For a few days after the rooftop, life didn't change.
The same morning bell rang. The same chatter filled the corridors. The same sunlight filtered through the windows of Class 2-B, landing on the same desks where they sat side by side.
Ren didn't think much about the confession. He didn't regret what he said, and he didn't feel like a villain. Aoi was his best friend, and that truth still stood firm — at least, that's what he told himself.
But sometimes, when she smiled, something in it felt smaller. Fainter.
They still greeted each other every morning.
"Morning," Ren said as he slid open the classroom door.
"Good morning," she replied, turning slightly with a practiced smile. It looked the same as before, but the tone… the tone was quieter, like a piano note pressed too gently to ring.
Ren sat down beside her, tossing his bag under the desk.
He looked at her notebook, half-filled with neat handwriting. "You already finished the math homework?"
"Mhm," she hummed, not looking up. "I couldn't sleep, so I did it last night."
"Show-off," Ren said lightly, leaning back in his chair.
Aoi smiled faintly. "You say that every time."
It was a small exchange — nothing special — but Ren noticed that lately, their words felt shorter. Like every sentence had been trimmed before it reached the heart.
By lunch, the group gathered under their usual ginkgo tree near the gym. The spring air carried the faint scent of chalk and bread from the cafeteria. It was the same five of them — Ren, Aoi, Kaito, Miyu, and Haru — and yet, something about their circle felt uneven.
Kaito plopped down on the grass, waving a sandwich. "Yo! You guys took forever. I almost died waiting."
"You were literally sitting here for five minutes," Miyu replied, setting her lunch box beside Aoi's.
"I'm starving, that's close enough," Kaito grinned. He looked between Ren and Aoi. "You two walked together again, huh? You're like a married couple."
Ren laughed faintly. "She just walks fast. I'm trying to keep up."
"I don't walk fast," Aoi said softly, picking at her rice. "You're just lazy."
The group laughed, but the sound didn't linger.
When it faded, silence settled again, light but noticeable.
Ren chewed, watching a breeze scatter a few petals across the grass. Aoi's hair brushed her cheek as she looked down, pretending to be focused on her food.
Miyu noticed. She set down her chopsticks and sighed. "Okay, what's going on between you two?"
"Nothing," Ren replied immediately.
Aoi shook her head. "We're fine."
Kaito frowned. "You don't look fine. You haven't even joked around today."
Ren met Aoi's eyes for a split second, then looked away. "We're just tired. Exams, you know."
"Uh-huh," Miyu muttered, unconvinced. But she didn't press further. "Fine, but don't ruin lunch for the rest of us."
The group laughed again, and things went on. But the gap was there, quiet and invisible — like a thin glass wall no one dared to tap on.
That week, Ren began noticing little things.
Aoi stayed longer at the library after school.
She no longer waited by the gate.
And sometimes, when he caught her in the hallway between classes, she smiled politely instead of brightly.
He didn't take it personally. He figured she just needed space.
So he gave it to her.
But giving space also meant losing pieces of her, slowly, day by day.
It was Friday when Miyu finally snapped.
"Okay, you two seriously need to stop acting like divorced parents," she said, crossing her arms. "The group chat is dead, our lunch talks are awkward, and Haru literally stopped bringing his guitar because the mood is depressing."
Ren blinked. "What did I do?"
"Exactly!" Miyu said. "That's the problem! You're doing nothing."
Kaito chuckled. "She's got a point, man. You guys used to make fun of each other every five minutes."
Aoi looked down, cheeks faintly red. "We're really fine," she murmured. "I've just been… distracted."
"See? She's fine," Ren said, leaning back with a smirk that felt forced.
But his voice didn't have its usual spark either.
Haru adjusted his glasses. "Sometimes pretending everything's normal makes it worse."
Ren exhaled slowly, then said, "We'll be fine. It's just… things change. That's all."
The group fell quiet again.
And that silence spoke more than any answer could.
The following Monday, the air had turned warmer. A faint breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms across the courtyard. After club activities, Ren and Kaito walked toward the gate together, bags slung over their shoulders.
"Man, I'm so done with practice," Kaito groaned. "I think my arms are officially noodles."
Ren chuckled. "You say that every day."
"Yeah, but today I mean it."
Kaito grinned, then hesitated before asking, "Hey… you and Aoi are really close, right?"
Ren shrugged. "Yeah. Why?"
Kaito rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just… I was wondering if you could maybe… introduce me to her?"
Ren stopped walking. "Introduce you?"
"Yeah," Kaito said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "I mean, you guys are always hanging out. I thought she was nice. I kinda wanna get to know her better, you know?"
Ren's hand tightened slightly on his bag strap, but his tone stayed even.
"Sure," he said after a moment. "I can do that."
Kaito brightened. "Really? Thanks, man. You're the best."
Ren gave a small laugh, half genuine. "Don't make it weird."
"Never," Kaito said, grinning as he jogged ahead. "I'll owe you one!"
Ren stayed back for a moment, watching the light fade over the school's front gate. A few students were still leaving, their laughter echoing faintly down the path.
He looked toward the classroom windows, where Aoi's seat would be.
Empty now.
He didn't feel jealous — not yet.
But for the first time since her confession, something inside him shifted.
He couldn't name it, but it stayed there, quiet and persistent, long after he walked away.
The wind moved softly that evening, stirring the cherry blossoms overhead.
And in that faint pink blur of petals and memory, something between them had begun to change again — not loudly, not suddenly, but in a way that would soon be impossible to ignore.