[Suimei University Affiliated High School, February 12th, 3:47 PM]
Seeing Aoyama Nanami's embarrassed expression—cheeks flushing pink beneath her freckles—the short-haired girl across from her, Yamada Rika, let a teasing grin spread across her round face.
"Nanami, now you know, are you still going to prepare chocolates?" Rika leaned forward on her elbows, uniform sleeves pushing up past her wrists. "Hehe, who do you want to give them to the most? I mean, among the boys in our class."
Yamada Rika's voice carried—deliberately so—bouncing off the acoustic ceiling tiles.
Two rows back, Miyahara Daichi's pen stilled against his notebook. The short-haired boy tilted his head almost imperceptibly, one ear angled toward the conversation. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
Please let it be me. Even friendship chocolate. I'd take anything.
Aoyama Nanami rolled her amber eyes at Rika, tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear with practiced indifference. "I never thought about making chocolates."
However.
When it came to who to give them to—
Hozuki Nozomi.
That playboy.
His face materialized unbidden: the sharp jaw, those knowing dark eyes, the way his mouth curved when he was being insufferably smug about something. The memory of warmth pressed against her back, arms circling her waist from behind, his breath ghosting across her neck—
Nanami shook her head sharply, physically dislodging the image.
There are so many girls around Nozomi, she reminded herself, fingers curling against her skirt fabric. Prettier girls. Girls with better figures. Yukino-san with her perfect porcelain features. Mahiru with that ethereal beauty. Even that new girl, Asuna, looked like she'd stepped out of a fantasy novel.
Maybe he'd already forgotten that day entirely. The accidental embrace. The way her heart had hammered so loud she was certain he'd heard it.
Aoyama Nanami, stop being so self-indulgent.
"Eh? No way!" Rika's voice pitched upward, genuine surprise crossing her features. She slapped both palms against the desk surface, making their shared eraser jump. "You're not going to make any? That's wasting your youth, Nanami!"
She leaned closer, close enough that Nanami could smell her citrus shampoo, and spoke with the gravity of someone imparting ancient wisdom.
"Listen up. A girl's youth is precious—precious, you hear me?"
Rika held up one finger like a lecturing professor.
"We're high school students. This is literally the cutest age for girls. If you miss this chance to express your feelings to someone you like, you'll regret it forever. I'm talking lying-in-bed-at-thirty-staring-at-the-ceiling regret."
Nanami opened her mouth to protest, but Rika barreled on.
"And don't tell me you don't have anyone you like. You can give chocolate to someone you just have a good impression of—it's not a marriage proposal. You can even give it as a thank you."
Thank you.
The words snagged in Nanami's chest.
She did have things to thank him for. More than she could count, really. The housing problem that had kept her up at night, gone. The constant hunger from stretching her part-time wages too thin, solved. Her dream of voice acting, suddenly within reach through that club he'd somehow convinced her to join.
Nozomi had seen every crack in her armor and filled them before she could even ask.
"And here's a secret," Rika added, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Doesn't matter if the boy likes you back or not—when a girl gives him chocolate, he's happy. Proud, even. My older sister told me. It's like... validation of his existence as a man or something."
"...Alright."
Nanami sighed, slumping back in her chair. The wooden seat creaked beneath her.
"I'll find time to make a batch."
"Yes!" Rika pumped her fist. "That's the spirit! Now—can you tell me who? Is it someone from our class?"
"No."
The denial came fast. Too fast.
Nanami caught herself and added more casually, "Why would you even think that?"
Deflect. Turn it around.
"What about you, Rika? Who are you giving yours to?"
Rika's expression turned dreamy, chin propping on her palm. "Hmm... someone a bit handsome. Gentle. What about Kanda? You know, the cat guy?"
"Kanda Sorata?" Nanami considered this. "The one who's always bringing strays to Sakura Dormitory? He seems... nice enough."
Nice.
Such a lukewarm word.
Unconsciously, her mind ran the comparison: Kanda Sorata versus Hozuki Nozomi.
Kanda was kind. Gentle with small creatures. Probably good boyfriend material for someone who wanted soft domesticity.
But when the pipes burst at two in the morning? When landlords threatened eviction? When you were collapsing from exhaustion and hunger and pride that wouldn't let you admit you were drowning?
Kanda would offer sympathy and maybe help catch the stray cat that knocked over your instant ramen.
Hozuki Nozomi would fix it. Would fix everything, with that infuriating calm competence, making arrangements behind the scenes before you even realized you needed them.
He's the type who solves problems, Nanami admitted silently. And I'm...
She looked down at her hands—callused from dishwashing, nails trimmed short for practical work.
I'm drawn to that. Someone responsible. Someone who takes action.
Behind them, Miyahara Daichi's head drooped toward his desk. The eavesdropped confirmation that Nanami's intended recipient wasn't a classmate had drained something vital from his posture.
Of course she wouldn't choose me, he thought miserably, staring at the grain patterns in the wooden desktop. I can't even say good morning to her without my voice cracking.
---
[Convenience Store, Shibuya District, 6:23 PM]
The evening shift blurred together in fluorescent monotony.
Nanami stood behind the register, the electronic beep of scanned barcodes punctuating the background muzak. Her reflection in the security monitor looked tired—shadows beneath her eyes, hair escaping her low ponytail.
"That'll be 847 yen."
She'd said the phrase so many times it no longer registered as words.
After clocking out, she lingered in the baking aisle. Her fingers traced over bags of chocolate chips, boxes of cocoa powder, packages of butter. The store smelled of reheated nikuman and the synthetic pine of floor cleaner.
Just gratitude chocolate, she told herself, adding items to her basket. Nothing weird about it. People give thank-you chocolate all the time.
She also grabbed eggs, milk, and vegetables—might as well cook something proper tonight instead of convenience store bentos.
The walk back to Sakura Dormitory took twenty minutes. February air bit at her exposed cheeks and ears; she'd forgotten her scarf again. Her breath plumed white as she quickened her pace, grocery bags swinging.
---
[Sakura Dormitory, Kitchen, 7:15 PM]
The communal kitchen was warm, steam rising from a pot on the stove. Someone—probably Mahiru—had already started dinner preparations. The scent of miso and simmering dashi wrapped around Nanami as she entered, familiar and comforting.
Shiina Mahiru stood at the sink, pale blonde hair tied back with a simple ribbon. Even in a plain apron over her uniform, she possessed an otherworldly quality—like a painting that had decided to step off its canvas and try domestic life.
"I'm back," Nanami announced, setting down her groceries.
"Welcome home." Mahiru's voice was soft, melodic. She offered a small smile without turning from the sink.
Nanami tied on her own apron—pink with white polka dots—and joined Mahiru at the counter. She began washing lettuce leaves, cool water running over her hands.
Focus, she told herself. Wash vegetables. Make dinner. Stop thinking about—
Her hands kept moving mechanically, tearing lettuce leaves even after they were clean. Rip. Rip. Rip. The pile of shredded greens grew far past what any salad needed.
"Nanami."
Mahiru's voice broke through the fog.
"What are you thinking about? You're so engrossed."
"Huh?" Nanami blinked, looking down at the massacred lettuce. "Oh—I... it's nothing. Just work stuff."
"Work?"
Mahiru turned, studying Nanami with those impossibly clear eyes. The silence stretched for three heartbeats. Four.
Then, with the casual precision of a surgeon: "Nanami, speaking of work—when Nozomi was alone with you in your room, did he make a move on you?"
Nanami's entire body went rigid.
Heat flooded her face—cheeks, ears, even the back of her neck—a full-body flush that she couldn't have hidden if she tried.
"No!" She waved her wet hands frantically, sending droplets flying. "Absolutely not!"
Why does my voice sound so guilty?
"Mahiru, Nozomi already has girlfriends as cute as you—why would he—I'm not even—I'm nowhere near as pretty, so—"
She was rambling. She knew she was rambling. The words tumbled out faster than thought.
Mahiru smiled, stepping closer. Water still dripped from her slender fingers.
"Don't underestimate yourself," she said earnestly. "Nanami is also very cute."
"I—"
"Besides." Mahiru's gaze flicked downward for just a moment. "Your figure is better than Yukino's. I've seen it."
The baths, Nanami realized. Her face somehow grew hotter.
True, Yukino possessed elegant proportions—willowy, refined, like a winter lily. But in certain areas, Nanami knew she had... more. Not that she'd ever thought of it as an advantage.
"Yukino is so beautiful though," Nanami protested weakly. "Even as a girl, I think she's stunning. I can't possibly compare—"
"Is that so?"
Mahiru tilted her head, hair spilling over one shoulder.
"But what if Nozomi did make a move on you?"
The question hung in the air, heavy as summer humidity.
"What would you do?"
Nanami's throat closed. Her mind blanked. A dozen half-formed responses crashed into each other before they could reach her mouth.
I'd push him away. Obviously.
I'd tell him I'm not that kind of girl.
I'd—
She clenched her jaw, preparing to say something—anything—that sounded appropriately virtuous and resistant.
Mahiru's palm pressed gently over her mouth before the words could escape.
"Don't say things that go against your heart."
The blonde's eyes were knowing. Gentle, but knowing.
"Nanami, I'm not asking to pressure you. I'm telling you—Yukino and I don't mind."
Nanami made a muffled sound of confusion against Mahiru's soft palm.
"If Nanami joined us..." Mahiru withdrew her hand, cheeks dusted pink now too. "This home would be livelier. And Yukino and I would have more time to rest."
The implication crashed over Nanami like a bucket of ice water.
"Mahiru!" She sputtered. "What—what shameless things are you—"
"Ah." Mahiru's smile turned impish, corners of her lips curving upward. "So Nanami understood. You know, your room is very close to Nozomi's. You must hear things when you pass by."
Oh god.
Nanami thought of the nights she'd walked down that hallway. The muffled sounds through thin walls. The rhythmic creaking. Yukino's voice—that normally ice-cold, composed voice—hitching and breaking into something desperate. Mahiru's breathless gasps. And underneath it all, the low, controlled rumble of Nozomi's murmurs, too quiet to make out words but unmistakable in intent.
The sounds that made her quicken her steps and lock her own door and press her pillow over her ears while something hot and complicated twisted in her belly.
"I—I wasn't eavesdropping!" Nanami's voice came out strangled. "I just—the bathroom is that direction—I accidentally pass by sometimes—"
Mahiru blinked at her, expression utterly innocent.