The late afternoon sun bled crimson across the school rooftop, painting the concrete in long, melancholic shadows. Luna Shirohane stood at the edge, the wind gently tugging at her silver hair and the tips of her drooping ears. In her hands, a pale blue envelope, sealed with a small sticker of a crescent moon. Her heart thrummed against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped behind bone.
"Hiro," she whispered to the empty air, her voice barely a breath. "There's something I… I need to tell you." She grimaced, shaking her head. Too formal. She tried again, squeezing her eyes shut. "Hiro, I… I really like you. No. I love—" The word, spoken aloud even in solitude, sent a scorching blush across her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands, the envelope crinkling. "I can't. I can't say it out loud yet."
The metallic scrape of the rooftop door hinge made her jump. She whirled around, instinctively shoving the letter into the pocket of her blazer.
Hiro Mizuki stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights. Even in his human form, he carried a quiet, solid presence that made the air around him feel different. Safer. His dark eyes found her, and a soft, questioning smile touched his lips.
"There you are," he said, his voice a warm rumble. "Everyone's looking for you. Yuki's trying to organize a karaoke invasion."
"Oh!" Luna's voice came out an octave too high. She cleared her throat, willing her racing pulse to slow. "I was just… thinking."
He stepped fully onto the rooftop, the door swinging shut behind him. "About what?"
The simple question held her captive. This is it. This is the moment. The confession letter seemed to burn through the fabric of her pocket, a beacon of her courage and fear. She took a deep, shuddering breath, the cool air filling her lungs. She could smell the faint, clean scent of his soap mingling with the city air.
"Hiro, I need to tell you—"
The door burst open with a clatter.
"Found you!" Yuki's exuberant shout shattered the delicate silence. She bounded out, followed by the more subdued Kaede. "Come on, slowpokes! The private room is booked for seven! We're doing the full anime song medley this time, no excuses!"
The spell was broken. Luna's shoulders slumped, her ears flattening visibly against her hair. The words, so carefully rehearsed, dissolved on her tongue. She forced a smile, one that didn't reach her eyes.
"...Never mind," she said, the words tasting like ash. "Let's go."
Hiro's brow furrowed. He caught her arm gently as she moved to pass him. His touch was electric. "Wait. What were you going to say?"
Her heart ached. She looked up at him, at the genuine concern in his gaze, and her courage failed completely. The fear—the terrifying, paralyzing fear of changing everything, of seeing that kindness in his eyes turn to pity or, worse, polite rejection—closed its icy hand around her throat.
"It's nothing," she murmured, pulling her arm away softly. "Really."
She walked past him, following Yuki's chattering form back inside. She didn't see the lingering confusion on his face, the way he watched her retreating back with a thoughtful, troubled expression.
The karaoke booth was a capsule of controlled chaos. Strobing lights painted their laughing faces in bursts of color as Yuki belted out a power ballad, Kaede providing surprisingly competent harmony. The air was thick with the smell of fried snacks and sugary soda.
Luna sat curled in the corner of a plush booth, a forgotten microphone in her lap. Her eyes were fixed on Hiro, who was being dragged to the front by Yuki for a duet. He went with a resigned, good-natured smile, shooting a mock-pleading look back at the group. Luna's hand strayed to her bag, her fingers brushing against the crisp edge of the blue envelope.
"You're going to wear a hole in him with your eyes."
Luna jumped.Lolo Takamura had slipped into the seat beside her, elegant as ever despite the garish surroundings. She held two glasses of melon soda, offering one to Luna.
"I wasn't—" Luna began, then deflated, accepting the drink. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone who's doing the same thing," Lolo said quietly, her amber gaze also on Hiro as he fumbled with the microphone settings. A faint, almost imperceptible smile ghosted across her lips before she turned back to Luna. "And the letter in your bag hasn't left your side all week. Are you going to tell him?"
Luna's grip tightened on her glass. "I tried. Today. On the rooftop. But…"
"But the world is terribly good at interrupting," Lolo finished, her voice understanding. She sipped her soda. "Why not now? Slip it to him. Text him. Do it before your courage evaporates again."
"I'm scared, Lolo," Luna confessed, the admission a hollow whisper beneath the thumping music. "What if he doesn't feel the same? What if it ruins… all of this?" She gestured vaguely at their friends, at the easy camaraderie. "What if I lose him?"
Lolo was silent for a long moment, watching Yuki swing an arm around Hiro's shoulders as the music started. "Then you'll never know," she said finally, her tone softer than Luna had ever heard it. "And living with 'what if' is a quieter, slower kind of pain. It never really goes away."
Later, the neon signs of the city painted wet reflections on the pavement as Hiro walked Luna home. The boisterous energy of the group had faded, leaving a comfortable, intimate silence between them. The night was cool, and their breaths made small clouds in the air. This was it. Another chance. The perfect, quiet moment.
Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The letter was a live wire in her pocket. Now. Just say it. 'Hiro, I like you.' Simple.
"Hiro…" Her voice emerged thin and shaky.
"Yeah?" He looked down at her, his expression open, attentive.
The words clogged in her throat. The fear returned, a cold, rising tide. She saw his face morphing into polite surprise, then gentle regret. She saw the careful distance that would follow. The imaginary future was more real to her in that moment than the boy standing beside her.
"I… um…" She stared at her shoes. "Be careful walking home. The streets are dark."
A pause. She could feel his confusion. But his response was kind, always kind.
"I will," he said, his smile gentle in the dim light. "Goodnight, Luna."
He gave a small wave and turned, his figure gradually swallowed by the shadows between the streetlights. Luna stood frozen on her doorstep until he vanished from sight. She pulled the blue envelope from her pocket. The crescent moon sticker gleamed under the porch light.
"Tomorrow," she whispered to the empty night, a promise and a plea. "I'll tell him tomorrow."
She slipped inside, the door closing with a soft, final click. She never heard the squeal of tires, the deafening impact, the shattering of glass. She was already dreaming of tomorrow's courage, unaware that it had just been stolen.
The call came at 6:17 AM, slicing through the gentle haze of a dream she couldn't remember. An unknown number pulsed on her screen.
"Hello?" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
"Is this Luna Shirohane?" The voice on the other end was professionally calm, devoid of emotion. "You are listed as an emergency contact for Hiro Mizuki."
Sleep vanished, replaced by a plunging, vertiginous cold. "What? What happened?!"
"He was involved in a serious accident late last night. He's at Kurokawa General Hospital. He's in critical condition."
The phone tumbled from her numb fingers, clattering on the wooden floor. The world tilted, colors draining to gray. She moved on autopilot, yanking on a coat over her pajamas, feet shoved into the first shoes she found. The city outside her window blurred into a meaningless smear of light and motion as she ran, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps. Critical condition. Accident. Hiro.
The hospital was a labyrinth of sterile smells and echoing noise. She found the Intensive Care Unit, a place of hushed dread. Hiro's family formed a tight, devastated cluster: his mother weeping silently into his father's shoulder, his father's face a mask of grim stoicism, his grandparents Daiki and Akane holding hands, looking suddenly old and fragile.
And Lolo. Already there, perfectly composed in a simple, expensive-looking dress, her face pale but serene. She must have used her family's resources to be alerted instantly.
"Where is he?!" Luna's voice was a raw scrape. "Is he—?!"
Hiro's mother turned and enveloped her in a trembling hug. "He's alive, Luna-chan. But… it's bad. It's really bad."
A doctor in a white coat approached, a tablet in hand. "Family of Hiro Mizuki?"
"Yes." Hiro's father stepped forward, his voice steady but strained.
The doctor's eyes scanned the tablet. "He's stabilized for now. The injuries are extensive: multiple compound fractures in the left arm and leg, three broken ribs, a ruptured spleen which we've addressed surgically, and a severe traumatic brain injury. He's in a medically-induced coma to allow the swelling to go down."
Each word was a physical blow. Luna's legs buckled. Strong arms caught her—Lolo, her grip firm and steady.
"Can we see him?" Luna begged.
"Immediate family only for now," the doctor said, not unkindly. "I'm sorry."
It was Lolo who stepped forward, her posture shifting from supportive friend to heiress in an instant. The air around her seemed to still.
"Doctor," she said, her voice clear and carrying an undeniable authority. "I am Lolo Takamura. The Takamura family will be assuming all financial responsibility for Hiro Mizuki's care."
The doctor's eyes widened, recognizing one of the most powerful names in the city.
"Spare no expense," Lolo continued, her amber eyes holding the doctor's. "I want the best neurosurgeon on consult. A private room as soon as he's out of ICU. Every resource available. Is that understood?"
"O-of course, Miss Takamura. Immediately."
Lolo turned back to the family, the authority melting away, leaving only earnest concern. "Please, don't give the bills a single thought. Just focus on him. On getting him better."
Hiro's mother dissolved into fresh, relieved tears, grasping Lolo's hands. "Thank you… God, thank you so much…"
Luna could only stare, a maelstrom of gratitude, grief, and a strange, painful awe twisting inside her.
A strange, somber routine began. Days blurred into one another, marked by the steady, mechanical beeping of monitors.
On the first day, Luna arrived with a carefully packed bento—Hiro's favorite, ginger pork and tamagoyaki. She found Lolo already there, placing a lacquered box from a legendary, impossible-to-book chef onto the nurse's station for the family. They looked at each other, at the redundant offerings, and wordlessly retreated to the waiting room to eat their respective meals in heavy silence.
On the second day, Luna brought homemade rice porridge, easy to digest. Lolo arrived with a thermos of exquisite, clear broth from the same famed restaurant. They ate together again, the silence now companionable rather than awkward.
On the third day, Luna's phone buzzed as she was leaving her apartment.
Lolo:I have soup. Can you bring something substantial for his parents?
Luna:Onigirazu. I'll be there soon.
It became their unspoken pact. They coordinated shifts, food, updates. They were the sentinels at the gate, the keepers of the vigil. Yuki and Kaede came when they could, bringing noise and distraction that was both painful and welcome. The school rumor mill churned—the two rival beauties, inseparable at the hospital, united by their devotion to the injured beastfolk boy. Ayaka Sato, hearing the gossip, could only seethe with a jealousy that curdled into something darker.
One afternoon, a week in, they sat in the stark light of the hospital cafeteria. Luna pushed a piece of broccoli around her bento box. Lolo meticulously arranged slices of premium wagyu in hers.
"This is strange, isn't it?" Lolo said finally.
"What is?"
"This." Lolo gestured with her chopsticks between their boxes. "We make food for him. Every day. But he can't eat any of it. So we eat it for him. Together."
A small, sad smile touched Luna's lips. "It's like… we're keeping his seat warm. Holding a place for him at the table."
Lolo looked down at her perfect meal. "When he wakes up," she said softly, "he'll have a mountain of food waiting. He'll be sick of our cooking."
A quiet, watery laugh escaped Luna. "He'd never say that."
"No,"Lolo agreed, a genuine smile finally reaching her eyes. "He wouldn't."
In a sleek, impersonal office high above the city, a different kind of watch was being kept. The man from the shadows—Hiro's mysterious stalker, the director of the clandestine beastfolk affairs—leaned back in his leather chair. But he was not in his human form.
Fur, black as a starless night with coiling streaks of molten orange, covered his powerful frame. Golden, predatory eyes reflected the glow of a large monitor. He had hidden this truth, this powerful beast form, for so long. On the wall before him was a mosaic of control: Hiro's school records, grainy photos of him walking home, detailed medical reports from the hospital, and complex DNA helices marked 'ANALYSIS INCONCLUSIVE.'
With a claw-tipped finger, he picked up a red marker and drew a thick, satisfied line through a recent photo of Hiro, smiling and whole.
"A temporary setback," the beast-man rumbled, his voice a distorted growl in the quiet room. "But an effective one. It's hard to be a symbol when you're broken."
His phone purred on the desk. The golden eyes glinted as he willed the change, the fur receding, the claws retracting, until the composed, dangerous human face was back. He answered.
"Yes?"
"Status on the Mizuki subject?" The voice on the line was older, heavy with unquestioned authority—The General.
"Hospitalized. Critical but stable. A tragic traffic accident."
" 'Accident?' " The General's tone was flat, disbelieving.
"Of course," the man replied, a cold smile touching his lips. "Purely coincidental. A runaway truck, an unconscious driver. Terrible luck."
A long pause hummed over the line. "When he wakes up—if he wakes up—we proceed with extraction. The window is closing. Understood?"
"Perfectly."
The call ended. The man's gaze drifted from Hiro's crossed-out face to two other photos on his wall: Luna, caught mid-laugh, her silver hair bright; and Lolo, poised and unreadable. His smile faded.
"And you two," he murmured, tracing their faces with a well-manicured fingernail. "The loyal little guardians. You are going to become a problem."
That night, the hospital corridor was a tunnel of silence. Visiting hours were long over, but a nurse, paid discreetly by the Takamura family, let Luna slip in.
The private room was dark, lit only by the soft, rhythmic glow of monitors. Hiro lay in the center of a web of wires and tubes, a stark white bandage wrapped around his head, his arm and leg encased in plaster and suspended. The strong, quiet boy was gone, replaced by a pale, fragile effigy.
Luna pulled a chair close, the sound impossibly loud. Gently, as if touching gossamer, she took his unbandaged hand. It was cool and limp.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, the first tear breaking free, tracing a hot path down her cheek. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you."
From her pocket, she drew out the blue envelope, now soft and worn from days of anxious handling. The crescent moon sticker was peeling at the edge.
"I was going to give you this," she said, her voice cracking. She held it up, as if he could see it. "I had it all written out. Everything I was too scared to say. And now…" A sob hitched in her chest. "Now you can't hear me at all."
She laid the letter carefully on the blanket beside his hand and rested her forehead against the edge of the mattress, her body shaking with silent tears. "Please wake up. I'll tell you everything. I'll shout it from the rooftop. I promise. Just… please. Please wake up, Hiro."
The only answer was the steady, metronomic beep… beep… beep… of the heart monitor, a tiny, brave light in the overwhelming dark.
Outside the room, seen through the narrow window in the door, Lolo stood watch. She saw Luna's shaking shoulders, the crumpled letter on the bed, the vulnerable curve of her friend's back. A single, perfect tear escaped Lolo's controlled composure, tracing a lonely path down her cheek before she swiftly brushed it away.
She loves him so much, Lolo thought, her own heart a tight, aching knot. And I… I do too. Enough to stand here. Enough to help her. Enough to wait.
She placed her palm flat against the cool glass, a silent transmission of shared hope and shared despair.
"Please wake up, Hiro," she whispered to the empty hallway. "Not for me. For her. For the girl who was finally ready to tell you her truth."
With one last look at the two figures in the room—the broken boy and the grieving girl—Lolo turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing softly into the consuming hospital quiet, leaving them alone in their vigil, united by a love that had found its voice too late, and a hope that dared to whisper, 'Not yet.'