"Have you been eating properly lately?"
The moment the message appeared, Shiratori Seiya knew exactly who sent it.
Hōjō Shione.
He'd been with her for over two years. Her voice, her tone, the subtle fragrance she wore—all of it had been etched into his memory alongside the sunlight of those high school days. Just reading those words, he could hear her gentle inflection, see the way she'd tilt her head when she asked.
He took a deep breath, rubbed his temples where a headache was forming, and forced the emotions down.
"Okay."
The message switched to "read" instantly. Then:
"But I haven't been very happy lately."
His eyelid twitched. His finger hovered over the screen. He left it on read.
Shione didn't press. Instead:
"I'm at your school gate right now."
Seiya's lips pressed together.
"Aren't you afraid of being photographed? Go home."
"I can't. It's too far. I'm at your university."
"Go home."
"But people are already taking pictures, Seiya. If you don't come to rescue me, it'll be hard to escape."
"If you don't come, I won't leave."
If you don't come, I won't leave.
Childish. Spoiled. Completely Shione.
He stared at the screen for a long moment. Then:
"I'm coming."
>>>
The walk from the cafeteria to the gate took ten minutes.
The sun was brutal today—the kind of heat that made sweat stick fabric to skin, that made normal people seek shade and air conditioning. Shiratori Seiya hated it. Hated the sticky feeling, the way his shirt clung.
He spent the walk trying to figure out what he'd say to her. How to make this clean. Final.
Then he was at the gate, looking around, seeing nothing.
A shadow blocked the sun above his head.
That familiar perfume hit him before he could turn. His body went rigid.
Hōjō Shione stepped around him, umbrella angled to shade them both. She stood in the summer light like she belonged there—like the sun itself had arranged itself around her.
A white mask covered most of her face, but her eyes gave her away. Red-rimmed. Glistening. Like she'd been crying. A few strands of hair had escaped from behind her ear, drifting in the breeze.
Those eyes—wet glass in morning dew—studied him.
Then she smiled. Tilted her head. Made her voice light, casual, like this was nothing.
"Hey, Seiya. Still so easy to trick."
A pause.
"But... since you came anyway, can you hold the umbrella for me?"
He took it without speaking.
Their fingers touched.
And something broke.
She rose on her toes, wrapped her slender arms around his shoulders, and buried her face in his chest. Inhaled deeply—like she'd been holding her breath for months and finally found air.
Shiratori Seiya's throat went dry. His arms, hanging at his sides, started to rise—then stopped halfway.
A muffled voice came from against his chest:
"Don't go. Please."
Passersby glanced at them—the clinging girl, the stiff boy—and smiled knowingly. Young love. How sweet.
Time stretched. Collapsed. When Seiya came back to himself, Shione had already pulled away.
"Sorry." She tucked hair behind her ear, smiling. "It's been too long since I refilled on Seiya energy. Forgive my selfishness."
He studied her without meaning to. She looked the same. Light brown hair curling past her shoulders. Slender waist. And those curves—impossibly full, straining the fabric of her blouse. She leaned forward slightly, and he caught a glimpse of pale cleavage.
He looked away.
"Why are you here?"
Shione's expression flickered—tangled, complicated. She sighed.
"If I didn't know how to reach you, maybe I could bear it. But once I knew..." She trailed off, then met his eyes. "The wanting to see you just... wouldn't stop."
Hearing those words—said so simply, so honestly—made something twist in his chest. He looked away again.
"I listened to you, Seiya."
That brought his gaze back.
"Aunt Ando called you earlier, right? She told me she yelled at you." Shione's voice was soft. "But I didn't complain to her. I wouldn't do that. Even though you were awful—breaking up by letter, disappearing..."
She trailed off, then explained.
>>>
Listening to Hōjō Shione's explanation, Shiratori Seiya finally understood.
Even after he'd left for university, Andō Norika still called Shione regularly. Asked about their relationship. When they'd visit together. Casual questions, at first. Easy to deflect.
But over time, Norika noticed the inconsistencies. Heard the way Shione's voice cracked whenever Seiya's name came up. Pressed harder. And eventually, Shione told her the truth.
Predictable. Shiratori Seiya had known this could happen. He'd even prepared countermeasures. But standing here now, watching Shione's red-rimmed eyes, he couldn't find the words.
"Let's talk over there." Shione gestured toward the shade, away from the staring passersby. Then, as naturally as breathing, she took his hand. Her thumb traced the thin calluses on his tiger's mouth—old habits from years of kendo—and something wistful flickered across her face.
As they walked, she kept her voice light. "It's been a while. How have you been?"
"Okay."
"Is that so?" A soft laugh. "I haven't been."
She repeated the words from her text, then stopped in the shade, closing her umbrella with a sharp snap.
"Seiya, you're so cruel. Just leaving a letter like that." She looked at him directly. "It took me days to realize I'd been dumped."
A pause.
"Can I know why?"
Shiratori Seiya met her gaze. Felt the accumulated emotions pressing against his chest, trying to break through. He hardened his voice.
"Shione. I have a girlfriend."
Silence.
Hot air swirled between them.
He'd expected tears. Breakdown. But Shione just blinked those damp eyes—once, twice—and tilted her head.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Was it while we were together? Before the breakup?"
"No."
"Oh." She nodded slowly, then a small smile curved her lips. "Then I'm not completely pathetic."
She pointed at him.
"But you made a mistake too. Just now. Hugging me like that when you have a girlfriend?" She shook her head. "If someone saw us, they might think you're cheating."
Shiratori Seiya said nothing.
Shione took a breath. Stepped back. Removed her mask.
The dappled sunlight fell across her face—delicate, perfect, beautiful as a rose beneath a clear sky. She smiled at him, gentle and warm.
"I only came to see you today. That's all. Don't overthink it." She tucked hair behind her ear. "It's been too long—I couldn't smell you on me anymore. That hug was selfish, I know. I hope your girlfriend won't mind."
She kept talking, not letting him interrupt.
"Anyway, I'm busy. You know I have that concert next month, right? I sneaked out today."
A pause.
"So. This is goodbye for now. Don't see me off—there's a car waiting up ahead."
She put her mask back on. Opened her umbrella. Turned.
And walked away.
The moment her back was to him, tears spilled down her cheeks.
She clutched the umbrella handle so hard her knuckles went white. Every step was agony. Every breath burned.
Two steps.
Three.
Then, so quietly no one could hear, she laughed.
A cold sound.