We walk side by side, in silence, as is our custom. I look at him sideways, and can't shake the feeling that this might be the last time we walk together like this. Today, everything changes. With my luck, probably for the worse.
Hachiman looks troubled, and I don't blame him. Tonight he is having a dinner with Yukinoshita, tomorrow and the day after with Miura and Yuigahama. Although he still pretends that he doesn't know what they are going to say it is painfully obvious. All three know I plan to ask him out. All three are worried that he might say yes. Now they are scrambling, against me and against each other, to tell him how they feel. Before it is too late.
Their fragile, twisted relationship is tottering. The moment one of them says the fateful words the balance will be gone. If this goes wrong, even their precious friendship is at risk. They might lose everything. I might lose everything. But I always believed that an end in terror is preferable to terror without end.
After all, isn't this what Hachiman told me was his recipe for saving me, back in that summer camp? When I was floundering as a social outcast. If something is wrong with your relationships, then just destroy those relationships, and your worries will disappear. You should practice what you preach, Hachiman.
Excuses, rationalisations, fear, anxiety. Just a waste of time and energy. This is not like me at all. I should focus on things that need doing, not regrets.
"Are you ok with this?" I ask, just to see how angry he is.
"I promised, didn't I?" More worried than angry. He never could stay angry at me for long.
Hachiman rarely promises things but delivers when he does.
"You really dressed up for this occasion," he eyes my elegant shoes visible below the hem of the bizarre long coat. I still stumble in the damned things.
"Well, it is the first Service Club to be opened at Chiba University. Quit fidgeting, I did all the work, you only have to deliver the speech." He looks at me in wide-eyed terror for a moment, until I smile. It is good to see Hachiman chuckle again.
We are almost at the front entrance, and there are enough students to start slowing us down. I nod to some people I recognise, and they nod back.
Hachiman suddenly stops. There is a girl coming our way, going against the flow of people, lugging a heavy cello. She stops in front of us, looks at Hachiman, places the cello on the ground and pulls the bow across the strings.
The crystal clear sound has no place here and people around us begin to stop. The girl continues to play, and I recognise the tune now. He looks at her, then tries going around. Not two steps later an older guy pulls a violin from underneath his jacket and stands in front of Hachiman. A woman with an oboe approaches from the side. The music grows stronger.
There is now a circle of people around us, some smiles, some confused faces, a lot of mobile phones in the air. Windows start opening on the university building, students and teachers peering out.
I see Service Club deputy president Tokuda elbowing people away to make room for three singers. Beethoven's Ode to Joy is now rolling over us in a powerful wave, and I feel the first stinging of tears.
I put my coat in the hands of another Service Club member and take a deep breath. Hachiman is standing a few strides in front, his back to me, completely frozen for the last minute or so. I can't see his face, and that frightens me. But I look at my hands, and they are steady. I can do this.
The last several years, my whole adult life so far, have led to this moment. After everything I have done, destroyed his brotherly feelings, smashed his uneasy relationship with the three Ys, this last act is strangely guileless.
It is not about forcing him to choose between me and my social suicide, though he might see it that way. It is just a simple and utter rejection of his self-deprecation and lack of trust in himself.
The beautiful music flows around as I make a step forward. Faces start turning towards me and, finally, Hachiman turns, too. His eyes, narrowed in suspicion, suddenly go wide and his lips make an almost comical o shape.
For the first time in my life, I am wearing a dress. I spent the remainder of my savings after paying for the music on what everybody tells me is a beautiful mid-calf model, white with red and brown stripes, which 'accentuates my figure, black hair and eyes'. I didn't understand half of the stuff they said, but the way Hachiman's eyes are firmly fixed on me and the blush he is sporting fill me with hope that at least the dress was not a mistake.
I stumble another step forward in my elegant shoes and bring out the rose I kept behind my back. I am relieved to see that my death grip hasn't snapped the stem. The music, the smiling faces, it all becomes a blur, and I see only him clearly.
I drop to one knee, the dress be damned, and raise my hand to Hachiman and there, in the extended and utterly pale, but still steady hand, is a red rose. His face is full of shock and alarm, but there is also some other feeling there, and it gives me hope.
I know he never could believe people cared about him. I know about the emotional baggage he carries. I know he would never trust my words alone. So if I have to scream that I love him, I will do that. If I have to make a fool out of myself in public to convince him that I mean it I will do that. Without a second thought.
I smile, through the wetness rolling down my cheeks. I hope it is a nice, calm smile, but I don't think it really is.
I look at his face, the face I have loved for so long and never touched. Might still never touch, ever. And I feel an immense relief. I've done what I could. Now it is up to him. Whatever happens, I will know that I have at least tried.
Hachiman's face is serious, but his eyes are kind. He steps closer, and there is no distance between us any more. He kneels and hugs me and the warmth of his lips brushing my cheek burns in a long line to my ear.
He whispers. Despite the music, I hear every word clearly, distinctly.
"I always wanted to tell you. When you sit in that chair back at my place, everything you do on your screen is reflected in the window behind you."
The burning on my cheek stops, and I don't need to hear his footsteps or see the shocked faces to know that he is gone.