My hand was still smarting from pinching his cheek, but the triumphant smile plastered across my face refused to fade. The teacher, bless his oblivious heart, cleared his throat and tried to regain control of a classroom that had just witnessed a legend being rewritten.
"Alright, Kuroda-kun, since your textbooks haven't arrived yet, you'll have to share with Hanamura-san for the time being."
The words were a gift from the heavens. Jun, who had already claimed the territory beside me, simply shifted his chair a few centimeters closer. The wooden legs scraped against the floor, a sound that felt ridiculously loud in the suddenly hushed room. Our shoulders brushed, and the simple contact sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated happiness straight through me.
"Looks like I'm in your care, Hanamura-san," he whispered, his voice a low, teasing rumble meant only for me. He leaned in, pretending to look at the open history textbook on our shared desk. The scent of him—cedar and that clean, unique musk that was just Jun—filled my senses.
My heart did a ridiculous little flip. "Just try to keep up, idiot," I whispered back, my eyes fixed on the page. "You've got two years of the Tokugawa Shogunate to catch up on."
History class droned on. I tried my best to focus, to take notes, but it was impossible. My entire awareness was centered on the boy beside me. Halfway through the lecture, I felt a subtle pressure against my right hand, which was resting on my lap. I glanced down. Jun had placed his hand, palm up, right beside mine. It was a silent, blatant invitation.
My cheeks instantly warmed. We're in the middle of class! But his expectant stillness was a challenge I couldn't ignore.
"We need to write," I hissed under my breath, not looking at him.
"What's the problem?" he whispered back, his voice laced with infuriating logic. "You're left-handed, and I'm right-handed. It's efficient."
He was an absolute, unrepentant moron. And he was right. I hesitated for another second before my fingers gave in, tentatively lacing through his. His hand immediately closed around mine, a warm, firm claim that felt more real than anything the teacher was saying. Our hands, hidden beneath the desk, became our own secret world.
The ten-minute breaks between classes were a whole new kind of chaos. The moment the bell rang, our desk became a pilgrimage site. A rotating cast of curious boys and awe-struck girls would approach, all with the same transparent goal.
"Kuroda-kun, I'm Sato from the soccer club! You should totally try out!"
"Kuroda-kun, your tracksuit is so... vintage! It's cool!"
Jun handled them with an easy, detached charm, answering their questions without ever really giving anything away. But I noticed his grip on my hand would tighten ever so slightly with each new person who approached. He was a good actor, but he was overwhelmed.
After the third period ended, the familiar need arose. "I'm going to the toilet," I murmured, starting to gather myself.
Jun didn't need to hear another word. He simply stood up when I did, a silent, automatic response ingrained from years of being inseparable. I didn't have to ask him to come, and he didn't need to ask for permission. It was just the way it was. He was my shadow, and I was his anchor.
When I came out of the girls' restroom, he was there, leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, looking for all the world like a bodyguard waiting for his charge. The sight sent a ridiculous, warm pang through my chest. He was guarding me.
I walked over and looped my arm through his, pulling him along the corridor back toward the classroom. The easy domesticity of the action felt so right.
"What's wrong?" I teased, leaning my head against his shoulder. "Are you scared of being left alone for five minutes?"
He looked down at me, his expression mock-serious. "I am," he admitted. "It's terrifying out there. I feel like a new animal at the zoo."
I couldn't help but laugh, a bright, genuine sound. "Well, you reap what you sow. That's what you get for the stunt you pulled, moving the desks like that."
He stopped walking, turning to face me in the empty hallway. A slow, infuriatingly handsome smile spread across his face. "But you loved it, didn't you?" Before I could answer, he leaned down and pressed a soft, quick kiss to the top of my head.
The gesture stole the air from my lungs and left me defenseless. A shy, small voice that I barely recognized as my own escaped my lips. "...I do."
He pulled back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."
He'd heard me. The jerk had definitely heard me. I glared up at him, my cheeks burning. "I said I do love it!" I repeated, my voice much louder this time.
Jun just laughed, a deep, happy sound that echoed in the hallway, and pulled me along.
The final bell before lunch was a starting pistol. Before the reporters—our classmates—could even think of surrounding us, I had both bento boxes in hand, grabbing Jun's wrist with my free one.
"Come on!" I said, pulling him out of the classroom and toward our sanctuary.
The shade beneath the old Camphor Tree was a cool, welcome relief. The ambient noise of the school faded away, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the comfortable silence between us.
"You've really leveled up your housewife skills," Jun commented, already eyeing the tamagoyaki in his bento.
I just rolled my eyes and started eating my grilled fish, savoring the peaceful, perfect mundanity of it all. This was the victory. This quiet moment.
We ate for a while, the silence easy and full.
"You know," Jun said, breaking the quiet, "I do see some familiar faces in our class. A few from middle school."
I hummed in agreement, my mouth full of rice.
"Specifically, Aoi," he continued, his tone becoming more thoughtful. "Sato Aoi."
I froze, my chopsticks hovering over a piece of carrot. Aoi. Her name felt heavy, a stone dropping into the calm pond of my happiness.
"What happened?" Jun asked gently when I didn't reply. "She saw me, I know she did. But she didn't come up and talk. She didn't even look at me."
I stayed silent, my gaze dropping to my lap. My mind was flooded with images. Aoi, with her bright, infectious laugh. Aoi, braiding my hair every time she sleeps over. Aoi, always there, the third point of our inseparable triangle. And then, a different image: Aoi, her face streaked with tears, begging me to let go, to mourn, to move on. The day I chose my vow over my best friend. The day I built a wall of silence she couldn't break through.
Jun waited, but the reply never came. Finally, he sighed softly. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."
His understanding was worse than any accusation. It made the guilt sharpen in my chest. I quickly reached out, my fingers closing around the sleeve of his tracksuit. I looked up at him, my eyes pleading.
"It's not like that," I said, my voice thick. "There's nothing I can't talk to you about." I took a shaky breath. "It's just... I think Aoi might hate me now."
Jun listened, his expression serious, his gaze never leaving my face. "It's because of me, isn't it?"
I opened my mouth to deny it, to take all the blame onto myself, but the words wouldn't come. I just looked down, the silent admission hanging between us. The truth was, his disappearance had been the catalyst for everything.
Jun was quiet for a long moment. Then, his hand came up, and he gently stroked my hair, his touch a comforting, solid weight.
"Let's leave it to me, okay?" he said, his voice firm but soft. "I'm here now. I'll make things right."