The lounge was quiet.
"I'm tired," she said, with a smile, aware that she was not convincing anyone, "so I'll turn in early, if that's okay."
"Of course," Mitsuru replied, in a whisper. No one else said anything (though Akihiko looked like he wanted to), so Minako nodded and made her graceful way up the stairway.
She shut her bedroom's door behind her carefully, her fingers tight around the handle, and then let go, breathing slowly. She stared at the wood for a few seconds, or maybe hours, and then found herself sitting on her bed. The mattress creaked under her weight, a familiar sound that failed to soothe.
She stood there for a very long time, staring at the floor, listening to the silence. The only thing that broke it was the subtle ticking of her wristwatch.
The morning after, she got up early, and ate breakfast alone. There were leftovers in the fridge, packed inside colorful tupperwares; Minako took one look at them and closed the door, feeling sick to her stomach.
She ended up eating cereal, but just because she knew he'd get on her case for skipping a meal.
The rest of the SEES didn't know how to deal with her. Minako could tell; they'd never been the most subtle of people. But what hurt the most was Ken, the way he avoided her eyes, the way he hunched when she stared, the way he shut himself inside his room for the rest of the week.
"I just – have a lot of homework today," he said, guilt emanating off him like heat from the sun, "so I'll have to pass on Tartarus, if that's okay."
Minako allowed him to flee, his relief almost palpable.
She bought him flowers. A simple bouquet of daisies and wild flowers – nothing too flashy, because she knew he'd hate it. She set the jar next to his bed, sat down on the visitors' chair, and was disgusted with herself for not managing to stay longer than ten minutes.
"I'm sorry," she said, on her way out, on her way home, against her pillow.
She didn't return.
On a whim, Minako tried opening the door to his room, and was surprised when the knob turned, clicking dryly. But that was that; she didn't open it, didn't step in, didn't find the kind of consolation people in movies did. She couldn't, wouldn't.
She just stared at it, stared at her hand, curled around the metal, and then let go, taking a step back, and then another, until she was out of the dorm.
"I'm going to stop being so whiny," she promised, lying in bed, eyes on the ceiling. It was dark and rainy outside, winter weather. The wind picked up against her half-closed blinds, rattling them, and Minako swallowed in dry, wishing she'd have brought a glass of water with her. "But don't blame me if I can't stop thinking about you. Okay?"
No reply. Minako threw her arm across her eyes and set her jaw.
"Okay," she muttered. "Okay."
The wind settled, and Minako finally slept.