Yuto dreamt of a place without edges.
He stood in a wide, colorless field one that seemed to breathe like water. The wind rippled through invisible grass, carrying fragments of voices he almost recognized. He tried to move, but his footsteps made no sound. Then he saw her- Mika standing a few paces ahead, her hair swaying lightly, back turned to him.
When he called out her name, she didn't turn around. Instead, the wind carried her voice toward him, faint, almost broken:
"Some things… disappear quietly, Yuto."
He reached for her, but the distance stretched endlessly. His hand brushed against something warm a small paper crane, resting in his palm. Before he could ask what it meant, the light swallowed everything.
And then the alarm rang.
Beeeep.
The morning light pressed against his curtains, soft and pale. He opened his eyes to the quiet hum of Tokyo's winter distant traffic, a dog barking somewhere, and the faint whistle of a train passing. It was an ordinary morning, yet something in it felt off. Like a melody missing its last note.
He rubbed his eyes. "What kind of dream was that…"
The memory was already slipping away like fog on glass. All that remained was a dull heaviness in his chest.
When he got to school, the usual chatter filled the classroom. Aizen was laughing at something Cid had said, their energy echoing like sunlight. Hisoka was leaning against the window, earbuds in, lost in a world of his own. It was all so familiar the background noise of Yuto's everyday life.
But Mika's seat beside him… was empty.
He tried not to notice at first. Maybe she was late. Maybe she had club activities. But by lunch break, her desk was still untouched neat, quiet, as if she'd never been there.
"Hey, Aizen," Yuto asked casually, trying to sound uninterested, "you seen Takamine today?"
Aizen looked up from his lunch. "Hmm? Nah. Didn't she leave early yesterday too?"
Cid nodded. "Yeah. Heard something from one of the girls in her class something about her helping her family with some stuff."
"Helping her family?" Yuto repeated quietly.
"Yeah," Cid shrugged. "But you know how rumors are. Maybe she's just sick."
The conversation drifted away, replaced by jokes and snacks and the rhythm of normalcy. But for Yuto, that single absence pulled at him like a loose thread.
The next day, her seat was still empty.
And the next.
By the third day, he found himself glancing at her desk without meaning to. The sight of it the untouched pencil case, the small corner of her sketchpad she sometimes left out felt heavier with each passing hour.
After school, he walked home slower than usual. The sky was dipped in fading orange, clouds stretched thin across the horizon. He passed the bridge, their bridge where he had once seen her standing in silence weeks ago. The memory returned to him, clear and steady.
He stopped mid-step.
A part of him wanted to text her. Another part didn't even know what to say. "Are you okay?" felt too distant. "Where are you?" felt too personal. So he didn't send anything.
That night, as he lay on his bed, phone screen dim beside him, a message appeared.
Mika: "Sorry I haven't been at school. Things are… complicated right now."
He sat up immediately. His heart skipped, not out of excitement but concern.
Yuto!"Do you want to talk about it?"
The three dots blinked. Then stopped.
Minutes passed. No reply.
Yuto sighed softly, setting the phone aside. He turned to the ceiling, listening to the quiet pulse of his own breathing. The dream from that morning returned to him Mika standing just out of reach, saying something about things disappearing quietly.
For the first time, he wondered if she had meant herself.
He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the room felt smaller. The world, dimmer.
But somewhere in that silence, the faintest trace of color lingered something that refused to fade completely.