The next day, Lisa was already sitting outside by the time Kyo arrived.
Same bench. Same corner.
A little patch of sun had broken through the clouds, lighting the concrete in warm stripes. She sat on her heels with her bento in her lap, watching a line of ants travel beneath the planter box beside her.
Kyo hesitated in the doorway.
Not because he didn't want to go — but because he did, and that meant something he wasn't ready to name.
He stepped out.
She didn't look up. Just shifted a little — subtle, barely perceptible — to make space beside her.
He sat.
Again, no words.
Again, she opened her lunch, and without comment, nudged a piece of sweet rolled egg toward him.
Kyo accepted it.
They ate slowly, in rhythm with each other and the rain that had now become mist. Somewhere behind them, a door slammed and a teacher barked about shoelaces. Neither flinched.
A voice broke through the quiet.
"Ooh, are you two in loooove?"
It was one of the boys from their class — the tall one with over-gelled hair and a voice that hadn't cracked yet but thought it had.
He stood by the doorway with two other kids, grinning like a game show host.
"Careful, Lisa-chan. Sagara's cursed. Sit with him and you vanish by recess."
The other boys snorted.
Lisa blinked at them.
Kyo said nothing.
After a few seconds, the boys got bored and wandered off.
Lisa didn't speak, but Kyo noticed her shoulders had pulled in slightly — as if she were trying to fold herself smaller.
He turned his head. Met her eyes, just once.
She looked down. Bit her lip. Then opened the tiny container in the corner of her bento and removed a single pickled plum.
Without a word, she placed it on his side of the lid.
It tasted sour and bright.
Kyo's expression didn't change, but his jaw stopped clenching.
After lunch, while most kids were roughhousing near the schoolyard, Lisa sat on the edge of the walkway with a piece of white chalk she'd taken from the blackboard tray.
She didn't draw flowers, or hearts, or a cat — the usual playground things.
Instead, she drew a single line of stars — five-pointed, each tilted slightly to the right. One had a long tail.
Kyo crouched nearby, watching.
She finished the falling star and looked at him.
Then held the moment, as if offering it.
Not smiling. Just... inviting.
He picked up a second piece of chalk and added a sixth star to the row — a little uneven, slightly too far from the others.
Lisa tilted her head at it, then nodded.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Now it's balanced."
That afternoon, as they left the school gates, she walked beside him again.
Not behind. Not ahead.
Beside.