"I love you," she says, soft, sincere. Practiced. The room is awash in sunlight—he's leaning against the windowsill and the way it catches in his hair almost makes him look handsome. An image superimposes itself: tight, orange curls turned golden. Shiori's breath catches. She blinks, and it's her and the faceless, nameless boy again, alone in an empty, sunlit classroom.
There's copper on her tongue and a strange, clenching feeling in her stomach. She tells herself it's nerves—this is her first love confession. But then it's so much more than that, isn't it?
The boy sidles closer, touching fingers to her jaw, and triumph floods her, delicious and heady.
It's the only time his kisses don't leave her empty.