I spent an hour cleaning the living room for a school project.
An entire hour.
And then I stared at the mirror for another ten minutes, questioning my very existence.
"Just a classmate," I whispered to my reflection. "He's just a classmate. Not a lost childhood friend or mysterious hot boy with intense eyes or"
The doorbell rang.
My brain short-circuited.
---
When I opened the door, there he stood.
Shinbou.
Black hoodie. Backpack slung on one shoulder. Same unreadable expression.
But for a split second just a second his eyes darted past me and toward the house.
And he froze.
Not dramatically. Just… a pause.
Barely noticeable. But I noticed.
"You okay?" I asked.
He blinked. "Yeah. Just… familiar street."
He walked in without another word.
My heart immediately relocated to my throat.
---
We sat at the dining table. I pulled out my notes. He pulled out… absolutely nothing.
"Did you forget your part?" I asked.
"No," he said, blinking. "I just… forgot I needed to bring it."
I sighed and handed him a copy. "You're lucky I'm overly prepared."
"You're lucky I showed up."
Was that… a joke?
I stared at him. "Who are you and what did you do with the emotionally distant Shinbou?"
"Still emotionally distant," he said flatly, flipping through the notes. "Just with better manners today."
---
We started writing our outline in silence.
It was going… okay-ish. Until
"You always keep the sugar on the top shelf?"
I froze. "What?"
He gestured toward the kitchen. "Your cabinet. It just felt like I'd seen it before. Same way the hallway creaked when I stepped on the left side."
"…You noticed that?"
"I don't know how. It's weird."
---
Before I could say anything, Mom walked in with a tray of tea and the brightest smile on Earth.
"Oh! You must be Shinbou!" she said, setting the tray down with elegance and deadly curiosity. "Kuroyuki talks about you all the time."
"I don't—!" I choked on air. "I definitely do not!"
"Not with words," she said with a wink.
I buried my face in the project sheet. "Mother, please."
Shinbou politely bowed. "Thank you for having me."
"Oh, such a polite boy," Mom beamed. "Much better than the other boys who show up with loud hair and energy drinks."
I looked at Shinbou. "Please don't ask what that means."
"I wasn't going to."
We both reached for the tea at the same time.
Clink.
His cup tipped. Mine wobbled.
Spill. Everywhere.
Mom gasped.
I panicked.
Shinbou calmly stood up, grabbed a towel from the counter, and mopped it up like a trained butler.
"Do you… work at a café in your spare time?" I asked.
He paused. "No. But it feels like I've done this before."
My heart skipped.
---
After Mom left, we tried to return to work.
But Shinbou kept looking around the room.
The bookshelf.
The flower vase.
The old clock ticking in the corner.
"This place," he murmured, "makes my head feel strange. Not bad… just full."
"Full how?"
He didn't answer.
But his eyes landed on the sliding window that led to the backyard.
Then softly, as if speaking to no one at all:
"I feel like I've stood here before."