The school rooftop wasn't as cold that afternoon. Maybe it was the sun, or maybe Rin
Uzuhiko had finally stopped noticing the chill.
He sat near the fence—not at the ledge, not anymore—legs crossed, eyes half-closed. The
breeze from Asahigaoka's hills carried the faint scent of pine and melting snow.
It had been three days since he found Hikari Minamoto there.
Three days since they both didn't fall.
Three days since he realized he still could live.
Kazuki Nanami didn't say a word when he joined him.
He simply dropped a warm can of Georgia coffee by Rin's side and sat down, elbows on his
knees, staring straight ahead.
For a while, they said nothing.
Just the soft sound of vending machines humming below. The occasional caw of crows
above the gym building.
Then Kazuki pulled something from his bag.
A cloth-wrapped object. Small. Soft-bound. Tied with a thin red ribbon.
He didn't hand it over immediately. Just placed it between them.
Rin stared.
"What's that?" he asked, voice quieter than usual.
Kazuki didn't look at him.
"She started writing in it after summer. Said it helped her sleep."
Rin's chest tightened.
He already knew whose it was.
"She told me not to give it to you… unless things got bad," Kazuki said slowly. "And, well—"
He shrugged. "I figured standing on a ledge qualified."
Rin looked down at the cloth bundle. He didn't reach for it.
Not yet.
"…Did you read it?"
Kazuki shook his head. "Not a single page. Wasn't mine to read."
Silence.
Then Kazuki stood, brushing off his pants.
"She said… you made her forget she was sick." He paused, glancing at the horizon. "Don't
forget what she made you forget."
He started toward the door.
But just before disappearing inside, he added, almost too softly to hear:
"She loved you so much, Rin. Even when she was dying, all she talked about… was you."
And then he was gone.
—
Rin stayed behind.
The wind pressed gently at his back, like it wanted him to move.
He picked up the cloth-wrapped diary.
Not to open it.
Not yet.
He just held it in his hands—like it might vanish if he let go.
Above him, the sky shifted, painted with streaks of amber and gray.
And for the first time in weeks…
he wanted to go home.