After school, the hallways emptied with the usual rush of students grabbing their bags and half-running toward freedom. Aoi took her time, unsure if Mizuki's earlier words had been real or just another part of whatever game she was playing.
But as she turned the corner near the old music room—barely used and tucked behind the stairwell—Mizuki was there.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one foot slightly lifted, as if she'd been waiting for hours. Her tie was loosened, her posture relaxed, but her eyes were sharp, watching Aoi like she'd expected every step.
"You came," Mizuki said softly, straightening.
"You told me to," Aoi replied, trying not to let her voice shake.
"I didn't think you'd listen."
A beat of silence.
Then Mizuki stepped forward.
Close. Closer than anyone had ever stood without touching her.
Aoi's back hit the wall. Her breath caught.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
Mizuki didn't answer right away. She just looked at her. Really looked—like she was trying to memorize the exact shape of Aoi's lips, the small quiver in her breath, the way her hands curled around the strap of her bag.
Then, with devastating slowness, she lifted her hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from Aoi's cheek.
"I think," Mizuki said, her voice low, "you already know."
The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. Aoi felt dizzy from how still everything was—how the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
"You said you hated me," Aoi managed to say.
"I lied."
Her fingers trailed down Aoi's cheek, just lightly enough to be felt, just long enough to burn.
"I thought this was a game," Aoi said.
"It was. But now it isn't."
Mizuki leaned in closer, her hand flat against the wall beside Aoi's head. Their noses were inches apart.
"You're playing with fire," Aoi whispered.
"I want to see if it burns."
Aoi's body was frozen, but her heart was racing so loud it felt like it was trying to break out of her chest. She could smell Mizuki again—like soft peaches and cold rain.
And then Mizuki's hand found Aoi's wrist.
Just held it.
Not pulling. Not pushing.
Just holding.
But even that was too much.
Aoi looked down at the point of contact, then back up into her eyes.
"I don't know what you want from me," she said.
"Yes, you do."
Mizuki's voice dropped even lower, almost a murmur in the stillness between them.
"You want the same thing."
And maybe it was true.
Because Aoi didn't move. Didn't resist. Didn't speak. She just stood there, letting the heat of Mizuki's hand seep into her skin like it belonged there.
Then Mizuki slowly let go, stepping back, her expression unreadable.
"Tomorrow," she said. "Same time."
And she left.
Just like that.
Aoi remained pressed against the wall, her knees weak, her wrist tingling where Mizuki had touched her like it meant something. She didn't know if she could breathe normally again.
All she knew was—
She would come tomorrow.
No matter what.