The arcade near the station was old, dim, and always too loud. Perfect.
No one from school ever came here. Too dirty. Too uncool.
But to Aoi, it felt like a secret garden—one where reality couldn't quite reach them.
Mizuki paid for a card and handed it to Aoi wordlessly. Her fingers brushed Aoi's palm. A spark. Again.
They didn't say much as they moved through the aisles of machines. The flickering lights made Mizuki's eyes seem darker, deeper. Her uniform jacket hung loose over her shoulders. Her hair was tied up today—messy, rushed.
Aoi couldn't stop looking at her.
They stopped at an old rhythm game.
"Do you even know how to play this?" Mizuki asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," Aoi admitted. "But I want to."
Mizuki smiled softly. "Then I'll teach you."
She stood behind her, close—too close—and reached forward to guide Aoi's hands onto the glowing pads.
Her chest pressed gently against Aoi's back. The smell of her shampoo was subtle, clean, a little like mint. It made Aoi dizzy.
"You have to watch the screen and hit the buttons when they glow," Mizuki whispered near her ear.
Aoi nodded.
The game started.
And somehow, she couldn't focus on anything but the warmth of Mizuki's presence. The steady rhythm. The fact that Mizuki hadn't moved away.
Not even a little.
When the song ended, they were both laughing.
And breathless.
"I'm terrible," Aoi said, cheeks flushed.
"You're perfect," Mizuki replied, not missing a beat.
Aoi's breath caught. She turned around, and for a second—they were face to face. Mizuki's lips were only inches from hers.
Neither moved.
The world outside the arcade didn't exist.
"I—" Aoi started.
But she never finished.
Instead, Mizuki reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of old, tangled earbuds. "Come here."
They found a quiet booth in the corner.
It wasn't meant for two.
But they squeezed in anyway.
Aoi pressed against the window, knees tucked up, while Mizuki sat close beside her, holding one earbud to her own ear and handing the other to Aoi.
She took it.
The music was soft. Some lo-fi track with rain in the background.
Outside, it had started to drizzle for real.
Mizuki rested her head lightly on Aoi's shoulder. "Is this okay?"
Aoi nodded.
Too fast.
Then slower. "Yes."
They sat in silence for a while.
Not awkward. Not tense.
Just… full.
Aoi didn't know how long they stayed like that. The beat of the music, the hum of machines outside, Mizuki's warmth—all of it blurred.
It felt like falling.
Not in a scary way.
But the kind that makes your stomach flutter.
"I don't want to go home," Aoi whispered.
"Then don't."
"What if we get caught?"
"We will."
Mizuki turned her head. Their foreheads touched lightly.
"But for now," she said, "we're invisible."
And in that tiny booth, under flickering lights and forgotten songs, Aoi believed her.