The cool metal of a phone rested on Takeru's palm, its bright screen fading. It dimmed like many of his dreams, leaving the blond to hover between reality and the other, grasping for footing. His eyes flickered between the stillness of the device to the chaos of the crowd. It was as if his body was locked in place, while the weight of stone grew to rock in his hand. Was it the trick of his eyes; his mind playing games? If he were to brought life back to the phone, would what he saw remained?

Holding his breath, Takeru's fingers moved across the dark screen. It glowed, revealing the same message he had barely registered in his head.

His silence caught his friends' attention. They stared at him, nervous. It was as if they knew and Kumiko threw an anxious glance that made her brows dipped low at Seiichi.

"She… wants to meet," Takeru murmured, the words leaving his parched mouth like they weren't his. That strange mixture of unease and anticipation had stolen his movements. His heart pounded heavily against his chest, ringing in his ears.

"I really don't think this is a good idea," Kumiko had thought out loud. Her voice was an octave higher, the panic too evident in her tone. In return, Seiichi had nodded with his lips pressed tight.

It was not like Takeru didn't know it. The void he felt for months were reminders, sitting at the pit of his stomach, lurching. That searing pain that attacked his left chest whenever he caught the baseball player clutching to Hikari's waist aggravated the loneliness. Flashbacks of their stolen childhood were all he could cling onto, while the chumminess they've shared seemed so distant, almost unreal.

Yet, how could he not be drawn? To be given the space to stare into her brown eyes glazed by the soft light; to be inches from the warmth of her being. He longed for the world to drown out, leaving them be, sharing jokes and quiet adoration. He craved for it like oxygen to failing lungs – he would give up anything to breathe the same air; to see her before him again.

An unmistakable silence fell quickly over the trio amidst, blanketed by yelps from parents fussing over unruly children.

"I mean…" Kumiko tried again, gentle yet insistent, "why would she just reached out like that?"

A familiar fear crippled Takeru's reflexes. His spine stiffened with a chill that made his hairs stood, leaving tiny bumps along his skin. His mouth was drained of moisture, unable to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. The lad's bright blue eyes dimmed at Kumiko's truth. The reality had not been a bed of roses, so how could it change now?

Unless?

"It must be important…" Takeru muttered to himself, convinced.

"Wha–" Kumiko quizzed, only to be cut by Takeru leaping off the grass, wild eyes and feverish.

He had never felt a stronger surge of fervour, like a calling for a possible do-over. Gripping onto his phone, he feebly strung excuses that were incoherent to the protesting duo. His thoughts became scattered like the clusters of tourists he had to shove through and the train commuters he later zipped between. The voices in his head screamed at his naivety, at how he had chased after every spark and flame blindly for Hikari's reciprocity, to only be left gutted. If he knew what she was onto, could he have then dealt better cards?

It was a quarter past four when Takeru reached his neighbourhood. Sweaty palms clasped over bent knees, the lad hunched to catch his breath. Heaving through clenched teeth, his eyes peered at the setting Sun peeking behind the old estate. Its golden rays were sprayed across patches of concrete and greenery, leaving silhouettes of benches and lamp posts that will darken over time.

Takeru's heart pumped harder, as if mimicking a ticking clock. The adrenaline that tore through his young veins during the quandary was alike his battlefield days. Nursing the dull ache on his right abdomen, the blond straightened up. He started to move quickly once more, taking the lift to a storey he hardly frequent. Standing before the Inoue's residence, the lad grimaced. Miyako and Takeru may be neighbours, but they were never close. Their interests barely overlapped, ineffectually stuck together by Hikari. Her lavender hair was as bold as her jibes that he could not stomach. She was as blunt as he was too polite; as stern as he was too carefree.

But that little voice in his head whispered how she would know about Hikari in ways he could not.

Taking a breath in, the blond raised his arm. His fist curled into a loose ball to knock on the wooden door, three loud taps that were clear and urgent. Shuffling his feet uncomfortably, his hand jumped to the back of his neck. The pause made Takeru mutter a curse. So occupied was he in getting to Miyako that he did not bother to check if she would be home.

"Why would she be in, when the weather's perfect and everyone's out watching the Sakur–" he rambled, smacking his forehead with eyes shut tight in frustration.

The lock to the door clicked. It shut Takeru up. He first caught a glimpse of the purple hair strands, then the bespectacled figure as the door widened to reveal a surprised Miyako. Her face was plain as day, too telling that Takeru could see the stages of emotions his neighbour was going through. Her eyes that had widened in amusement transitioned to a slight head tilt with furrowed brows. Then, her facial expressions softened ten-fold. She pulled her lips into a tight smile, almost empathetic, then ushered the younger one in.

"Do you want a drink?" Miyako offered as Takeru removed his shoes. Her back faced the lad as she walked a few steps away to the refrigerator.

"Sure… thanks," Takeru mumbled, the hesitance in his voice could not hide his unease. He peered at the host who was bending over the dimly lit refrigerator looking for something, then scanned the apartment he had not visited in years. The walls were cream, and floors newly paved with wood tiles. The doors in the unit were closed, and he thought perhaps her older siblings were home.

"Chizuru's in, trying to get some work done," Miyako explained as she walked to the dining table with two cans of beers, as if reading Takeru's mind.

Takeru nodded absent-mindedly. He took a seat across Miyako, who pushed the cold can to him, leaving a trail of condensation on the teak table. He stared at it, his heart heavy and his mouth soured at the thought of unfavourable news. They had skipped greetings, which was too unusual for two people that were a few sentences more from a hi-bye friendship.

"Has she told you?" Miyako queried. Her usually loud voice was strangely gentle while her expressive gestures were tamed. She had sat on her palms, her two arms stuck to her sides like stiff poles.

Miyako's sobriety sent chills. Takeru had come to be in control; to expect the unexpected and not be thrown off in the evening meet with Hikari. Yet when his head shook, witnessing the visible slump of Miyako's shoulder and hearing the sigh that escaped her lips sent him pale and giddy. Takeru had yet to feel fear he could not managed, but as he sat on the soft cushion of Inoue's dining chair, he felt a strangle like a coiled snake round a rat, starving his airways and freezing his blood flow.

Miyako bit her lower lip, her brows furrowed again. She pulled the tab off her drink, releasing a burst of carbon dioxide that fizzled. "It'll help," she nudged as she pushed her own can to him and took back the unopened one for herself.

"Why?"

It was all the blond could manage, unintentionally ignoring the gesture to drink. His voice had quivered like tremors and he drew a slow and long breath to steady his insecurity. A forced smile looked awfully painful on his handsome face as he grappled with realism. A million possibilities had jumped at him when he made his way to Inoue's. Did his best friend needed him because there was trouble in paradise, and she needed a shoulder to cry on? Did she changed her mind about dating a prick and came to apologise? Did she… miss him?

But how could it be that simple? They had not spoken for ninety-eight days.

"I…" Miyako started then stalled. She seemed to be at a loss for words, struggling to string sentences for the boy sitting across. "I… t-think she'll want to be the one… to tell you."

Takeru bit his inner cheek and held onto the cold can. His fingers gripped the metal with the same hesitance he was battling – varying pressures to manage his anxiety. He let out a short chuckle as he fixated his stare at the beer can. The awkward smile turned into a lopsided grin as the boy shook his head ever slightly. How had his love for the girl he grew up with turned into a childhood game of telephone? Everyone said he was doing fine, that he would eventually wind up with her, but the line of players between them only grew longer, leaving him at the far end of the receiving line trying so hard to decipher her true intentions.

"Miyako… I've been listening to everyone else around me telling me what I should be doing – hold her hand, kiss her, confess to her, get her all jealous. Would I in a million years put us through this shit hole if I don't know how she feels about me? And after everything, she still went and date that idiot!"

Takeru had reddened, his voice near breaking. The veins in his eyes were visibly pink as he swallowed the swell of moisture in his throat. His shoulder raised and fell, his neck burning, and his ears scorching hot. He had not met the older girl's face as he spewed out his emotions. He was embarrassed; vulnerable. He'd only let down his walls for Hikari, then build them up again to be the Takeru Takaishi the world wanted – lighthearted, positive, and always down for a good laugh.

Raising his head, looking straight into Miyako's brown eyes, he pleaded, "she always said you're a sister to her. Tell me… what am I missing?"

Rarely would Miyako Inoue be still, listening. She looked to have let out another sigh, her eyes downcast. Takeru could tell the safekeeper of secrets was conflicted. The soft buzz from the refrigerator filled the vacuum of silence, buying her time.

"Takeru… Hikari and I are very different people. When I like Ken, I had pursued him. But when Hikari has feelings for someone, she'd want him to act on it… She'd want the boy to tell her how he feels and make her feel like she's the only one for him in this confusing world. Hikari didn't just like you for a day or a month, Takeru. She had fancied you a lot longer, hoping you'll feel the same for her. When you couldn't do that, you can't fault her for falling for another boy who could make her feel the love she wanted."

"What… do you mean?"

Takeru's mind was surging in perplexity. He studied Miyako who had started on the can of alcohol, conscious he was pushed onto someone else's train of thoughts that differed from his. The way her exasperation had turned weary like an exhaust out of steam could not have been an act. A sudden ire burned inside, irritated by Miyako's thoughtlessness.

"Are you telling me – th-that you know of this a-and–"

"And I didn't tell you? Get over yourself, Takaishi!" gasped Miyako, equally infuriated. "Do you know you're a lot more popular than you think? She hears these stories the girls in school used to say of you – Takeru's taking them to his brother's concert; Takeru saved their numbers on his phone; Takeru did a dare and kissed a girl. Who the hell knows what you're up to?"

It was curveball that left the blond feeling maligned and baffled. He let go of the can of beer, his lips parted, ready to counter her wrongs. He had never dated the girls he took to his brother's concert; his company merely helped verified tickets so they could catch a glimpse of the Teenage Wolves. He had never contacted the strings of numbers tossed in his direction, only accepting them as a pretence to get the girls off his back. And the dare? The dare…

"Even if they're nothing more than fun and games, how do you think that'll make her feel? As much as she would second guess her decision, she wasn't sure if you'd commit."

The lips that hung open gradually sealed. The anguish in his eyes extinguished, leaving behind a look of guilt. He recalled the way his best friend had always mocked his cavalier attitude towards girls, and how he had unintentionally exacerbated it for another eyeroll from her. Her odd habits had become endearments, quirks that sent him smirking and the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. His nonchalance was not disinterest to her, and so as he was secretly longing for another of Hikari's lopsided grin and quips, he had also wavered her faith.

"Look," Miyako sighed as the can of beer hit the table. "Because she's like a sister to me, I just want the best for her." Her lips were pressed tight, a pause hanging in the air like she had held a breath in. "I hope you'll do the same… I really don't want to see her sitting where you're sitting tomorrow, crying over and over… because of you."

Nuance pierced like a jab, laced with honesty to deliver sincerity. They put one in between states, leaving a slate of confusion and discomfort. Her candour rang in Takeru's head, over and over, the words played on repeat as he left the Inoue's residence, beer untouched. Miyako didn't have to spell it out to him, yet the intention was loud and clear: there was no better person who could fill the shoes as a best friend than Takeru Takaishi.

At home, he had stared at the reflection in his mirror in a daze. When his fingers finally tried tugging the blond strands of hair into place, they were shaking. The blue in his eyes was glossed by moisture, their lacklustre intensifying the dark irises. He swallowed hard, suppressing the bitterness that was crawling to his throat. His hands dropped to adjust the collar of the denim shift gifted by Hikari, then smoothing the fabric. It brought back memories, of her sixteen-year-old self frowning at the ill-fitted top, then the eighteen-year-old her straightening his shirt before their date to the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography, the heat of her fingertips running down the material.

He should have pulled her in for a kiss when he had the chance.

Biting his inner cheeks and letting out a defeated sigh, he left his home when the clock struck five. Travelling to their meeting spot felt like a stretch. The blond passed countless convenience stores along the way, pausing at four, each one a contemplation to give in to the voice in his head desperate for a smoke. He relented at the fifth, fumbling his wallet for his identification card and notes in front of an amused foreigner cashier to purchase his first pack and lighter.

Takeru walked the last mile through small alleyways with a lit cigarette between his index and middle. Wispy grey smoke curled into the air at dusk, floating his tension. The cigarette tip burned a bright orange with every inhalation, turning his footsteps light and his pupils a tad wider than usual. The lane ended where it framed a quiet street dotted amber with street lights; when his stick was a third of its length. He stood in the dark, drawing a long breath of burnt tobacco, watching the yellow rays of streetlamps turning weak against a darkening sky. The magnificent April bloom had faded into clusters of ambiguity in the dark, much like the unexplainable knots in his stomach.

Takeru stubbed the cigarette butt against the neglected public wall and grimaced. The short stick rolled between his fingers, a shameful reminder of his insecurity. Hesitant, the lad pocketed the stub, unsure of such public etiquettes. The ash smeared against the jeans, and he dusted his pocket with a few nervous pats. Smacking his lips twice, he pulled out his phone from the other pocket, quietly cursing at the digital clock that read five past six.

His throat tightened when he eventually dared set sight on the ramen shop across the street. Its fading banners flapped with the breeze, the kanji spelling Kazan Ramen in bold strokes. The same tired board stood on the side with papers plastered on, the same papers he would flip with her to choose off a menu of six noodle dishes and a few sides countless times. When he finally stood before the door to their usual haunt, a strange wave of nostalgia hit him.

He stilled his quivering fingers to push open the door, holding a breath to tame his heart. A man called from the corner the customary greeting, but Takeru's attention was long captivated by another. She sat with her back to the store front in the far end of the tiny space, her small frame clad in a cream knitted sweater. Her fingers ran down the chocolate tresses that cascaded past her shoulders by an inch, inadvertently tugging the corners of his mouth.

In that moment, all the bad he had braced himself for dissipated like dry ice to air. As he cast his eyes over the femme in white, his heart whirred. Everything else had dissolved around him – the smell of boiling starchy water; the clanging of ceramic bowls; the chatter between the owner and a customer. It would just be him and her in their favourite ramen shop, sharing stories over two bowls of piping hot noodle soup, laughing like they always do.

He pulled to her like a magnet, his feet so light on the old-fashioned tiles, he would never be able to recall how he had made his way to her that evening. He slipped into the seat across her, sweaty palms on his thighs. Hikari looked up from her phone, her busy fingers stopped swiping at a game. Pushing her phone to the side, she smiled before dropping her gaze to look at a slip of paper menu.

A nervous smile.

"Hi…" she spoke. It sounded different – mellow without the usual zeal.

Around them, life continued – the short exchange between customers and the shop owner; the slow slurp of noodles; the shuffle of feet. Yet in his universe, they all drowned out to focus on the girl before him. The restaurant's amber lighting had reflected a porcelain glow off her, bouncing off her glossed lips and clung onto the strands of her lashes. They highlighted the light makeup she put on – a shimmery dab of browns and golds on her lids and the swipe of mauve on her cheeks. They looked sophisticated on her, almost grown up, and Takeru swallowed hard, knowing she had gotten used to dolling up for another boy.

"Hi…"

Her eyes were busy following the words on the menu, but he knew it was just distraction. He watched her nervousness played out before him and let his heart skipped a few beats. If someone were to tell him a year ago that this proximity with his best friend would one day be out of the question, he'd laughed at the absurdity. How funny life works out.

He, too, picked up his slip of menu. A smile surfaced on the blond's face, savouring the moment of being this close to her.

"The usual?" he asked, stealing glances her way.

"Mm," she agreed with a nod, still refusing to look up.

"I'll be right back."

Takeru slipped out of the seat for the counter. "Two shoyu ramen, two of the hot tea," he told the elderly wait staff in high spirits. His line of vision trailed back to the brunette, the view strangely comforting. That warm fuzzy feeling brewing quietly in the pit of his stomach was slowly reverberating to the tips of his toes and fingers.

The elderly man held a cheeky grin that thinned his skin, leaving deep lines at the corners of his eyes. "That's a thousand and nine hundred yen," he chirped.

Takeru distractedly fished out notes from his wallet. Unaware was he of the hint of a smile on his lips, yet he was ever conscious of the way his hand shook a little as he placed the notes in a small tray. "That should be… about right?"

"Yes," the man nodded quite enthusiastically as he took the payment. "Good luck, young man!" he added with a tone of assurance, reeling the boy to look away from Hikari and instead stare blankly at the man.

He had smiled, the twinkle in his beady eyes almost encouraging. Like a father to a son, the older man nodded in his direction, his brows knitted in seriousness. Takeru's eyes widened, about to inform the elderly of his misunderstanding. Yet, something in him stalled. His lips curled instead, before he let out the words "thank you".

Hikari had not returned to scrolling through her phone's content when Takeru returned. She did not let her eyes wander to the menu, nor to the containers on her right filled with utensils and pickles. She had watched the boy across take his seat the second time, the awkward smile sitting on her pretty face. Her hands that rested on the table were fidgety and the midline of her neck moved to her nervous gulp. When Takeru held her gaze for a few seconds, the blush on her cheeks became ever evident.

"Hi…" Takeru tried again, trailing to a tenderness. The side of his lips was pushed into a lopsided grin, accentuating his boyish features.

The red on Hikari's neck creeped to her face. She rocked softly with a nervous chuckle, her attempt to look at him in the eye proving every bit challenging. He wondered if it was for the time their lips touched, or for the time she ran away from him on school grounds, or how they haven't been in touch for the past three months.

Or the fact that she could not deny the magnetic pull between them?

"Hi…" she managed, a shy smile peeking.

Their eyes locked the second time that night and a blanket of stillness enveloped the pair. Her brown orbs were like warm caramel against the light; their earthy hues the grandeur of autumn trees. They drew his soul in, and he fell freely into her pools of deep chocolate. She must have felt the same, the way she did not break their gaze, as if time had stopped for her too.

Their attraction hung heavy in the air. It was laced with unspoken longing and unrealised desires, the silence so intimate that the wait staff flushed when he came to serve their hot teas. As if caught in a compromising act, the tips of Takeru's ears burned. He cleared his throat, the words of thanks tumbled out of his mouth. Hikari barely nodded and averted her eye contact, equally embarrassed.

Those short seconds while the wait staff walked away, Takeru had returned to watching the girl of his dreams play with the tea bag in her cup. Her slender fingers tugged at the tea label, bobbing the brown liquid. Though it had not been long, the silence felt persistent. It made the lad nervy again. He ran one clammy hand through his tousled hair out of habit. Had the air become thicker? His heart was beating irregularly, and his airways struggled to breathe.

"B-be careful…" he stammered, not quite sure where he was going with it.

Hikari tilted her head, and he felt compelled to finish the sentence.

"It's… hot."

The sides of her lips curled upwards. "Mm," she nodded, holding back her sass

It brought a smile to his face. His shoulders relaxed and he took a sip from his hot tea. What seemed so dull had fuelled his confidence. He would try again and again until he earned her laughs.

"Two bowls of ramen!" the elderly man announced with a toothy smile. Placing their bowls before them gingerly, he reached across the table to retrieve utensils for the pair. "At Kazan Ramen, we serve our meals freshly made! We have been handmaking our noodles and broth for three generations, and only use the freshest ingredients from the local markets for our food," he chirped proudly.

Despite the number of times they had frequented the place, and the triviality of a ramen shop's history, the story was welcomed.

"This bowl you have here, young lady, is our signature. The broth is a mix of pork and mackerel bones simmered for ten hours to achieve the right balance of umami. And this one," the man continued, gesturing vaguely in Takeru's direction, "Full bodied and rich Tonkotsu that is the result of cooking purely pork bones in medium heat for at least fifteen hours."

"Undoubtedly," the man winked at her, "a crowd favourite!"

"Please, enjoy!" he bowed before moving to the shop front.

Hikari's narrowed eyes wandered to Takeru, one hand cupping her mouth to suppress her amusement. Takeru, whose smile was threatening to show teeth, knew what was on her mind – did the shop staff just play Cupid?

"I think…" he paused, glancing at his bowl. "Wait–was I… objectified?"

A snigger escaped from her lips, then a chuckle left his.

"Highlight of my life," Takeru shook his head with a pout. "I'm as sexy as a bowl of ramen," his deadpan delivery sending the brunette giggling harder.

Hikari swiped her sleeve against her teary eyes, the other hand clutching her stomach, gasping for air. As he watched the ways she laughed, his heart swelled. He had been consumed by his search for her romantic reciprocity, forgetting the simplicity of their attachment. Could he bottle all these little moments to savour when he's missing her?

She inhaled and brought the cup of tea to her mouth. The corners of her lips twitched. "It's not that bad," she considered, failing to keep a straight face. "You're pretty wholesome – a good balance of fatty and lean meats, nutritious black fungus… Oh, those bamboo shoots look pretty succulent!"

Takeru almost choked on a mouthful of broth. It made Hikari laughed, earning them curious glances from patrons sitting near. Her hands jumped to her mouth, covering her gasps but failing to hide the glint of mischief in her eyes.

"Yea, I bet I'll take home that crown with noodles so firm," he smirked.

She was laughing so hard, the muffled sounds escaping between gaps of her fingers were like sweet music. Seeing her uncontrollable shake was contagious. Takeru couldn't help but chortle. Their mirth created a tiny retreat in him – a blessed relief from the distress; a break from untangling their messes. He had lost the tightness in his chest. The muscles in his neck relaxed. For a single moment, being stuck as a best friend did not matter.

"Oh god," Hikari breathed out, "I don't think I can erase that!"

Takeru slurped his noodles to fight a grin. The brilliance of his blue irises danced in the light, betraying his resistance. Hikari would often break into giggles as she took tiny bites from her bowl. They spoke about people closest to their hearts – how Yamato was dreading his final year; how Sora's small sewing project was gaining popularity over social media; and the romantic ways of Taichi.

"It's sooo awkward!" Hikari puckered her face like a baby's reaction to lemons. "I've never seen Onii-chan glued to a girl before."

"Whenever she's around, it's like he's forgotten we're all home," she groaned. "And we're forced to watch them breathe down each other's necks if we walked past the living room."

Their finished meals were left to the side, and their teas replaced by liquor. Takeru warmed his hands with his hot sake, raising every so often for a sip. The curve of his lips came involuntarily, just like the stubbornness of his pounding heart. Watching her was like watching an old memory on a film projector; her animated movements were a blur, drawing attention to the outlines of her face, to the way her lips formed unidentifiable shapes, and the way the Child of Light came alive behind the flutter of her brown lashes.

Watching her felt so good, it hurt.

"…and you couldn't tell him off, he made it a habit for her to come round."

Like the countless times she would lament about Taichi, her frown didn't meet the glimmer in her eyes. She rested her head in her hand that propped against the table, and as Takeru expected, she revealed a smile after a short second. It made him catch his breath, his own fingers curling the edge of the chair to still his heart.

"I'd do the same…"

His whispery words spilled like thick liquid; a slip of tongue drawn by her allure followed the deliberate strew creeping inch by inch towards her. The breathiness was as heavy as the intensity of his ocean deep gaze. Takeru had tried, but attraction was hard to fight.

He heard her drawing a breath as well. Her eyes darkened and the blush burned across her cheeks. His loss of control had her transfixed on him like a spell. He would have held her gaze – hell, he would have pulled her in, if they were not separated by a table! Yet, the thought of fuelling another blunder made even the most tenacious hesitate.

So, Takeru recoiled.

Dismissing his outright flirtation, Takeru turned to wave for a wait staff. He requested for a new drink for them, his turn to shy away from her look. Biting his inner cheek, Takeru sighed inwardly, ever aware of her silence.

Pushing his smile to his moniker smirk, he shrugged. "Taichi's waited long enough. Looks like you're just gon' bear with his love puppy acts."

He was expecting her eye rolls, but instead, the brunette tilted her head to brush her hair forward. "Easy for you to say," she mumbled with a pout, the pink on her cheeks still flushed. It made Takeru chuckle and her sulk dissolving into a grin.

Sixteen, he thought. He must be on a roll here, winning her smiles and laughs sixteen times tonight. How many more could he capture to keep his heart purring and the butterflies fluttering in his stomach? How many more drinks could their stomach take until their sobriety's challenged? How many more times could they meet like this, away from Shoji Harada, away from reality?

Like young teens on their first date, the two shuttled between nervous laughter to hearty chortle. Her fingers would occasionally run through strands of her hair, then lightly tucking them behind her ears. He wondered if she was deliberate, the way she'd smile so coyly at him watching his eyes slowly travelled with her fingers. Didn't she know she shouldn't taunt a starving beast? Didn't she know she'd only make him fall deeper?

Didn't she know realism is their adversary?

He felt the sudden buzz of her phone interrupting their bubble. Hikari's reflex was quick, but not fast enough to hide the couple photo bearing a detestable name screaming for her attention – Shoji Harada. She grabbed the rectangular device closer to her chest, her hurried movement and the grimace akin to guilt. "I'll be back," she muttered, then slipped out of the booth to take her call at the shop front.

It all happened so quick; too swift that Takeru struggled to reconcile the twisted wrench pinching hard at his chest with the bitter aftertaste on the tip of his tongue. All that was left was the blank space on his face, staring at the empty seat across. The caller's name burned in his mind. Hikari was pacing the small area back and forth with one armed folded across her torso. She seemed to be in agreement with the conversation, nodding all too often. Even in that dim lighting, he could feel the smile spreading across her delicate face, sending hopes he weren't wary of cradling shattering like the careless sweep of glass to the ground.

He turned the other way to stare at the long wall running the length of the shop, his head muddled by their evening meet. He was reminded of how he was sharing her bashful demeanour and affectionate gaze with Shoji who could easily rob her attention with a mere phone call. While Shoji could have his arms draped across her shoulder, pulling her into a kiss in the open lawn of their university, Takeru could only find solace seeing her in the outskirts of Tokyo, sharing a booth away from people they know. He had placed her first on his mind, yet he was second to her.

The uncontrollable jealousy ripped through his body like inferno, and the disappointment so heavy it sat on his trachea, constricting his breathing. The blond's hand clenched then unclenched. The fury and frustration seethed beneath the stoic face, its force leaving thin nail marks along his palm.

Hikari slipped her phone into her bag when she returned. She was fidgety, as if she could sense all his ache weighing heavily around them. Her hands ran down the material of her sweater, smoothing imaginary crease lines. They then picked up her cup to sip gingerly. When she finally met his stare, her cup was held still against her lip, frozen in place.

"So," he broke the silence, his tone as icy as the speckles of greys in his eyes. "How many more months do we go from here, till it'd be convenient for you to meet me again?"

When the words laced with intentional malice left his lips, he had wanted to hurl them down the cliff of destruction again – to break open shells of unsaid discontent; to tear open wounds and let the hurt bleed. Yet, when he witnessed the fear swimming behind her watery eyes, guilt alike a blade wedged skin-deep sored.

The frown behind the cup was fighting a quiver as she lowered her hands. She inhaled a deep breath and looked away. "I-I'm s-s-sorry," she sniffed, hastily wiping tears that escaped.

Takeru let out a long and hard sigh. He reached across the space between them, strong hands gently cupping her jawline to run his thumbs across her damp cheeks. He nudged her to face him again, holding her still. His eyes searched hers, seeking for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, too…" he spoke breathily, equally defeated by their mess. If this was their new normal – one where she would stop avoiding him; where she could only place him second to another – he'd take it.

Her face was like a delicate porcelain sitting in his hands, relinquishing her fragility to his protection. Her tears continued to roll, trickling down to her cheeks, ending where his thumbs would brush them away. It pained him to see her this way; All the smiles and laughs from the evening could not make up for the tears he had caused. She wiped again with a sleeve and a sniff. Holding both hands to his, she brought them down to the table.

Takeru held on gently, his eyes never once left hers. Tiny sparks of electricity pulsed from his fingertips to course through his body. In that instant, Takeru knew he had fallen too much and too hard for her. Like a droplet to the vast ocean body, like gas taking form to fit spaces, he had lost himself in her. His love for her was boundless, higher than the skies, deeper than seas, a love that would emerge unscathed in the ferocious of fires. He felt her sorrow akin thousand needles piercing his skin, and though their touch sent every part of him humming, he knew something was not right.

She inhaled again, then sniffed. "'Keru…" she swallowed, breaking their gaze to stare at the wood grains. "I-I've dropped… Psy-c-chology…"

He wanted to frown for not knowing she had come to that decision. Instead, he gave her hands a squeeze. "That's OK," he reassured, "you didn't like it that much."

She nodded before biting her bottom lip hard. Her pause was unnerving, sending his heart beating in panic against his chest. "I…" she grimaced, her grasp loosening. "I've transferred…"

An icy chill shot up his spine, sending tiny hairs standing. They pulled his skin taut, leaving visible bumps. Million thoughts raced through his head, but none could insure the news she was bearing. He could not hide his disappointment, letting the assuring smile on his face eventually fade into a frown. It was Hikari who had insisted they attend the same college. He could almost hear her excitement replaying in his head when she found out about his acceptance, and all the plans she whispered into the phone during their late-night calls. Takeru stared at the girl before him, the let-down eating him alive.

"I-" he scrambled for words, wanting so hard to preserve their teenage plans. "Th-that's OK – I-I could make a transfer too!"

Instead, she shook her head incessantly. He could sense an emotional war waging in her and held her hands a little tighter. Instinctively, she coiled her fingers into fists to wriggle out of his hold. Hikari pressed her palms to her temple in frustration. "It's not here, 'keru."

Takeru's hands were like empty shells, closing on air. He was reminded of his earlier conversation with Miyako. Was this what Miyako had refused to share? The anxieties and fears that held him hostage hours before came attacking. He refused to lose her. "I can move too! Kyoto? Kobe? Sapporo? I can move, 'kari," he spilled in desperation, "I'll make a transfer now–"

"–it's not in Japan."

A/N: Wherever you are, please stay safe, practice social responsibility and safe distancing. I hope you and your loved ones are staying healthy and that you are coping well during this trying period. It's not easy, if you need someone to speak with, please PM me and I am down for a chat. To my black friends, I am sending you positive energy as we fight for a just and better world to live in. To my readers, I love you all, spread kindness, we all need all the goodness in this world to chase the blues away. I am rushing this chapter out partly because we're living in strange times and I hope my writing (abeit sad) can bring a little bit of joy to you. I was able to write this out also because I have been working from home since March. I am lucky, I still have a job and space at home to do my work and write when I can. Not everyone can ride this period out, so please help one another and support each other, we need it more than ever. This chapter was meant to be longer. What I've published is 11 pages long, but it could have been 20 pages long. I thought it may be a lil' draggy so I've decided to split the chapter into two. I'm trying to pace this as we're heading to the end. I really don't want to rush the storyline. It was suppose to be this chapter, and the next chapter would be the last. We'll see how it goes :P I might just have 3 more chapters before we hit the end. I hope you'll still take a bit of your time to tell me how you found this chapter. 3

To reviewers:
JenG43: Thank you Jen 3 Nooo don't cry at work, but did you really? I hope you're well and safe!
Guest: Glad to make you happy, I hope this chapter gets you equally excited if you're still reading! Please stay safe!
Alejhandora: Hi there! I'm so happy I made your day! Are you still reading? Unrequited love is painful, but that's how we learn and grow. How did you find this chapter? Stay safe!
xAerisx: Eeep! A year's almost up. I get writer's block and put off writing because I just can't get the words to flow. I hope this long chapter makes up for my slow update! :P Stay safe!
Guest: Yay you do? I hope you're still reading! Stay safe!
Michelicious22: You have no idea how much I want to conclude this story, I just kept extending the chapters and it's taking too long haha! I'm hoping 3 more and we'll see a good ending, I promise. Stay safe!
Jenny5157: Thank you so much! I hope you're also keeping safe during this pandemic. Did this chapter give you a glimpse into what Hikari was concerned about? The last chapter would reveal more ;) Would love to hear what you think!