Two weeks later the rumors had evolved.
Someone had started a poll in the senior chat: "Takahashi & Hayashi: Real or Fake?"
Results: 68% Real, 22% Fake, 10% "They're in denial."
The literature club girls had begun leaving fanfiction links in Sora's locker.
The soccer team had started calling Akira "Prince Charming" whenever he passed the field.
Akira endured it with silence.
Sora laughed it off in public, but privately she was fraying.
Today's rehearsal was supposed to be the first full run of Act 1.
The advisor was there. A few trusted drama club members. No random spectators—they had locked the doors.
Everything started smoothly.
Narration block: perfect timing, electric tension.
Transition to first scene: clean.
Argument sequence: lines sharp, blocking tight.
Then came the moment Sora had added two days ago—a scripted push during the "you think you're above it all" line. She would shove Akira's shoulder lightly, he would catch her wrist to stop her, they freeze, music swells.
They had rehearsed it dry—without contact—three times.
Today was the first with actual touch.
Akira braced.
Sora pushed.
Her palm hit his shoulder.
He caught her wrist.
Their eyes locked.
The music swelled.
But Sora didn't pull away on cue.
Neither did Akira.
The piano track looped.
Advisor Yamada coughed. "Line?"
Sora blinked. Let go. Stepped back.
Akira released her wrist like it scorched him.
"Sorry," she muttered. "Lost the count."
Yamada frowned. "Again. From the push."
They reset.
This time Sora pushed harder.
Akira caught her wrist tighter.
The freeze lasted too long again.
Yamada stood. "What's going on with you two today?"
Sora laughed—brittle. "Nothing. Just tired."
Akira said nothing.
Yamada sighed. "Take five. Get water. Reset your heads."
They moved to opposite wings.
Sora leaned against the curtain, breathing hard.
Akira stood near the prop table, flexing the hand that had held her wrist.
She spoke first. Quiet.
"This is getting stupid."
Akira didn't look at her. "The rumors?"
"The everything. The looks. The whispers. The fact that every time we touch for blocking I feel like the whole school is holding its breath."
Akira finally turned. "Then we change the blocking."
"No. We don't change art because people are nosy."
"It's not art if it makes us uncomfortable."
Sora pushed off the curtain. "You're uncomfortable because you care what they think."
"I care what the performance looks like."
"You care what I think."
Akira's eyes narrowed.
Sora stepped closer. "Admit it. You're not mad about the rumors. You're mad because part of you likes that people think we're something."
Akira's voice dropped. "Don't project."
"Don't lie."
Silence.
Then Akira said, very quietly, "I don't know what I feel anymore."
Sora stared.
He continued. "I used to know exactly where we stood. First and second. Order and chaos. Hate and… hate."
"And now?"
"Now I don't hate you. And that terrifies me."
Sora swallowed.
Akira looked away. "I need air."
He walked off stage, down the side steps, out the side door.
Sora stayed where she was.
Yamada approached slowly. "You two okay?"
Sora forced a smile. "We're fine. Just… intense scene."
Yamada didn't look convinced. "Take the rest of the day. Come back tomorrow fresh."
Sora nodded.
But she didn't leave.
She sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling, staring at the spot where Akira had disappeared.
She didn't hate him either.
And that scared her more than any rumor ever could.