The art room was dim.
They weren't supposed to be there this late. Club activities had ended hours ago, and the janitor usually locked the door at six.
But Mizuki had a key.
Of course she did.
Aoi sat on the floor between easels and paint-splattered stools, her knees pulled to her chest, watching Mizuki pace.
She had never seen her like this—nervous, unsure.
It was strange.
Strangely beautiful.
"You didn't have to bring me here," Aoi said softly.
"I did." Mizuki stopped walking. "Because if I see you in that hallway again and don't say anything, I might lose my mind."
Aoi's heart fluttered.
"I don't get it," she murmured.
Mizuki crouched down in front of her, not touching, but close enough that Aoi could see the tiny crease between her brows. "You don't get what?"
"Why this is happening. Why me."
Mizuki's lips parted, then closed again. Like she didn't know where to start.
Then, slowly, she reached out—just her fingers—and let them rest beside Aoi's hand on the floor. Not touching. Just… waiting.
"You're quiet when everyone else is loud. You notice things no one else sees. And when you laugh, it's always like you're trying to hide it."
Aoi's breath caught.
"You think I'm strange," she whispered.
"I think you're beautiful."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Too heavy.
Their hands weren't touching. But they could be. One small movement and they'd be locked together again, like in the storage room. But this time there was no threat. No excuse.
Just choice.
"You said this wasn't okay," Aoi whispered. "You said it yourself."
"It's not."
"Then why are we still here?"
Mizuki's voice was tight. Low.
"Because I want to be."
Aoi closed her eyes for a moment. Her whole body was tense, every nerve burning. She was aware of Mizuki's every breath. The scent of old paint. The soft hum of silence around them.
"Would you kiss me if I asked?" she asked.
Mizuki inhaled sharply. "Don't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'd do it."
Aoi opened her eyes.
"I want to know what it feels like."
Mizuki leaned in, her lips close—so close—they nearly touched Aoi's temple.
"You already do," she whispered.
A shiver ran down Aoi's spine.
And still, they didn't touch.
It was like walking on a wire, suspended above something dangerous and beautiful.
And every second they stayed there, the tension pulled tighter.
Mizuki stood up first.
She offered her hand.
Aoi hesitated.
But then she took it.
Their fingers locked together, warm and trembling.
And the line between them?
It blurred a little more.