The sun dipped low over Hoshikawa City, painting the sky with streaks of orange and rose. Shadows stretched long across the pavement as Naoto walked the quiet path home, the autumn wind brushing against his sleeves. School was done for the day, but his mind wasn't free. It never really was.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He waited until he reached the back garden of the Hayato estate, near the bench behind the camellia trees where no one ever came. Slipping his phone from his blazer, he glanced around, then tapped the screen.
The text was simple.
[Them]: "Rough day?"
His lips twitched, not quite a smile.
[Naoto]: "You could say that. Hoshikawa High hasn't changed. People still talk too much."
The reply came seconds later.
[Them]: "Let them talk. You've survived worse, remember?"
He stared at those words for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. This voice—this unseen person—it was like a quiet tether to something soft, something real.
He didn't reply. Not yet.
---
Worn Pages and Half-Meant Apologies
Dinner was quiet.
As usual, Naoto ate with the house staff while Rika dined alone in the formal room upstairs. It had become an unspoken rule—space was the only peace they could afford. And even then, it was fragile.
Later that night, the study room glowed dimly under a single desk lamp. Naoto was already at the table, flipping through Rika's English textbook and writing a few practice sentences for her to review.
She entered without a word, slid into her chair, and opened her notebook.
Ten minutes passed. Neither said anything. The silence wasn't tense anymore—it was something else now. Familiar. Heavy, but no longer cruel.
"I didn't say thank you," Rika murmured suddenly, not lifting her eyes.
Naoto glanced up. "For what?"
"In the hallway. Earlier." Her pen tapped the edge of her book. "You didn't fight back."
He shrugged. "Wasn't worth it."
A longer silence followed. Then, softly—
"You could've made a scene. Made them look stupid. But you didn't."
Naoto leaned back slightly, a quiet breath escaping. "People already think enough of me. I don't need to give them more."
She paused, as if weighing something. "You're not what I expected."
He chuckled once. "That makes two of us."
---
Midnight Flickers
Later that night, the house was still.
Naoto lay on his futon, the only light in his room coming from his phone's screen. He scrolled back through a short thread of messages, rereading them without realizing why.
[Them]: "I still think you're trying too hard to carry everything alone."
[Naoto]: "Some things are better kept that way."
A new message popped up.
[Them]: "Even from her?"
His thumb hovered.
He typed.
[Naoto]: "Especially from her."
Then deleted it.
Instead, he sent nothing.
He turned off the screen, placed the phone beside his pillow, and closed his eyes.
But sleep didn't come easily—not anymore.