The afternoon light slanted through the classroom windows, painting the floor with long stripes of gold.
Most students had already gone home, their laughter fading down the hallway.
Only a few remained — Aoi, Haruto, and two first-years from the Art Club, trying to prepare materials for next week's school exhibit.
Aoi crouched beside a cardboard box, sorting brushes and paints with her usual concentration.
Haruto was nearby, carefully peeling tape off old posters. The air smelled faintly of glue and sunlight-baked paper.
"Haruto," Aoi said, glancing up from her work. "You don't have to help every time, you know."
"I know," he said, smiling. "But it's quieter here than the library."
She tilted her head. "That's your excuse?"
"Mostly."
Aoi laughed softly. "You've gotten better at pretending you're not nice."
He looked at her, puzzled. "Pretending?"
"Mm-hmm." She twirled a paintbrush between her fingers. "You act like helping's just a habit. But I think you just like being around people now."
Her words caught him off guard, though her tone was light.
> She says it like it's obvious, he thought.
Like I'm not even hiding it anymore.
---
When the younger students left, Aoi and Haruto stayed behind to clean up the paint-splattered tables.
The sunset outside was deep orange now, the kind that made everything look softer — even the mess.
Aoi stood by the window, holding up a canvas that one of the first-years had abandoned. It was a half-finished painting of a sky, colors fading unevenly.
"They gave up on it," she murmured, tracing the brushstrokes. "But it's still beautiful, don't you think?"
Haruto joined her, hands in his pockets. "Yeah. It looks real. Not perfect, but real."
She smiled faintly. "That's why I like it."
There was a small pause, the kind that didn't need filling.
Outside, the sound of distant cicadas mixed with the muffled chatter of students heading home.
---
When Aoi turned back, she noticed Haruto staring at one of the blank canvases on the table.
"Thinking of painting something?" she teased.
He shook his head quickly. "I can't even draw a straight line."
"Good," she said, grinning. "Straight lines are boring."
He blinked. "That's… the first time someone's told me that."
Aoi giggled, setting the half-finished sky down. "Then maybe you just need a messier view of the world."
She handed him a small brush, the handle speckled with dried paint.
"Here. Paint anything."
"What, right now?"
"Why not?" she said, shrugging. "No one's judging. Just—whatever you feel like."
---
Haruto hesitated, then dipped the brush into a jar of blue paint.
The bristles dragged unevenly across the blank space, leaving streaks that looked nothing like what he'd imagined.
He frowned. "It's awful."
Aoi leaned closer, inspecting it with exaggerated seriousness.
"Hm. I see… courage. And poor brush control."
Haruto laughed. "You're terrible at lying."
"I'm not lying! It's kind of nice," she said, pointing at one uneven curve. "See? It's not about the result. It's about—what's the word…"
"Trying?" he offered.
"Exactly."
She dipped her own brush and added a small streak of pale yellow beside his blue.
"There," she said softly. "Now it's not alone."
---
They stood side by side for a while, adding random lines and colors — no plan, no design.
By the time they stepped back, the canvas was a strange, bright mess. But somehow, it looked cheerful.
Haruto smiled. "It's ugly."
Aoi nodded. "It's ours."
---
As they cleaned up, the lights flickered on automatically, filling the room with a soft hum.
The world outside had darkened, but the air between them felt light.
Aoi looked at him as she wrung out a cloth, her eyes soft. "You know, I think you've learned how to stay."
Haruto blinked. "Stay?"
"In moments like this," she said. "You don't rush to leave anymore."
He thought about that — the quiet afternoons, the walks home, the laughter that didn't need reason.
> Maybe staying isn't about where you are, he thought.
Maybe it's about who makes you want to.
---
When they finally stepped into the evening air, the last light of the day lingered behind the school roof.
Aoi stretched, her hair catching the glow.
"Tomorrow," she said, "we'll finish our masterpiece."
He chuckled. "You mean that mess?"
She grinned. "Every masterpiece starts as one."
And for once, Haruto didn't argue.