The world around him was hazy, submerged in something softer than reality—a dream, or maybe a memory.
Shadows bled into golden light, flickering shapes shifting in and out of focus. Unfamiliar yet familiar.
Ili stood in the middle of a quiet street, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. The air was warm—early summer warmth—carrying the faint scent of rain from a storm long passed.
A voice reached him, soft, trembling.
"Ili…"
He turned.
But the figure was blurry, her features just beyond his reach.
Yet—something inside him stirred.
She was close. Too close. Close enough that he could almost feel her warmth, almost hear the quiet hitch of her breath.
A gust of wind swept through, rustling the leaves, and in that moment, her fingers brushed against his wrist. The sensation was startlingly vivid. Real.
His heart clenched.
Why?
Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke again, her fingers tightening ever so slightly.
"If you ever forget me… promise me—"
A deafening crash shattered the dream.
The streetlights flickered. White noise. Static.
The image blurred, fracturing into nothingness before he could make out the rest of her words.
His breath hitched.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Ili woke up.
Chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The dim light of his dorm room blurred around the edges as he tried to orient himself, but the pounding in his ribs refused to settle.
His fingers dug into the sheets.
The fragments of the dream clung to him, slipping away even as he struggled to hold onto them.
Who was she? I have a feeling it's...no, it doesn't seem right.
His hand brushed over his wrist, the ghost of her touch still there.
It felt too real—more than just a dream.
And those words…
They had been important. He knew it.
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to replay the fleeting images.
The streetlights. The summer air. The way she had stood just within reach, yet impossibly far away.
His head ached with the effort of remembering.
A dream.
It had to be just a dream.
Right?
But if it was—why did it feel like something he had once lived?
Later that day
the campus had quieted down, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the walkways.
Kouko moved quickly, clutching her bag tightly as she scanned the area.
She hadn't seen Ili all day—not since that fight, not since everything shifted.
Not since he asked to be alone.
Her stomach twisted at the memory. That night, she had followed him. Had tried to comfort him.
Now, it had been days.
And when she finally saw him—sitting by the café window, bathed in warm light, his gaze distant—she hesitated.
Her fingers trembled against the strap of her bag.
She should go.
She should turn away.
But, she couldn't.
Something about the way he looked reminded her of that night.
The night after the fight.
When he had sat across from her at this very same café.
His hands bruised, his shoulders heavy.
Back then, she had watched him fight his own demons, fight the weight pressing down on his chest.
Back then, she had reached for him.
Back then, she still had the courage to try.
And now?
Now she wasn't so sure.
Still, she stepped inside.
"Hey."
Her voice was soft, hesitant.
Ili looked up.
His surprise flickered into something softer, something close to a smile.
"Hey." His tone carried its usual playful edge, but it was lighter, quieter. More fragile. "Missed you today."
Her heart stumbled over his words.
She quickly masked it with a small smile as she slid into the seat across from him.
"Yeah." She set her bag down carefully, fingers tightening around the strap. "I needed… some time to think."
Ili tilted his head slightly. "About what?"
His gaze was steady.
Light. But not unseeing.
Kouko hesitated.
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her bag.
"Nothing important."
A lie.
She didn't meet his eyes.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Ili countered, leaning back in his chair. There was concern there, even though he tried to hide it behind casual words.
Kouko swallowed, glancing toward the window.
Her breath fogged against the glass.
"It's not that simple."
Her voice was quieter now.
Ili exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.
For a second, she thought he might press further.
But then—he nodded.
"Alright."
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable.
But it carried weight.
It was filled with everything she wanted to say—but couldn't.
She stole a glance at him.
And guilt twisted inside her.
She wanted to ask him—Are you okay?
She wanted to tell him—I don't believe the rumors. I never did.
She wanted to admit—I was scared, but I should have stood by you.
But she didn't trust herself to speak without breaking apart.
So she said nothing.
And neither did he.
But the silence was enough.
For now.
Some time went by
The city hummed with evening energy.
Street vendors called out from their stalls, the smoky aroma of grilled skewers and roasted chestnuts curling into the air.
Neon signs flickered against damp pavement, their colors reflected in shallow puddles left by a passing drizzle. The sounds of chatter, distant honking, and laughter from late-night gatherings wove together into an unbroken rhythm.
But for Kouko, the world felt detached.
As if she were walking through a dream.
Ili moved beside her—silent, steady. Hands tucked in his pockets, gaze forward, shoulders slightly hunched against the autumn chill. Not tense. But not at ease, either.
She stole a glance at him.
His face was unreadable, but she knew—he was thinking about it, too.
Tatsuya's Absence, An Unspoken Weight
It had been days.
Tatsuya had been everywhere, his presence like a persistent shadow, creeping into conversations, pushing boundaries, poisoning the air with whispers.
And then—gone.
No farewell. No confrontation.
Just vanished, leaving behind the damage he had orchestrated.
Kouko exhaled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Why does it still feel like he's here?
A voice broke her thoughts.
"You've been quiet."
Ili's tone was even, but firm. Not quite distant—but not fully there, either.
Kouko hesitated, then forced a faint smile. "I guess I've been thinking."
Ili slowed his pace. "About him?"
His voice was sharper than he meant.
Kouko stopped mid-step. Her stomach twisted.
"…What do you mean?"
Ili turned to her, eyes steady, searching.
"Tatsuya." His name felt like a weight in the air. "One day, he's everywhere—pushing his way into everything. The next? He's gone. And those rumors? Convenient timing, don't you think?"
The pit in her stomach deepened.
"You think… he planned this?"
Her voice wavered before she could stop it.
"I don't think." Ili's tone was firm. "I know."
His fingers curled slightly in his pockets.
"He didn't care who he hurt, Kouko." His jaw tensed. "All he wanted was control."
Kouko looked away.
Her grip tightened around the strap of her bag.
"I told him no." She swallowed hard. "I rejected him weeks ago. But maybe… maybe I wasn't clear enough."
Ili's expression, which had been tense and shadowed with restrained anger, shifted almost imperceptibly. His eyes flickered with something softer—relief. A weight he didn't realize he was carrying seemed to lift, and his shoulders eased, if only for a second.
"That's not on you."
His voice was quieter now, but steady. Certain.
"He made his choices." Ili exhaled. "And you made yours."
Their eyes met, and Kouko felt a tangle of emotions rise in her chest—guilt, relief, something else she couldn't name.
She glanced away again. "I just… I hate that he's left so much behind. The rumors, the whispers—it's like he's still here."
Ili ran a hand through his hair.
"He's gone, Kouko."
A pause.
"…And if he ever comes back?"
His voice was quiet, but the steel in his gaze said enough.
Kouko shivered slightly, the autumn air biting against her skin.
She needed something—a shift, a change in the moment.
Her gaze flickered toward a brightly lit storefront, and her face lit up.
"Oh! Look at that claw machine."
Ili raised an eyebrow.
"…Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously," she said, grabbing his wrist before he could protest. "I used to be good at these."
Ili smirked faintly as she pulled him toward the machine.
"I'll believe it when I see it."
Kouko slid a coin in, her eyes narrowing in determination as she carefully maneuvered the claw toward a small wisteria blossom plush.
The claw descended—**gripping the toy precariously—**then let go.
It dropped.
Kouko groaned dramatically. "It's rigged."
"Or you're just bad at it." Ili chuckled, sliding in his own coin.
His movements were deliberate, precise. The claw descended, wrapped around a small plush bear, and lifted it smoothly into the prize chute.
He plucked it out, turning to Kouko with a smug grin.
"Told you."
Kouko stared at the bear—then at him.
Her cheeks warmed.
"…Beginner's luck," she muttered, snatching it from his hands.
Ili's smirk widened. "You owe me snacks."
"Fine," she huffed, hugging the bear closer. "But I'm getting revenge next time."
As Kouko cradled the small plush against her chest, Ili's fingers brushed against the controls of the machine.
Something about this moment—**the way the lights flickered across her face, the sound of the claw descending, the warmth of her laughter as she pouted over her loss—**felt strange.
Not strange. Familiar.
A quiet sense of déjà vu washed over him.
For a fleeting second, he saw it differently.
A different claw machine.
A different day.
The same laughter.
Kouko standing beside him, looking at him just like that.
His chest tightened.
Ili blinked, shaking his head as the moment dissolved into nothingness, slipping through his fingers like mist.
"Ili?"
Her voice was quieter now.
He looked up to find Kouko staring at him—not with amusement, but with something else.
Something uncertain.
Something… expectant.
She stepped closer, her grip tightening slightly on the plush bear. "Did you… remember something?"
Her words struck him strangely.
Why would she say that?
Why did it sound like she was waiting for him to say yes?
His pulse quickened, but he didn't understand why.
He let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as if brushing off the weight that had suddenly settled in his chest. "Nah. Just spaced out for a second."
Kouko's expression flickered.
A heartbeat passed—longer than it should have—before she dropped her gaze, nodding a little too quickly. "Right. Of course."
She took a step back.
Why does it feel like she's disappointed?
Ili exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets, the feeling lingering in his chest like an unfinished thought.
It was nothing.
Nothing at all.
The night deepened, the quiet hum of the city fading into the rustling of leaves as they walked.
The tension from earlier had thinned, replaced by a fragile quiet.
Kouko clutched the bear under her arm, sneaking a glance at Ili.
"Thanks for tonight," she said softly.
Ili turned his head slightly, catching the faint smile on her lips.
For a moment—**just a moment—**the weight on his chest felt lighter.
"…Anytime."
Kouko shivered.
The air had grown colder.
Ili noticed.
Without thinking, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
Kouko froze.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Ili, I—" Her voice faltered. "You didn't have to."
"You're cold."
He said it simply, betraying none of the turmoil stirring inside him.
She gripped the jacket tightly, her fingers brushing against the fabric.
"…You've already done this before."
Her voice was soft, distant.
"I can't keep letting you—"
"Just wear it, but don't make it a habit"
His lips curved into a faint smile. "It's fine."
Kouko hesitated.
Then—she clutched it closer.
"…Thank you."
Ili only nodded, turning back to the path.
But something stirred inside him.
An inexplicable weight.
The gesture had felt… natural.
But there was something else.
Something unsettling.
Not again. Why does this feel familiar?
The thought troubled him, a vague, fleeting memory hovering just out of reach.
Like he had done this before.
But when?
His gaze flickered toward Kouko.
She walked beside him, bathed in the glow of the streetlights. Her golden hair shimmered under the dim, flickering lamps, the city's quiet hum wrapping around them.
She clutched his jacket like something precious.
And suddenly—his chest tightened.
A dull, pressing weight formed behind his eyes.
Déjà vu. Again.
Not just a passing feeling this time.
His head throbbed—a slow, pulsing ache blooming near his temple.
The same type of headache he'd had before. The same dull, disorienting pressure that felt like something trying to break through—or something trying to be forgotten.
Ili swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.
I can't let her know this time.
It's already strange how she reacted back at the game center.
But it wasn't fleeting.
It lingered.
Deep. Unshakable.
Like something buried in his mind was trying to crawl its way back to the surface.
Kouko turned to him again, her smile faint, teasing—yet tinged with something softer.
"You're really something, you know that?"
Ili blinked.
Her words pulled him back to the present.
His smirk was small—forced.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is."
Her tone was warm.
"Even if you're stubborn."
Ili exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling inside his pockets.
The headache throbbed again, sharp enough to make his vision blur for a second.
He forced himself to focus ahead, keeping his stride even.
Don't react. Don't let her see.
But—
Why does this feel like it already happened?
And why does it feel like he's forgetting something important?
The city was quiet by the time Kouko stepped into her apartment. The warm glow of her desk lamp bathed the room in a soft light, the familiar scent of her books and vanilla candles welcoming her home.
Her fingers lightly flirting with the band on her wrist, she slid off her coat and the one Ili handed her, folded it up and placed on the chair before collapsing into the bed.
The wisteria charm caught the light, the silver glinting as she traced its delicate details.
Her chest felt tight.
He remembered.
Even if he didn't realize it, even if it was buried beneath the gaps in his mind—Ili remembered.
A small, sad smile tugged at her lips. Of course, he wouldn't know why.
Today had been… bittersweet.
Spending time with him like this—walking side by side, laughing over silly things, watching him tease her like he always did—it almost felt like they had never been apart. Like nothing had changed.
Like he hadn't forgotten.
But he had.
And every time he looked at her with those eyes—curious, searching, unknowingly lost—it was like a knife twisting deeper.
She let out a shaky breath, covering her face with her hands.
''It still hurt so much.''
She had promised herself she wouldn't cry over this anymore. She had promised she would accept things as they were. That this time, she wouldn't cling to hope.
But hope was a cruel thing.
Because in fleeting moments—**like when he looked at her a second too long, when he hesitated as if trying to recall something lost—**it felt like they were on the verge of something.
Something fragile.
Something slipping through her fingers.
Kouko swallowed, closing her eyes as she curled into herself.
She whispered into the quiet, so soft that only the stars could hear—
"Even if you forget me… I won't forget you."She had meant those words back then.
But what did they mean now?
Meanwhile Ili at home.
The apartment was dark when Ili stepped inside. He kicked off his shoes, barely mustering the energy to throw his jacket onto the chair before collapsing onto the bed.
His head still ached, a dull throb pressing against his temples.
Probably just exhaustion.
Or maybe he was thinking too much.
Either way, he didn't want to dwell on it.
He reached up, rubbing a hand over his face before turning onto his side, staring at the ceiling. The day played in his mind like a slow reel—Kouko's laughter, the warmth in her gaze when she looked at him, the way she hugged his jacket tighter like she didn't want to let go.
His chest tightened.
It was confusing.
He had spent time with her before—so why did today feel different?
Ili exhaled slowly, pushing the thought away.
It was late.
And tomorrow would come, just like always.
He shut his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him under.
And that night—the dream returned—but this time, it didn't fade away as quickly.
The world was clearer now.
The sunset painted everything in soft warmth, casting long shadows across the quiet park. The faint scent of wisteria lingered in the air, carried by the light autumn breeze.
Ili sat on a blanked in a park, but he wasn't alone.
A girl was beside him.
So familiar.
Her laughter rang softly as she leaned forward, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"You're terrible at this," she teased, watching him struggle with a folded piece of paper between his fingers.
Ili frowned in concentration.
Origami.
He was trying to fold a crane, but the edges refused to align properly.
"Give me a break," Ili muttered, squinting at the delicate creases. "This is harder than it looks."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "You're supposed to be precise. Watch—like this."
Her fingers brushed against his, soft and warm, guiding him gently.
A warmth bloomed in his chest.
A quiet ache.
He turned to look at her—really look at her.
But her face was just slightly out of focus, blurred like a memory just out of reach.
Despite that, he knew.
He knew her.
Something unspoken hung between them, stretching the moment. The golden sunlight softened around her silhouette. The way she moved, the way she spoke—it all felt… right.
Just as Ili opened his mouth to say something, she turned to him, her voice quieter now.
"Even if you forget me… I won't forget you."
Before he could answer—
And just as he reached for her—
the memory shattered.
The golden light turned to gray, and the scent of wisteria vanished like smoke.
Ili woke with a gasp, reaching for something that was no longer there.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as the remnants of the dream clung to him—the warmth of her touch, the golden hue of sunset, the way she had spoken those words like a quiet promise.
But the moment he tried to hold onto it—it started slipping away.
No, wait. I want to remember it.
His fingers curled against the sheets, his pulse pounding in his ears. WHY is it fading away?
Why?
The dream—no, the memory—it had to be real. It wasn't just a trick of the mind. It wasn't some random fabrication of his imagination. It was real. It had to be.
But the harder he tried to chase it, the more elusive it became—like wisteria petals drifting away on the wind, just out of reach.
Ili pressed his palms against his forehead, frustration curling deep in his gut.
This wasn't normal.
The **déjà vu, the dreams, the strange moments of familiarity—all of it—**it had been coming and going, creeping in at random.
But today?
Today was different.
It had been overwhelming. One after another. The claw machine. The jacket. The way Kouko looked at him, like she was waiting for something he didn't understand.
Like she already knew.
Ili's breath hitched.
Is she the trigger?
The thought gripped him, cold and unshakable.
Was it Kouko? Was she the reason why all of this was happening?
Why his head ached every time something felt too familiar?
Why he could almost remember things he shouldn't?
Kouko shocked awake.
Her breath came fast, uneven, her chest rising and falling with the force of it. Her fingers clutched at the blankets, gripping them tightly as if to ground herself.
Her room was quiet. Still. Yet the silence felt wrong.
Why…?
Her throat was dry, her pulse hammering in her ears. She swallowed hard, blinking against the dim light filtering in through her curtains. Had she been dreaming? She couldn't remember. It didn't feel like a nightmare, but it left her shaken all the same.
Her body knew something that her mind couldn't grasp.
She pressed a hand against her forehead, trying to push away the creeping unease curling in her stomach. She had trouble sleeping all night, shifting between shallow rest and the kind of emptiness that felt suffocating. Like something was waiting just outside her reach, just outside her awareness.
Her eyes flickered to the clock on her nightstand. 3:12 AM.
Too early to be awake. Too late to try and sleep again.
She exhaled, rubbing her arms as the cold air seeped through her skin. The feeling wasn't leaving. It settled in her chest, heavy and persistent. A quiet dread she didn't understand.
And then—
A sound.
Faint. Distant.
Tires screeching.
The moment she heard it, her body tensed.
Her breath hitched, her eyes widening as a chill crawled up her spine.
The sound disappeared just as quickly as it had come, fading into nothingness, as if it had never been there at all.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she curled them into fists. Why did it shake her so much? Why did it feel like something was slipping through her grasp—like a memory she couldn't recall?
She swallowed, turning onto her side and pulling the blanket tighter around her.
Her heart wouldn't settle.
Something was wrong.
She didn't know why.
But she was terrified of finding out.
Weeks passed.
The air grew colder, and so did Ili's resolve—or rather, it twisted into something confusing, a tangled mix of emotions he couldn't quite name.
It felt as if every interaction with Kouko sent a warm spark through his veins, lighting up something he didn't quite understand. Not when her laughter made the world feel brighter, or when she turned to him with a smile that made the October chill seem like nothing.
They had fallen into an easy rhythm—a routine Ili both cherished and feared.
Their conversations, once laced with lingering hesitations, had begun to flow naturally again. Kouko still teased him, still laughed at his stubbornness, still found ways to slip past his guarded walls without even trying. But sometimes, she hesitated. As if she wanted to say something, but stopped herself at the last second.
Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it was just him, overthinking like always.
Seeing Kouko between classes or during their shared study sessions had become a highlight, a comfort wrapped in confusion. It didn't help that her friends, Rina and Mika, often exchanged knowing glances or whispered teasing remarks whenever he approached.
The café was cozy and warm, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweetness of chocolate. Kouko ordered for both of them, insisting Ili try the hot chocolate with the bear-shaped marshmallows. He scoffed at first but took a sip anyway.
"…It's good," he admitted begrudgingly.
Kouko smirked, victorious. "Told you."
She kept the conversation light, weaving through funny anecdotes and random topics with ease. And yet, there were moments—small, fleeting ones—where her gaze softened, where she seemed lost in thought before quickly covering it up with a teasing remark.
At one point, she leaned over to fix the marshmallow in his drink, her fingers brushing his briefly. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a spark through him that he couldn't ignore. He stared at her for a moment, his chest tightening with something frustratingly unexplainable.
"What?" she asked, noticing his gaze.
"Nothing," he said quickly, looking away. But the tangled mess of emotions remained, confusing and consuming.
"Thanks for coming," Kouko said softly, her voice pulling him back to the present. "I know things have been… complicated. But I'm glad we could do this."
"Me too," Ili admitted, his voice quiet but sincere.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Ili stepped back, forcing himself to create distance, his hands slipping into his pockets as he looked away. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, his voice low.
Kouko watched him go. As he disappeared into the night, she felt a warmth spread through her chest, a feeling she refused to name.
And Ili, walking alone, felt the weight of his tangled emotions settle deeper, the lines between friendship and something more blurring with every step.