Chapter Text
Akito was absolutely sure of two things that morning.
First, he was running late.
Second, Tsukasa Tenma was somehow already ruining his day.
"—AKITO!"
He stopped short in the hallway, jaw tightening. Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head.
There Tsukasa was. Of course he was. Standing in the middle of the corridor like a walking exclamation point, waving both arms with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for festivals or motivational speeches no one asked for.
Akito clicked his tongue. "You're loud."
Tsukasa beamed. "Good morning to you too!"
"I didn't say good morning."
"You said something," Tsukasa replied cheerfully, falling into step beside him like this was planned. "That counts."
"It really doesn't."
Akito tried to walk past him. Tried. Tsukasa matched his pace with ease, hands clasped behind his back like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like Akito had invited him.
"Why are you here so early?" Akito muttered. "Don't you third-years usually show up five minutes before the bell?"
"Hey, I'm very responsible," Tsukasa said. "Plus, I wanted to check something in the club room."
"That explains nothing."
"It explains everything," Tsukasa corrected, tapping his temple.
Akito stopped. Turned fully. "Do you ever get tired?"
Tsukasa blinked. "Of what?"
"Talking."
"Nope!"
Of course not.
"Some people," Akito said, very deliberately, "like peace in the morning."
"Oh." Tsukasa tilted his head, looking genuinely thoughtful. "Is that why you sigh every time you see me?"
Akito froze.
"…I don't."
"You do." Tsukasa started counting on his fingers. "Just now, yesterday, the day before—"
"That's coincidence."
"We have a lot of coincidences."
Akito turned away before his ears could betray him. "Maybe you're just everywhere."
Tsukasa laughed. "Or maybe you're just unlucky!"
"Yeah," Akito said, a little too fast. "Must be that."
The bell rang—sharp, sudden, merciful. Students flooded the hallway from every direction, and Tsukasa stepped back into the current of them easily, arms stretching above his head.
"Well! I'll see you around, Akito."
"No, you won't."
Tsukasa paused, then grinned. "You say that every time."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd like he'd never been there at all. Akito stood in the middle of the hallway for a second longer than he meant to, staring at the space Tsukasa had just left.
Seriously. He finally moved again, jaw set. Why do I keep running into him?
He didn't wait for an answer.
———
He slipped into his seat just as the second bell rang, chair scraping softly against the floor.
Exhaled. Rested his chin in his palm.
Finally. No Tenma.
"…You look annoyed."
Akito didn't even turn his head. "I always do."
An leaned over from the seat behind him, grinning. "Nah. This is extra annoyed."
By the window, Nene glanced over her book. "Did you run into Tsukasa again?"
Akito stiffened.
"…Why does everyone keep asking me that."
"Because," An said, settling her chin on her folded arms, "every time you see him, you come back looking like you just lost an argument you didn't agree to join."
"I didn't lose anything."
"Sure. So where was it this time? Hallway? Entrance? Staircase?"
"You're being weird."
"I'm being accurate."
Nene hummed. "Statistically, the chance of you mentioning him without being asked is pretty high."
"I didn't mention him," Akito snapped.
"…Yet," An added helpfully.
Akito crossed his arms and looked away. "He's just loud. That's it."
"Uh-huh," An said. "Most people who are 'just loud' don't get under your skin like that."
"You usually ignore people you don't care about," Nene added, not looking up from her book.
"I do ignore him."
"By talking about him," An replied.
Akito opened his mouth—and the teacher walked in. He looked back down at his notebook, tapping his pen against the page.
Annoying. Too energetic. Everywhere.
That was all Tsukasa Tenma was. So it made no sense at all that when laughter echoed faintly from somewhere outside—bright, unmistakable—his eyes flicked toward the door before he could stop himself.
He scowled and looked back down.
"…This school's too small," he muttered, to no one.
———
The rest of the morning passed slower than it had any right to.
By break, Akito had already left his seat—no reason to stick around. The hallways were crowded, loud, the usual mess of students who had nowhere to be and too much energy doing it. He took the long route to the vending machines near the back of the building. Quieter there. Less chance of—
He stopped short near the stairs. Someone laughed, bright and familiar, a little too close.
Akito clicked his tongue and veered away without looking. He already knew.
The vending machines were tucked behind a corner, away from most of the foot traffic. He bought a drink he didn't really want and leaned against the wall. The machine rattled to a stop. Around him, the hallway was mercifully thin—a few students passing in ones and twos, none of them loud, none of them Tsukasa.
He exhaled. That was better.
Out of habit—just habit—his gaze drifted down the hall anyway.
Tsukasa was there. Of course he was. Talking to someone from the third years, hands moving too much, expression too open. Laughing at something Akito couldn't hear. He looked completely at ease, the way he always did—like he'd arranged himself in exactly the right spot and the rest of the world had simply adjusted around him.
Akito looked away. Popped the can open with a sharp click.
Why do I keep noticing that?
The drink was too sweet. He grimaced and held it at his side, not quite committing to another sip. Down the hall, the conversation continued—he could hear the tone of it without catching words, the particular pitch of Tsukasa's laughter when something landed well. Bright. Unguarded. The kind of sound that carried whether you wanted it to or not.
Akito turned his gaze to the window at the end of the corridor. The sky outside was flat and white. Someone's bag scraped the wall as they passed. Ordinary sounds.
He stayed where he was anyway, counting the seconds he'd been there, telling himself he was just waiting for the hallway to thin out before heading back. That was all. A reasonable thing to do. He lingered until the bell rang, then pushed off the wall and went back to class without looking down the hall again.
He didn't need to. He already knew Tsukasa was still there.
———
After school, Akito packed quickly and got out before An or Nene could say anything.
The air outside was cooler, easier. He took the side path home—fewer people, less noise—pace settling into something comfortable. He had almost made it to the gate when he turned a corner and slowed.
Across the courtyard, Tsukasa was crouched near a notice board, wrestling with a stack of flyers that refused to cooperate. One peeled off and fluttered to the ground. Tsukasa stared at it for a second, then laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Akito stopped without meaning to.
He's just waiting for the path to clear, he told himself. That's all.
Tsukasa pressed the paper flat again—more enthusiasm than strategy. It crooked immediately.
He tilted his head at it, like he was genuinely puzzled by the paper's lack of cooperation.
Tried a different corner. That one peeled too. He stood up, looked at the notice board with his hands on his hips, apparently reassessing the situation from a new angle.
Idiot.
Akito took two steps forward before he caught himself. Stopped. Scowled at the pavement like it had done something wrong.
Why was he moving?
There was no reason to. The flyers were Tsukasa's problem. The notice board was Tsukasa's problem. The fact that someone who performed on stage with that much confidence was currently being defeated by a piece of paper—that was Tsukasa's problem too, and none of it had anything to do with Akito.
He stayed where he was and waited.
A couple of other students passed the notice board. Neither of them stopped to help. Tsukasa didn't seem bothered by that either—he crouched back down, tried a new approach, pressing from the center outward this time. The flyer held for approximately three seconds before the bottom corner lifted again.
Laughter drifted across the courtyard, unbothered, genuine. He looked up despite himself.
Tsukasa had given up on the flyer. He was smiling anyway—at the lost cause on the ground, at nothing in particular, at the afternoon. Like the whole thing had been worth it regardless of the outcome.
That was what annoyed Akito the most—not the flyers, not the noise, not the constant presence. The fact that nothing ever seemed to stick to him.
He turned away sharply and kept walking, heart beating faster than it had any reason to. By the time he reached the gate, Tsukasa's voice was somewhere behind him—too close, as always—talking to someone, laughing about something. Akito didn't look back. Didn't speed up either. Just kept his jaw tight and his thoughts pointed firmly forward.
Same school. Same routes. Same timing. That's all it is.
———
The walk home felt longer than usual.
Akito took the familiar route, cutting through streets he'd memorized down to the cracks in the pavement. He tried to let his mind drift—music, practice schedules, what An had said about the new arrangement—but it kept circling back, stubborn and irritating, the way thoughts did when you'd given them too much attention without meaning to.
He stopped at a crosswalk, tapping his foot while the light stayed red. Around him, the usual after-school noise: students in groups, someone's headphones audible from two people over, a pair of girls arguing about homework. Normal. Unremarkable.
Somewhere behind him, laughter rang out—bright, carrying. Not quite far enough away to ignore.
Akito didn't turn around.
The light changed. He crossed, shoulders loosening slightly once the sound faded behind him. See, he told himself. You're imagining things.
He wasn't, but it was a useful thing to tell himself anyway.
At home, he dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and told himself the quiet was a relief.
It almost was.
His phone buzzed from the kitchen counter—a notification from the school group chat. Event prep. Third-years volunteering. Names scrolling past.
Tenma Tsukasa.
Akito scoffed and locked the phone without reading further. Went to his room. Tossed himself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling like it owed him something.
The crack near the corner was still there. He traced it with his eyes without deciding to, the way you did when your mind needed something small and pointless to hold onto.
He's just around a lot. Same building, same schedule. That's it.
He rolled onto his side, pulling a pillow closer. The image came anyway—sunlight in the courtyard, a crooked flyer, laughter that didn't sound bothered by failure. He pressed his face into the pillow.
Annoying.
He said it like a conclusion, like that was the end of it. The word sat in the quiet for a second and then just... stayed there, not quite convincing either of them.
Outside, the sky was dimming, afternoon bleeding slowly into evening. Somewhere down the street, someone's music was just audible—a beat, then gone. A door closed somewhere.
The building settled around him with the small sounds it always made, the ones that usually faded into background before he noticed them.
He noticed them tonight.
He lay there and tried to think about the practice schedule instead. The new track An had been pushing. The chord progression that still wasn't sitting right. Useful things. Things that had nothing to do with the image of someone standing in a courtyard, giving up on a flyer and smiling about it like losing was just another version of winning.
It didn't work.
He stayed where he was until the thought finally went quiet enough to leave alone.
Tomorrow would be the same.
He was sure of that.
———
The room was dark by the time he closed his eyes.
The day came back in pieces—hallway corners, passing footsteps, a laugh that cut through noise a little too cleanly. He turned his face further into the pillow.
Stop.
There was nothing unusual about noticing someone who refused to blend in. Loud people were hard to ignore. That was just how it worked. It didn't mean anything. It didn't have to mean anything.
He'd spent the whole year ignoring louder people than Tsukasa without a second thought. The guy who played music through his phone speaker in the library. The first-years who congregated right outside the classroom door every break without fail. An, half the time. None of them had ever sent his thoughts in circles like this.
That was probably just because Tsukasa was more persistent. More visible. It wasn't anything else.
Akito lay there and let the logic settle until his breathing evened out and the irritation faded to something dull and manageable, the kind he could sleep through.
Tomorrow will be the same as always.
He almost believed it. Somewhere between one thought and the next, sleep finally came—and with it, one last thing, soft enough that he couldn't quite hold onto it:
…Will it, though?
———
Morning came without ceremony.
Uniform. Bag. Shoes. The same face in the mirror—tired, faintly annoyed, nothing out of place. He checked his phone, left before he could think too hard about it.
The streets were busier than yesterday. He adjusted his pace, slipping past clusters of students, eyes forward. The school gates came into view, familiar and unremarkable. Inside, the noise swelled gradually—lockers, footsteps, someone laughing down the hall—
Akito slowed.
Not because he saw anyone. Not because someone called his name.
Just instinct. He frowned at himself and kept walking.
———
Class moved the way class always did. Notes, answers, time that wouldn't speed up no matter how often he checked it. Akito stayed focused, or close enough. Still, every now and then, his attention drifted to the door when it opened, or the windows when sound carried in from somewhere outside.
Nothing happened.
That should have been reassuring.
By lunch, he'd left the room without eating much, chosen the stairs over the hallway, stood at the railing staring down at the empty space below for longer than was probably normal.
The stairwell was quieter than the rest of the building. He stood there and listened to his own footsteps echo up from somewhere below, students passing without looking up, the usual noise of the school muffled and distant.
This is stupid, he thought.
He didn't move for another minute anyway. Then he went back to class.
The afternoon dragged. He answered when called on, kept his notes legible, did everything a person was supposed to do in a classroom. His leg bounced twice. He stopped it both times.
By the end of the day, the path ahead was clear for once—no one blocking the stairs, no familiar voice bleeding through the noise. He packed his bag and left with everyone else, unremarkable, unbothered.
The path was clear.
He walked it without incident, all the way to the gate and then down the street toward home, and the whole time the quiet sat around him like something that should have been comfortable.
For reasons he couldn't name, it wasn't.