth Sorata gives me.
Ren has a past. He is carrying something heavy and dark; I felt it in his art. But maybe that doesn't matter. Everyone has a secret they keep hidden.
I kept my eyes closed, leaning into Sorata, trying to convince myself that the color I already had was enough.
But even with my eyes shut, I could still see that light.
---------------------------
The afternoon sky was the color of a bruised peach. The cherry blossoms that had once filled the air were gone.
I stood by the school gate, watching the other students leave. They moved in clusters, laughing and talking.
Normal. Even now, I don't know what makes people 'normal.'
I looked at them and then my hands. I didn't feel like a single thing.
Then, I saw him.
He walked toward me, the light catching the sharp lines of his face. "Mashiro-sen—"
"…Ren."
I cut him off. My voice sounded strange to my own ears.
Thin and trembling.
He stopped.
I stared at him, and I knew there was something different in my eyes at this moment.
"That day… why did I feel like I broke?"
Ren didn't answer. He just watched me.
"Why did you make me feel fear?" My voice didn't sound angry. It felt lost, like a child. "Why am I feeling that?"
He remained silent, a shadow in the orange light. I looked down at the dry pavement, my voice dropping to a whisper that was meant only for myself.
"Then why… why do I want to feel it again?"
I lowered my head. The "Ugly" feeling from my dream was pulsing in my throat.
"Mashiro…" he finally said.
I looked back up at him. Everything was suddenly very clear, but the clarity was fragile.
"I don't understand what this is… but when I saw it… when I heard it… something inside me cracked. I thought I'd forgotten how to feel that. But now I—"
I paused. My lips stayed parted, waiting for words that didn't exist in my vocabulary.
I took a single step forward, entering his space, breaking the "safe" distance I usually kept from the world.
"Ren," I said, my voice firmer now. "Can I… see it again?"
He blinked, his composure finally flickering. "…The game?"
I nodded.
I wanted to see the "ugly" parts of myself that Ren had somehow found in the dark.