-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-2:01 PM, DECEMBER 13, 2016-
The dismissal bell rang, sharp and final.
Chairs scraped softly against the floor as students stood, conversations blooming instantly—plans for the evening, complaints about homework, laughter spilling freely into the halls.
Ichika Komori closed her notebook with care.
She didn't rush.
She rarely did.
As she stepped into the hallway, she spotted Rikuu Arakawa leaning near the stairwell, phone untouched in his hand, gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
"…Arakawa," she called.
He looked up. "You're late."
"I wasn't hurrying," she replied.
"That's the same thing."
She smiled faintly and walked beside him as they moved with the flow of students.
"You going to rehearsal?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"I'll be there too."
He glanced at her. "You don't get tired."
"I do," she said honestly. "But I don't regret it."
That answer lingered between them.
-THEATRE ARTS CLUB ROOM, AURORA ACADEMY-
-3:22 PM-
Rehearsal focused on paired scenes.
The director clapped once. "Arakawa. Komori. You two."
Ichika stiffened—just slightly.
Rikuu didn't react at all.
They took their places under the lights.
The scene was simple: two people standing on opposite sides of a room, saying everything except what they meant.
Ichika spoke first, her voice steady.
"You don't have to stay."
Rikuu answered without hesitation.
"I know."
"But you always do."
"…Someone has to."
Their eyes met.
Not as classmates.
Not as club members.
Something quieter. Closer.
The director nodded slowly. "Good. Don't change that."
When the scene ended, neither of them moved right away.
-HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE CLUB ROOM-
-4:10 PM-
They walked out together again—an unspoken routine forming without either of them acknowledging it.
"You didn't overthink," Rikuu said.
Ichika blinked. "Was I supposed to?"
"No," he replied. "…That's why it worked."
She clasped her hands behind her back. "You notice small things."
"Occupational hazard."
She laughed quietly. "You make acting sound dangerous."
He smirked. "Sometimes it is."
They stopped near the exit.
Snow fell outside in slow, deliberate flakes.
"Arakawa," Ichika said, hesitating. "Do you ever feel like… the day ends too fast?"
He looked at her. "Depends on the day."
"…I wish some moments lasted longer."
He didn't answer right away.
Then—"…Yeah."
It was barely audible.
But it was enough.
-AURORA ACADEMY FRONT GATE-
-4:28 PM-
They parted as usual.
No promises.
No plans.
Yet as Ichika stepped into her waiting car, she glanced back once.
Rikuu was still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching the snow fall.
And Rikuu, turning toward the street, felt something unfamiliar follow him—
Not the weight of night.
Not the pull of routine.
But the quiet space after the bell—
where someone had begun to wait for him without asking him to stay.