-AURORA ACADEMY OF EXCELLENCE, SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO, JAPAN-
-7:58 AM, DECEMBER 8, 2016-
Winter mornings at Aurora Academy were quiet in a way that felt almost sacred.
Frost clung to the academy gates, and the trimmed hedges glistened beneath the pale sunlight. Students arrived in waves—chauffeured cars stopping neatly along the driveway, footsteps crunching softly against thin layers of snow.
Ichika Komori stepped out of the Komori family car, her breath fogging lightly as she adjusted her scarf.
"Have a good day, Ichika-sama," the driver said.
"I will. Thank you," she replied gently.
As she passed through the gates, familiar greetings followed her.
"Good morning, Komori-san." "Morning, Ichika."
She answered them all with her usual grace.
Yet her eyes searched the crowd without her noticing.
-AURORA ACADEMY HALLWAY-
-8:06 AM-
Rikuu Arakawa leaned against a window near the lockers, half-asleep, arms crossed.
He hadn't slept much.
Again.
Masayoshi's words echoed faintly in his mind.
You ever think about stopping?
He scoffed quietly.
Then—
"Good morning, Arakawa."
Rikuu lifted his head.
Ichika stood a few steps away, holding her bag with both hands. Her voice was soft, careful—not intrusive.
"…Morning."
For a brief second, neither of them moved.
Students flowed around them like a river, unnoticed.
"You're early," Ichika said.
"So are you."
She smiled. "I usually am."
He nodded once.
Her eyes flickered to his hands—then away.
"You have rehearsal today," she said, more statement than question.
"…Yeah."
"I'll watch. If that's okay."
Rikuu hesitated.
Then shrugged. "Do what you want."
But he didn't sound annoyed.
-THEATRE ARTS CLUB ROOM-
-3:29 PM-
Rehearsal was intense.
The director paced, correcting posture, tone, timing.
Rikuu stood under the lights, delivering lines with quiet restraint—each word measured, each pause intentional.
Ichika sat near the back, hands folded, eyes fixed on him.
She noticed things others didn't.
How his jaw tightened before emotional lines.
How his eyes hardened before softening again.
How exhaustion slipped through only when he thought no one was watching.
When rehearsal ended, applause followed naturally.
Rikuu bowed once, then stepped offstage.
-HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE CLUB ROOM-
-4:11 PM-
Ichika waited.
Rikuu emerged, wiping sweat from his neck.
"…You stayed," he said.
"I said I would."
A pause.
"…You didn't have to."
"I wanted to."
He looked at her.
Really looked.
"…Why?" he asked.
Ichika took a breath. "Because when you act… it feels like you're saying things you don't say out Fletcher."
She winced slightly. "Sorry—out loud."
A small huff escaped him. Almost a laugh.
"Don't psychoanalyze me."
"I'm not," she said quickly. "I just… notice."
He shook his head. "You notice too much."
"Maybe," she admitted. "But you hide too much."
Silence.
Rikuu turned toward the window.
"…You shouldn't worry about me."
Ichika stepped closer—not touching, but near enough to be felt.
"Then why do you always look like you're carrying winter alone?"
That stopped him.
For a moment, the mask cracked.
"…It's easier that way."
"For who?"
He didn't answer.
-AURORA ACADEMY COURTYARD-
-4:36 PM-
They walked side by side toward the gate.
Not close.
Not distant.
Something in between.
"Ichika," Rikuu said suddenly.
She looked up. "Yes?"
"…Thanks. For watching."
Her smile was soft, genuine. "Anytime."
As they parted ways, Rikuu glanced back once.
She was already turning, snow settling gently in her hair.
She really is warm, he thought.
And Ichika, stepping into her waiting car, pressed her hand lightly to her chest.
The cold hadn't gone away.
But it didn't feel endless anymore.