Ryuya walked slowly, Sanae walked by his side, half-smile tugged at her lips, they didn’t talk. 

The hallways were quiet.

Most students lingered in their classrooms or moved in clusters toward their after-school activities.

The sun peered softly through the windows on the way there, something calming, soothing, they could have kept walking forever and it wouldn’t have mattered.

The clubdoor was just ahead, a few paces away. Closed as usual so as to not disturb the quiet inside.. 

They followed through, casually unbothered.

Inside, a few familiar faces were already at their easels. 

Ryuya stepped in, moving toward the back with casual indifference.

The glances at his entry barely registered.

He reached a desk by the window where he lowered himself—the usual spot when he stayed longer than a few minutes. It seemed that, somehow, the club had become a place he could exist in without expectation.

Sanae walked toward the supply closet at the end of the room, retrieving her materials with practiced ease. 

Ryuya’s gaze floated around the room, landing on the girl at the other desk, a distance away. He’d seen her multiple times before, Sanae’s friend.

Was it Hana? Or Kanna? He wasn’t sure. She didn’t look up. Her brow kept knitting in concentration, practicing probably, drawing lines in a leathered cover sketchbook.

She frowned, something he noticed. 

He wasn’t close enough to make out the details and definitely didn’t feel like getting closer. 

His gaze lingered on the sketchbook though, a beat too long.

Maybe I should try after all.. 

He thought for a second that seemed to stretch endlessly, like an echo in an empty room.

“Huh ?”  Sanae’s surprised tone cut through the haze, Ryuya glanced at her. 

She was stepping back from the closet with a perplexed expression, holding a sketchbook that wasn’t too hard to recognize.

“Well… I guess it’s back after all”  She said casually as she reached him Her expression shifted. Not surprise exactly, but something thoughtful.

Ryuya let out a slow, half-hearted exhale. 

Sanae flipped through the sketchbook in her hands, frowning slightly. 

“It was on the shelf, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there yesterday.”

Ryuya’s gaze didn’t hold, his attention drifting away, floating from the windows to the space itself.

“Maybe it was moved around..” Sanae added in a low voice, more to herself than anything.

“Maybe…” He exhaled, barely looking. 

“At least it’s back in one piece.” She added, closing the book swiftly looking back at him. 

Her gaze pressed into his for a beat too long, the glint in her eyes steady and insistent..

“You should take it back now.” She said as she extended the book to him.

He paused, glancing away.

The words weren’t unexpected; something he should have been able to wave away easily, yet something made him falter–a shift he couldn’t quite place.

Sanae observed him for a second before her lips parted.

 “Look.. I know you don’t draw anymore but I just think it’d be proper you know ?” 

Her voice didn’t waver, soft as always. His gaze came back to the book once more, a wave crawling through his back.

Ryuya’s hand reached for the book without much of a thought, he could tell Sanae cared more than he did,  And if it meant that much, it was easier to comply, better than resisting anyway..

Sanae smiled as she sat next to him.

They stayed like that for a while, talking in low, unhurried voices.

Sanae led with her questions, gentle, never pressing too far. It felt like she had an instinct—knowing when to ask and when to hold back.

Ryuya’s gaze drifted to the window, outside, the sky shone with afternoon light

No rain.

And no fog.

Emi walked in silence through the afternoon.

The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the sides of buildings, her breath drawing ghostly trails in the cold. She wasn’t far from home now. Her pace quickened.

The apartment building came into view, its weathered exterior blending into the dull colors of the street. She climbed the steps slowly, her fingers brushing against the rusted rail as she ascended to the front door.

The mailbox stood just inside the entryway, the label barely legible.

She opened it, pulling out a small stack of mail. Bills addressed to her father, advertisements, yet two envelopes caught her attention.

“Kamimine Emi.”

It was addressed to her, making her brow raise slightly. She shifted through the stack casually, her eyes narrowing as a red “PAST DUE” stamp popped into view. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, but she moved on anyway.

A few steps through the staircase and soon the apartment door lay in front of her.
She pulled her keys out, opening the door with a familiar creak, shutting it quietly behind her.

Her feet carried her toward the kitchen, past the worn-out couch and beyond the lonely dinner table.
She opened the cabinet and grabbed a glass without much thought.

On the fridge, a small drawing hung from a magnet — one she made as a child, a tiny house surrounded with a field of sunflowers. A relic of a time when her talent meant something simpler.

She opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of apple juice and filling her glass before going back to the living room. There, she lowered herself at the table, pulling out the two envelopes from her bag.

Her hands hesitated briefly before her fingers slit the first one.

Hi Emi, I got the drawing you sent me, it’s so pretty, thank you very much,

I showed it to everyone at school! You’re so talented!

I’d love to see you on my birthday, my mom says I can have a party, you can teach me how to draw like you,

see you!

— Rinrin ♥️

The faintest smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t last. She folded the letter carefully and set it aside before opening the next one.

Hello Emi,

Dad said you’ve got a showcase coming up,

I hope it goes well.

We may be able to come take a look.

I hope you’re doing okay.

Your brother Shun.

The handwriting was neat, almost formal. Emi let out a quiet huff. Her fingers hovered over the page for a second before she folded the letter, her movements slower now, more deliberate.

A shiver in her leg prompted her to stand up. She walked back to the kitchen in silence, reaching into a drawer to pull out a small plastic red straw.

She came back again, lowering herself on the chair once more, leaning in, reaching for her glass.

A slow sip, the hiff of the straw filled the quiet, softening her thoughts. The juice was cold, making her teeth ache slightly.

Her gaze drifted from her glass, to the straw, to her fingers wrapped around it, to the way the soft glow cast red ripples through the plastic.

She watched them absently, the way they waltzed when she moved her cup.

The way they danced on her fingers, stubborn and bright.

At least her teeth had stopped aching now.