By the third morning, Hina began to recognize the rhythm of the boarding house as something predictable.
Not safe — not yet — but knowable.
She left her room at the same time as before, bag resting lightly on her shoulder, footsteps careful on the stairs. The kitchen smelled of toasted bread and warm tea. Sachiko hummed softly as she moved between the counter and table.
Itsuki was already there.
He sat near the window, as usual, reading nothing this time — just watching the sky as clouds thinned into pale streaks of blue.
"Good morning," Hina said.
"Morning."
That was enough.
They ate quietly, the silence neither strained nor intimate — simply shared. Yuta arrived late again, earning a look from Aya sharp enough to cut through sleep. Kenji folded his newspaper and stood without comment.
When they stepped outside together, the air was cool and clear.
The sky had turned a soft, uncertain blue.
At Sakuragaoka High, the calm didn't follow her in.
It started subtly.
A pause in conversation when she passed.
Eyes lingering longer than before.
A whisper that wasn't meant to be loud — but wasn't careful either.
"Isn't she living at Morita Boarding House?"
"I heard Minato lives there too."
"Already?"
Hina pretended not to hear, her expression carefully neutral. She had learned that skill early — how to keep her face still even when something inside her tightened.
Mio greeted her at the classroom door with her usual brightness, but today it felt… practiced.
"Morning, Hina!"
"Good morning."
Mio linked her arm with hers easily, guiding her inside.
"You're getting popular," Mio said lightly. "People are curious."
"About what?" Hina asked.
Mio shrugged. "New students always draw attention."
But her eyes flicked, just once, toward the window seat.
Itsuki wasn't there yet.
During homeroom, Mr. Sakamoto spoke about the upcoming cultural festival, his calm voice steady as always.
"Groups will be assigned soon. Participation is mandatory."
Groans filled the room.
Hina glanced around, unsure who she would end up with. Group activities always made her nervous — too many chances to disappoint, to be misunderstood.
The classroom door slid open.
Itsuki entered quietly, bowing slightly to Mr. Sakamoto before taking his seat. His presence shifted something in the room — not dramatically, but enough for Hina to notice.
She looked away quickly.
She didn't want to give the whispers a reason.
At lunch, the courtyard buzzed with energy.
Hina sat with Mio and a few classmates. Rina Kobayashi leaned in, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"So, Aoyama," Rina said, "what's it like living at a boarding house?"
"It's… normal," Hina replied carefully.
"Do you live with Minato?" Rina pressed.
Mio stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Yes," Hina said. "Among others."
"Ooooh," Rina smiled. "That sounds interesting."
"It's really not," Hina said quickly. "We barely talk."
Across the courtyard, Itsuki sat alone again, lunch untouched as he stared at the sky.
Hina didn't look for him on purpose.
That thought unsettled her more than the whispers.
In literature class, Ms. Harada returned their reflections.
She paused at Hina's desk.
"Your writing is gentle," she said. "But careful."
Hina lowered her eyes. "Is that bad?"
Ms. Harada smiled faintly. "Only if it keeps you from the truth."
Hina felt those words settle somewhere deep.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Itsuki glance up — not at the teacher, but at her.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.
This time, neither looked away immediately.
After school, rain threatened again, clouds gathering low and dark.
Hina packed her bag slowly, hoping the whispers would fade if she didn't acknowledge them.
She stood to leave — and froze.
Kenta Fujimori leaned casually against the desk near the aisle, smiling.
"Walking home?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Mind if I join you?"
Before she could answer, a quiet voice spoke from behind her.
"She's not going that way."
Itsuki stood there, bag slung over one shoulder, expression unreadable.
Hina turned, startled.
"I—"
"I was just offering," Kenta said smoothly, eyes narrowing slightly. "Didn't realize you were her spokesperson."
Itsuki didn't rise to it.
"She lives near me," he said simply.
The truth — but not the whole one.
Kenta studied them both, then smiled again. "Another time, then."
He walked away.
The classroom felt suddenly too quiet.
"I'm sorry," Hina said quickly. "I didn't ask you to—"
"I know," Itsuki said.
They walked out together without another word.
Behind them, whispers bloomed again — louder this time.
Outside, the first drops of rain fell.
Hina hugged her bag closer to her chest.
"This is going to get worse, isn't it?" she asked softly.
Itsuki didn't answer right away.
"People talk," he said finally. "They stop when they get bored."
She nodded — but didn't look convinced.
As they walked beneath the darkening sky, Hina realized something unsettling.
The whispers didn't scare her because of what people might think.
They scared her because part of her was starting to care.
The rain followed them home.
Not heavy, not sudden — just persistent enough to soak through the edges of the afternoon.
Hina walked beside Itsuki beneath the narrow overhang of the street shops, careful not to step too close, careful not to fall behind. The rhythm of their footsteps was uneven at first, then gradually aligned.
Neither spoke.
The silence felt different now — heavier, charged by what had happened in the classroom.
"You didn't have to say anything back there," Hina said finally, her voice barely louder than the rain.
Itsuki kept his eyes forward. "I know."
"Then why—"
"Because it was simpler."
She glanced at him. "For whom?"
"For you."
That answer unsettled her more than the whispers had.
They reached the boarding house just as the rain began to intensify, droplets striking the pavement harder now, more insistently.
Inside, warmth greeted them.
Yuta sprawled across the living room floor, controller in hand, groaning dramatically.
"Oh good, the rumor starters are back," he said without looking up.
Hina stiffened.
Itsuki removed his shoes calmly. "Don't."
Yuta peeked up, read the room, and wisely shut up.
Aya watched from the stairs, her gaze flicking between Hina and Itsuki.
"Tea's ready," she said. "Storm kind."
Hina wasn't sure what that meant — but she followed anyway.
Later, Hina sat cross-legged at the low table, mug warming her hands. The rain outside had grown louder, the sky pressing low and gray against the windows.
Sachiko moved quietly around the room, as if giving them space on purpose.
Aya sat across from Hina, studying her openly now.
"They're talking about you," Aya said flatly.
Hina flinched. "I know."
"Mostly wrong things."
"That's normal," Hina replied, though her voice lacked conviction.
Aya tilted her head. "You don't look like someone who likes attention."
"I don't," Hina admitted.
Aya glanced toward Itsuki, who stood near the window again.
"He doesn't either."
Hina followed her gaze.
Itsuki wasn't listening — or pretended not to be — but his shoulders were tense in a way she hadn't noticed before.
That night, Hina couldn't focus on her homework.
Her pen hovered uselessly above the page, thoughts circling back to the same things — Kenta's smile, Mio's silence, Itsuki's voice behind her in the classroom.
She's not going that way.
He had said it so calmly.
As if it were obvious.
A knock came at her door.
Hina froze.
"Yes?"
The door opened just enough for Sachiko to peer in.
"Are you alright, dear?"
"Yes," Hina said automatically.
Sachiko smiled gently. "Lying is also a kind of strength," she said. "But you don't always need it here."
She left before Hina could respond.
Hina sat back on her bed, heart pounding softly.
Here.
The word lingered.
Downstairs, Itsuki sat alone in the darkened living room, textbook open but unread.
Takumi's words from earlier echoed faintly in his mind.
People are already talking.
Itsuki didn't care about rumors.
He never had.
But he cared about efficiency. About not creating unnecessary complications.
And yet…
He had spoken without thinking.
Not because it was logical — but because something in Hina's expression, cornered and careful, had felt too familiar.
He closed the book.
The next day, the whispers sharpened.
Rina Kobayashi leaned in close during break, voice low but eager.
"So, Aoyama," she said, "are you and Minato…?"
Hina straightened. "No."
The answer came faster than she expected.
Rina pouted. "That was quick."
"It's the truth."
Mio watched silently, fingers twisting together beneath the desk.
At lunch, Kenta joined them again, charming as ever, his attention openly focused on Hina.
"You don't have to walk home alone," he said. "People misunderstand things."
Hina hesitated.
Across the courtyard, Itsuki stood to leave.
Their eyes met.
Just once.
And in that moment, Hina understood something that frightened her.
She didn't want to be misunderstood.
But she also didn't want to explain.
"I'm fine," she told Kenta quietly.
He studied her, then smiled again — slower this time. "Alright."
That evening, the sky finally cleared.
Blue stretched wide and calm, as if the storm had never existed.
Hina stood outside the boarding house, breathing in the cool air.
Itsuki joined her moments later.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes," she said — and this time, it was closer to the truth.
They stood there, side by side, watching the sky.
"I don't like being talked about," Hina said suddenly. "But I don't like pretending nothing affects me either."
Itsuki nodded. "People assume silence means indifference."
She looked at him. "Does it?"
He met her gaze steadily. "No."
The answer felt important.
Above them, the sky remained clear — fragile, honest, and open.
And though neither of them named it, something had shifted again.
Not closeness.
Not distance.
But awareness — sharp and undeniable.