Aika's Perspective: A Shift in the Air
Two weeks had passed since Riku had shown her the greenhouse.
In that time, things had mostly returned to normal—or at least, they should have. Classes went on as usual, the seniors were stressing over exams, and the art club was preparing for an upcoming exhibition.
But Aika couldn't shake the feeling that something was… different.
It wasn't obvious. If she hadn't known Riku for so long, she might not have noticed at all.
But she did.
There were moments—small, fleeting moments—where she caught him hesitating, his fingers twitching ever so slightly when he picked up his guitar, his gaze lingering on nothing in particular as if lost in thought.
And then there were the times he would just disappear.
Before, he was always around—hovering over her shoulder as she sketched, stealing bites of her lunch, teasing her about every little thing. But lately, there were times when she'd turn to say something, only to realize he was nowhere to be found.
At first, she told herself she was overthinking it.
Riku was still Riku, after all. He still made dumb jokes, still acted like he ruled the world, still dragged her to random places for no reason at all.
But today, as she sat in the art room after school, staring at the half-finished painting in front of her, that feeling of unease crept back in.
Something was off.
And she didn't know why.
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Riku's Perspective: The Act of Pretending
Riku leaned against the rooftop railing, exhaling slowly as he let the wind cool his overheated skin.
He could feel it—the fatigue creeping in faster, his body refusing to listen to him the way it used to.
It wasn't bad. Not yet.
But he knew it was only a matter of time.
For now, though, he just had to keep playing his part.
He ran a hand through his hair, shaking off the heavy feeling settling in his chest. He had promised himself—he wouldn't let Aika notice.
Not yet.
Because the moment she did…
Everything would change.