-THEATRE ARTS CLUBROOM, AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-4:33 PM, NOVEMBER 30, 2016-
The theatre arts clubroom was quieter than usual.
Most members had already left, chairs stacked neatly, scripts returned to their shelves. Only the soft rustle of curtains and the faint ticking of the wall clock remained.
Ichika lingered near the stage, rereading her script for the third time without truly absorbing the words.
"Komori."
She looked up.
Rikuu stood a few steps away, jacket already on, bag slung over his shoulder.
"Yes?" she answered.
"You're staying late again," he said. It wasn't a question.
"I like the quiet," Ichika replied. "It helps me think."
He nodded once, as if that made sense to him.
They stood there in the open space of the room, not awkward—just still.
"You were good today," Rikuu said suddenly. "During rehearsal."
Ichika's eyes widened slightly. Praise from him was rare.
"Thank you," she said softly. "I was nervous."
"Didn't show."
She smiled, small but genuine. "You always notice."
Rikuu clicked his tongue lightly. "It's my job."
"Is it?" she asked.
He hesitated.
"…Maybe."
Silence settled between them again—not heavy, not empty. Comfortable.
Ichika took a breath. "Arakawa."
"Hm?"
"I don't think I joined this club just because of acting anymore."
Rikuu stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Then why?"
She met his gaze, steady despite the quiet flutter in her chest.
"Because when I'm here," she said, "I feel closer to understanding people. And myself."
Rikuu looked away, jaw tightening as if holding something back.
"…You're dangerous," he muttered.
Ichika blinked. "Dangerous?"
"You say things like that," he continued, voice low, "without realizing how close you get."
She stepped closer—careful, respectful.
"Then tell me to stop," she said.
He didn't.
The clock ticked loudly in the background.
"…Just don't disappear," Rikuu said at last.
Ichika's heart softened.
"I won't," she promised. "Not from here."
He exhaled slowly, as if releasing something he'd been carrying alone.
"Good," he said. "Because… I don't mind this. Talking. Practicing. You being here."
Ichika smiled—warm, unguarded.
"Me neither."
Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing the campus in quiet white.
They turned off the lights together and walked out of the clubroom side by side—not touching, not rushing.
But close enough.
Close enough to hear each other breathe.
Close enough to matter.