The whispering started before Aoi even reached her shoe locker.
Two second-year girls leaned against the wall, their eyes following her every move.
She heard it—just barely.
"Yamamoto-san, right?"
"Yeah… the quiet one. She's been hanging around Mizuki-senpai a lot lately."
"Suspicious…"
Aoi kept her head down.
Her fingers trembled as she untied her indoor shoes. Were they imagining it? Or did they really know something?
She tried to breathe, but her chest felt too tight.
The hallway had never felt so long. So loud.
And when she finally reached her classroom, it didn't stop.
A few classmates gave her strange looks. One boy even muttered something under his breath as she passed.
It was beginning.
Mizuki didn't say anything that day.
Not at lunch. Not in the halls. Not even in the fleeting moment their eyes met across the courtyard.
But that silence was different now.
It wasn't safe anymore.
It was sharp. Like glass.
After school, Aoi stayed behind, pretending to organize her notes while the classroom emptied around her.
Only when she was alone did she let her shoulders sag.
The truth was simple: if anyone did find out, it would be over. Everything.
Mizuki would be fine, of course. She was rich. Powerful. Distant enough to brush off a scandal.
But Aoi?
She was nothing.
Just another girl.
And yet…
When she finally left the building, she found Mizuki leaning against the front gates again.
Same place.
Same posture.
But this time, she looked… tired.
Not physically. But as if something heavy was pressing on her shoulders.
"I heard them," Aoi said quietly.
"I know."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Mizuki looked away. "Because I didn't want you to see me like this."
"Like what?"
"Scared."
Aoi stared at her. That word didn't fit Mizuki. Not at all.
But in that moment, it made sense.
"I'm not going to stop," Mizuki said suddenly. "Not unless you tell me to."
Aoi's heart beat painfully hard.
"I should," she whispered.
"But you won't," Mizuki replied, voice barely audible.
Aoi looked down.
Their shadows stretched across the sidewalk—tangled, inseparable.
She wanted to reach out.
Just once.
But there were eyes everywhere.
So she did the only thing she could.
She looked up at Mizuki with the smallest, saddest smile.
And whispered, "Let's not go home yet."