Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
-Robert Frost, Nothing Gold Can Stay

Chapter Two:
An Aria of Apathy

The rain splattered over the concrete, momentary instances of destruction as they concluded their dizzying descent from on high with violent deceleration. It was relentlessly pouring, puddles forming on the streets and streams dripping down from angular roofs. Even the throng of umbrellas transported by huddling people on their way to work served only to remove the brunt of the onslaught - a barest attempt at protection, at shelter.

One umbrella in the mass. One nameless face in the crowd.

That's all I was.

The morass overhead shadowed everything, light filtered through the angry clouds draining everything of its colour. Muted, devoid of life - even the bright lights of signs and billboards were suppressed, a vista of black, white, and grey. Approaching the subway station, it was all-encompassing, every detail affected by the onslaught of the heavens.

It had been a week.

A week since I'd broken down. The next day had brought with it an inescapable, pounding headache, a hangover, and I'd called in sick to work - my first time since I'd begun slightly over four years prior. Luckily, they hadn't asked too many questions. I'd felt guilty, but part of me had also felt relieved - it was an extra day away.

Another day without having to face you.

Swaddled in blankets, window curtains drawn, alone. I'd completely and utterly succumbed. Devoured - sinking beneath the surface, I was consumed entirely by the past, my mistakes, and the recollections buried deep beneath the silt at the base of the lily-strewn pond of my memories.

Yet… it was only one day.

One day had been all I'd been willing to afford myself. A moment of repose, and then I was back at work. Back into the daily mundanity and the repetitiveness of my dream. Repetition. Repetition. Days of overcast skies and dreary rain - even the weather had elected to abhor variation.

Since that day, I had barely seen you - whether you realized how you'd affected me, I didn't know. Perhaps, with my absence the next day, you'd pieced it together.

Perhaps you simply didn't care.

Rain. Grey rain.

As I had finished the commute from the subway to the front door of the school, I had taken a moment to close my umbrella under the overhang. Folded, then stowed. Wiping my shoes, I changed my footwear, and then slowly made my way to the staff office. I was early, and it was only sparsely populated - most of my colleagues had yet to arrive.

The only sound was the gentle drumming against the windows.

Stowing my bag under my desk and hanging my umbrella on a rack in the corner, I wandered over to a coffee machine in the corner after greeting the small collection of people in the room. Putting in my hundred-yen, I pushed a button, and watched as the dark black substance streamed into a foam cup. A moment later, a dollop of milk, and a syrup; and my drink was done. Grabbing a stirstick and a lid from a tray next to the machine, I returned to my desk.

I sipped my coffee. It was sickly sweet - more a milk coffee than any mature taste. Yet, it was hard to care. I'd never truly grown fond of bitter drinks, despite how my other tastes had matured over the years. It was nothing more than a vehicle for transporting caffeine to my body.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Nothing to write home about.

Putting the half-drained cup down and unlocking my desk, I retrieved the binder containing my lesson plan, and began to browse through it - reminding myself of what the day would hold. I'd designed my lessons, and I'd prepared the material. All that was left was execution. To put my previous plans to work.

The door slid open, and I looked up from ionic bonds.

It was you.

Black hair dripping from the rain, clumping into strands that flowed down your neck, and out over your face. Chaos, a dishevelled appearance to match the stubble on your chin, and the dark look in your eyes.

It was enough.

As you stepped through the door, I could feel my chest constrict, and my heart rate pick up, pounding away in my chest. Adrenaline, cortisol; my blood was being chemically injected in preparation to fight.

To flee.

I didn't know how to react. How to feel.

What sort of face do you make, after someone reveals that they hated you?

The grey rain continued to gently, rhythmically pound on the windows. An omnipresent reminder of the dreariness of the sky, of the bleakness of its vistas. It was evidenced on your face, small rivulets of water making their way down your brow and your cheek. They gave the impression of tears, streaks running down from your eyes - yet, it was a ludicrous thought. A projection of my own feelings onto you.

It was simply pattern recognition.

You didn't care.

One of the other teachers in the room had greeted you - and you had responded with an equivalent muted level of enthusiasm. It was more, however, than I had received from you. More than you'd been willing to share. I knew why now, though - where your apathy came from. I knew it was the residue of hatred, long evaporated; as sea water, now boiled away, leaving only crystalline detritus behind in its wake.

I knew what it was. I knew why it was affecting me.

As you went to sit at your desk, my eyes were trained on your back – on the drenched shirt, on the way your shoulders stooped. I could feel my heart beating like mad in my chest, an admixture of both fear and longing.

I was afraid.

Afraid of your hatred. Afraid of its embers, and of its residual wisps. Afraid of the ice in your eyes, the cold indifference you used so effortlessly to penetrate my chest and stab my heart.

But in the end, I had no choice.

My knowledge of your hatred swayed and swirled within me, a murky irritant in my mind. I couldn't let it rest. I couldn't let you go, and reconsign you to the depths of my memories.

Now that I knew, I couldn't go back.

"Uesugi-sensei. Good morning."

The words were out of my mouth before I knew it, forced out by the pressure in my core, emotions taking up all of the room within and leaving no room for my greetings to perch.

Immediately, I froze, fear flooding my veins. Slowly, you turned to face me, and I could feel the ice coursing through me growing stronger.

Ice?

Wait- no.

You had looked surprised - but you had nodded, and murmured a reply. Good morning.

The glimmer of hoarfrost in your eyes was present again as you turned away, a coating of winter and cold - but somehow, it felt weaker. Less firm; it remained frozen, yet risen a few degrees towards a melting point, still yet far away. I wasn't sure if it was merely my desires projected onto your expression, or if you had simply decided to weaken your guard a fraction.

I wasn't sure what to do.

I realized I was staring after you.

My heart was pounding.

The bell saved me from my predicament by ringing, signalling that we needed to all go to our respective classrooms. Getting up and holding my lesson plan to my chest, I spared you one more glance - and then I strode out of the room, walking both away from the staff office and from the quandary that you represented.

I realized only later that I'd forgotten my coffee.

The rain pitter-pattered against the glass panes of the windows as I walked through the hallways toward my classroom. My brain was turning the interaction I'd just had over and over in my head. The look on your face - the initial surge of surprise, and then the mask brought back imperfectly, emotion fading away only partially.

Your muted greeting...

There was something about it which was tickling the back of my mind: whispering in the shadows that there was more to it. Something I hadn't noticed. A twitch of your hand. A twinge in your face. Some small detail, some seemingly-insignificant thing which betrayed your true feelings.

Yet, I wasn't able to place what it was.

I glanced out the window. It seemed as though the rain were beginning to taper off.

Sliding the door to the classroom open, I had strode in to find the students already waiting. Checking my notes, I had informed them of various bureaucratic updates - in particular, that there would be a class trip in a months' time to Okinawa. Our school had received a large donation for the express purpose of enrichment that was funding the trip; so, down south they would go.

After I'd finished reading the list, class began.

Soon, the morning had ended - and as I settled in for lunch in the staff room, I could see that you had begun to make more connections. The teacher you'd initially sat with in the first week had been joined by another; a woman, one of the mathematics teachers if I remembered correctly. I wasn't close with her, we'd spoken only a handful of times throughout my tenure thus far.

Somehow, seeing her laughing at something you had said made my chest clench - the remnants of that night a week prior flaring up deep inside, dropping a stone in my stomach.

You don't have the right to feel like that. Stop it.

It was selfish. Pathetic. I hadn't been part of your life for ten years. I'd only finally put together the fleeting remnants of my past feelings a week before. There was nothing I could say, or do. The man you had become was far, far beyond my grasp.

I had absolutely no right to have any claim on any part of you.

I couldn't help but wonder though, as I sat there watching you talk and smile and begin to laugh from a distance- what heartbreaks you'd experienced on the way here. Whether you'd managed to find love, even if it hadn't been with any of us. If you'd eventually found someone who could help you begin to heal.

Suddenly, a stray thought crossed my mind, pulling me up short.

Wait. Does... does he have a girlfriend?

Shaking my head, I turned back to my lunch, thoughts buzzing about my head like flies in the tundra - voracious and unstoppable. I gently smacked myself on my cheeks with both hands.

Stop it. That's none of your business.

The lunch break passed me by, and eventually I needed to return to class. It was difficult, though, to tear myself away. I hoped you hadn't noticed me looking at you - and that nobody else had noticed either. Perhaps that was too much to hope for.

Regardless, it was out of my control.

The afternoon classes were straightforward, but enjoyable- though occasionally, a stray thought of you would fly into my head unprompted, and would need to be batted away, not allowed anywhere close to the surface of my conscious thought. As I lectured on valence electrons and atomic structures, as I taught about s-wave and p-wave orbitals, I viciously tried to drive my thoughts of you to the periphery, violently denying entry.

Nevertheless, I was focused. I refused to let my insecurities and my guilt about you hamper my work any more than it already had. I was done with allowing those sorts of things to kill the joy I took in teaching. This had been my dream. I had worked diligently for years to achieve it. Your presence, your apathy, wouldn't take that away from me.

I couldn't let it be taken away from me. Not again.

The rain was intensifying again outside.

As the day ended, I quickly gathered my materials and returned to the office. Depositing them in my locked desk, I had grabbed my notebook and was about to head to the English Conversation clubroom when I was stopped by Kushijima. She had informed me, with a sympathetic note in her voice, that I had been designated as being in charge of organizing accommodations for during the Okinawa trip. The details such as the budget and numbers of people were to be emailed to me, she said, at a later time.

As I walked to the clubroom, I could feel the additional weight of more added responsibility on my shoulders.

They really do love piling it on higher and deeper, huh?

Such was life. I had chosen this.

I slid open the door to find the room inside empty - I was apparently the first one. Turning on the light and sitting in a chair, I began flipping through the notebook that had been left for me and sighed. This certainly seemed like a far more... hands-on role than some of the other club supervisory positions. I still wasn't confident in my English skills, though I could do a passable enough job.

Maybe I should get Ichika to help me a bit...

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, but paused. Ichika had eventually responded to me, though it had taken until the weekend. She'd been cast in an A-line Hollywood superhero movie, and so her free time to communicate was growing increasingly rare. Her command of English was almost perfect now, with barely any accent to speak of - a perfect teacher. That said...

Does she even have the free time to teach her kid sister...?

There was a twinge in my heart, but I shook my head.

I'll just ask Nino. Not only are we in the same city, we're even on the same continent! Yeah... much easier.

Chuckling to myself, I put my phone away - and then stared out the window. I could feel the half-hearted laughter dying on my lips.

The rain was still pouring, the windows streaked with water, the rhythmic beating of impact giving an ambient background to the room. Alone, my mind began to wander again, no longer bound by pressing need.

I had come to a realization, alone and curled up on that floor. I had realized that, ten years ago, I had loved you. I had realized that I had never truly recovered from the way you left us, had never truly gotten over the pain. In that dry, burning place, I'd finally accepted what my feelings were - accepted that I'd been no different from my sisters. In one more way, we had been identical.

But... what about now? Am I still in love with him?

As the dark clouds continued to deposit the contents of their bellies upon the city below, relentless grey upon relentless grey, I bit my lip, my heartbeat steady, taking the reins in lieu of my shaking hands. I could see the faint phantom of my own reflection - my own face staring back at me, light cast back by the fluorescence of the room.

I don't know.

I shook my head, trying to clear it.

Maybe not.

Suddenly, there was a noise from outside, and I was startled as the door swung open, even though I had been expecting it eventually. The brown-haired president of the English Conversation club, Tokuyama Hikari, eyed me up for a moment from the doorway as I whipped back around to look at her - before entering, pulling out a chair at the table orthogonal to me, and sitting. Quietly greeting me, she retrieved a book in English from her bag, and then was silent after that.

I raised an eyebrow at the book... but then, recalling my own romance novel on the bedside table at home, I decided to just leave her be.

It's in English, so it's within the confines of the club... right?

We sat quietly for a few more minutes, she reading and I flipping through the notebook I'd been given. Then, the door slammed open and the other girl in the club, Chikamori Yui, burst into the room. Tokuyama looked up from her book, a neutral look on her face as Chikamori ran up to her, panting.

"Hikariiiiiiin! I'm sorry I'm late! I just saw this adorable kitty out in front of the school, and it was so cute, and I just had to go out and pet it - not petting it would have been illegal! I ain't no crook, I had to go! So it took up a bunch of my time, and I- oh, whoops, hi Sensei!"

It was like a sudden onslaught, a human typhoon entering the room and wreaking havoc at will.

As she pranced into the club space, after closing the door behind her and attempting to chat up a storm with the mostly silent Tokuyama, I could only marvel at her mind and its hummingbird-like motion, flitting back and forth from topic to topic.

Amused, I raised a hand in greeting.

I noticed as I went back to the notebook, however, that while Tokuyama was mostly silent, her eyes sliding over the pages of her book, she was actually participating in the conversation with Chikamori - answering her sporadic questions and acknowledging her comments, albeit in her own way. Frowning, I decided that whatever relationship they had, it was clearly already established; there was no need to insert myself based on some kind of shallow reading of the situation.

I'd learned many years before that being quiet didn't necessarily equate to apathy.

As I ruminated, the door slid open again, and the final two members of the club walked in together, talking quietly. As they entered, Chikamori's eyes lit up, and she danced over to stand in front of them. Spreading her legs into a power stance, she threw one hand onto her hip and pointed dramatically with her other.

"Hey, they're here! They're here! You're late!"

Aoki rolled his eyes, half-hidden by his black hair. "We're barely late, Chikamori. Calm down."

Chikamori puffed up her cheeks. "Geez- how many times do I have to tell you?! Call me Yui!"

"No."

She turned to look at me. "Sensei, Kenji is being mean!"

I just kept my mouth shut. This was the sort of thing they needed to sort out amongst themselves.

"Don't call me that," he muttered, sitting at the table.

"B-But! In... In the West they always use first names! And we're supposed to be practicing English!"

"Then you can use it... when you're speaking to me in English," Aoki growled.

Chikamori pouted again. "Oh, fine. Be that way... spoilsport."

The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes again, then turned to look at Tokuyama. Lowering his head slightly, he murmured, "Good afternoon, president."

She nodded back, her eyes flitting up from the book. "Aoki-san. Good afternoon."

"Don't worry, Yui," the final boy said, winking at her. "You can call me by my first name all you want."

"Your name is hard though, Xavi," she said, frowning. "It makes my tongue feel weird. Xa-vi. Xa-vier. See? It's hard!"

"Phrasing," the president said quietly. The others all turned to stare at her, askance, and she glanced up with a perplexed look on her face. "What?"

"Uh- nevermind," Morrissey said, shaking his head. Then, turning to look at me with a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, he spoke in near accentless English. "Good afternoon, Sensei. I hope you're doing well."

"Very well, thank you," I responded, far less fluidly than I would have liked. "The weather is simply lovely."

He looked at me for a moment, then glanced out the window, where the rain was still pounding down from the sky.

"...A joke?"

"A joke," I confirmed, deadpan.

He laughed. It felt a bit like a pity laugh, to my mild consternation - but I decided to take it at face value. It wasn't worth overthinking these sorts of things.

I have other things to overthink...

The remainder of the afternoon went by quite quickly. I was able to easily keep up with all of the people in the club, English-wise, except for Morrissey. His lack of accent wasn't just for show - he was very fluent in the language. Possibly even more so than Ichika.

I could feel that they were opening up to me, at least a little bit - on the first day, they'd ignored me entirely, simply talking amongst themselves. Of course, that didn't particularly bother me; my job was to supervise, not to be a club member. That said, noticing how they'd started addressing me during their conversations more and more...

It felt nice to be included.

Eventually, it grew late. As each club member began to leave in turn, they said goodbye to me in English. Eventually, it was once again down to just Tokuyama and I in the room. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I saw that it was nearing six o'clock; certainly long-past time for me to go home. Rising, I walked over and slid the door open.

"Tokuyama-san... please remember to lock up."

She looked over at me with her cool, intelligent eyes, her eyes which felt like they could pierce my soul... but she just nodded silently.

And so, I slid the door shut.

As I walked back to the staff room to deposit the notebook and to collect my things, I could hear the steady pitter-patter of the rain, relentlessly falling. Yet, somehow, it felt less violent. Less intense.

It was strange - I'd been so caught up in my head recently, thoughts of you filling my mind, my guilt near overwhelming; yet, once the children had arrived, my mind had gone silent. They had driven away my concerns, at least for a moment. Gazing out a nearby window over the soccer field, devoid of practicing students due to the onslaught of water, I couldn't help but smile.

Things like that... those are the reasons I became a teacher.

The smile was persistent, refusing to leave my face even as I made my way back into the staff office. As I sat down at my desk, the room empty, I couldn't help laughing to myself.

Their antics amuse me.

I looked back to when I was a child, to when my mother would occasionally tell stories of things her students had done that amused her - not that she would ever let them know that. Now, as I stood in her shoes, I could understand what she meant. The silly little antics of the young were just that - silly, and fun. Sliding open my desk and putting the notebook away, I stretched, and rose back to my feet.

Well... I guess I should head home.

The door to the staff room slid open, and you walked in.

It was immediately apparent: you were absolutely exhausted, as evidenced by the state of your face. Drawn. Gaunt. Collapsing into the chair at your desk, you ran your hand through your hair, mussing up already-messy chaos. The way the light caught you, in the refracted grey wrought by the rain-smeared windows, you looked... defeated.

Broken.

I could feel my heart aching at the sight.

But... I wasn't sure if you would have wanted me to interfere. If you would welcome my intrusion into your problems, into your worries. There was a part of me that feared the ice in your eyes, that was still flinching away from your words a week before. A part that still hurt, that constricted my chest at the sight of you. A part of me that wanted to just pick up my bag, and flee as quickly as possible. To not have to bear witness to your vulnerabilities.

Yet, in the end, there wasn't any real question of what I would do.

Walking over, I hesitated. Then, I ventured.

Perhaps there would be something gained.

"Uesugi-ku- Uesugi-sensei. Are you alright?"

You looked up at me as if noticing for the first time that I was there; so enraptured in your own world had you been, I had been nothing more than a wraith in the background.

Yet, as I held your gaze, I above and you below, I realized - I wasn't content with that.

I wasn't content with being simply a forgotten memory. A ghost in the mists of your past.

...I want more.

You took a moment, chewing over your response, testing the posibilities to see which had the right flavour profile. Finally, you slowly shook your head.

"I'm... I'm fine. Today was just a very long day," you said - the longest phrase you'd said to me since we'd spoken the previous week. "I... am learning very quickly how much work is needed to be a teacher. I thought I was prepared - but I'm still adjusting."

I nodded. "It was the same for me. It takes time."

Looking you up and down, I could see the signs of your weariness; the bags beginning to form under your eyes, the way your hands were trembling. I wondered if you were getting enough sleep. Even if you were no longer the same boy I'd once known, I was certain some things wouldn't have changed - your penchant for doing too much being one of them.

"Just... make sure to pace yourself."

There was more I wanted to say. A whole four years of advice, things I wanted to share with you... but I didn't know if you would be willing to hear them; I didn't know if you were receptive to anything from me beyond simple pleasantries. If I'd already pushed up against the boundary of what you would permit from me.

There was an unpleasant, acidic feeling in my gut that was whispering to me; quietly laughing that you were only being so amenable because of your deteriorated state.

I... hope that isn't the truth.

You just stared at me... and then you nodded, though it was almost as though it were to yourself. Then, shaking, you rose, and began putting away the notebooks you'd brought in with you, unnoticed in my initial hesitancy on whether to approach. Then, glancing out at the pouring rain, you muttered a curse under your breath, offered a quiet farewell, and left the room.

Watching you go, there was some part of me that longed for more time - and another that was glad to see you go, if only so I didn't have to deal with the typhoon that was my own emotions any longer.

I realized my hands were trembling.

Walking over to the rack in the corner, I retrieved my umbrella, and then picked up my bag. Pausing for a moment, I turned to look back at the empty office as I neared the door. There was something unsettling about being the only one there. With the rain still drumming on the window, it gave the room an eerie feeling.

It gave me too much space to think.

My hand tightened on the handle of my umbrella, and I bit my lip to steady it. I could feel my heart pounding, I could sense the fight-or-flight response coursing through my system. It had taken all of my courage to approach you... and I was still afraid.

Afraid of the ice in your eyes.

Afraid of the phantom of your hatred.

Afraid it would reignite at a moment's notice, apathy transforming back into what it once was before, and sweep me up in its grasp - and I would be subject to the totality of your fury.

I shivered.

Sliding the door shut, I locked up, and then walked down to the staff footlockers. There, I changed my footwear - and then froze in place as I saw you once again, paused at the overhang, looking mournfully towards the parking lot in the distance.

I swallowed. My fear flashed up in my throat again... and then I shook my head.

Pull yourself together, Itsuki.

"Uesugi-sensei?" I asked, approaching. "Why...?"

"Ah... I took the subway today, since riding a bike in the rain is miserable..." you said quietly. "But... I forgot my umbrella. This morning too."

Ah.

An opportunity.

How surprisingly air-headed of him.

Holding up my folded umbrella, I awkwardly proffered it towards you.

"I'm also taking the subway. Do... you want to share an umbrella?"

I knew it was a bold thing to ask - with everything that had happened between us, with the ice in your eyes still forming an impregnable, shimmering barrier... the odds you would say yes were astronomically low.

Yet... even in the face of my fear, there was a part of me that wanted to push forward. That whispered in my ear that, no matter what you thought of me, no matter how scared I was of you hating me again... I wanted to do things for you. I wanted to keep you safe; from the cold, from the rain, and from the pain of first learning to be a teacher. There was the whispering, quiet part of me which demanded that I never let you sink below the surface of the still pond of my memories ever again. That I never let you fall back down to the depths.

I wanted more.

You eyed me up, the ice in your eyes slipping for a moment. What was behind was unreadable - your face inscrutable.

Then, slowly, you shook your head.

"I appreciate the offer, Nakano-sensei... but I'll be fine."

Then, with scarcely a moment's hesitation, you stepped out into the rain, and walked away, the torrential downpour soaking through the shoulders of your shirt near-instantaneously. Watching you go, the umbrella still half-extended in your wake, I could feel the dull ache in my chest of expected rejection.

Somehow, knowing it was coming didn't make it any easier to swallow.

I slowly unwrapped the umbrella, fabric spiralling around as it came unclasped. Stepping out from under the overhang, I pulled out the thin cylinder of metal, driving the folded surface open with a click. Stepping out into the rain, the canopy over my head felt too large - like taking up the entire thing by myself was an act of supreme selfishness. My shoulder, untouched and unhindered, felt loose, as though it were mourning the lack of pressure against it.

Pitter-patter pitter-patter.

After I had descended down the steps into the subway station, after I had navigated my way to the platform, I saw you - on the other side, going the other way. Dripping wet, your hair dangling in clumped dark strands, miserable. Your shirt drenched, clinging to you uncomfortably. Across the way, we made eye contact.

Your shoulders seemed to tense up - and then they relaxed as you looked away.

Maybe he's regretting not taking up my generous offer, I thought with dull amusement.

With a roar, a train came running by on the other track. After a moment's pause for boarding, it left, and took you with it - leaving only an empty space in your stead. Staring at the spot, I couldn't help but note the aptness of the metaphor.

You're getting too philosophical, Itsuki. It's time to get out of your own head.

The train arrived, and I was soon home. Stepping inside, I closed the door behind me - and then let out a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief at the alleviation of stress I didn't even realize I'd been carrying. Hanging up my umbrella and taking off my shoes, I changed out of my work clothes and directly into pyjamas. It had been a good day apart from the end, but a long one - I desperately wanted to decompress.

The pyjama bottoms were cute; another gift from Ichika, from when I'd visited her in Paris a few years prior. They were extremely fuzzy, with a print of glasses of wine stretching along the entire way, right down to my ankles. The other half was just a tank-top I owned, but the material was soft, and that was really all I could ask for.

In times of need, comfort was the top priority.

Time for an evening of relaxing and watching documentaries.

Opening my laptop, I sat in the chair at my table and began looking through various options. There was a series about the big bang and the following... well, everything. There was also a documentary about wildlife in Madagascar which had drawn my eye. There was a special about the political situation in South Sudan as well, but...

Madagascar it is. I want to see lemurs.

Loading up the documentary, I paused it before it could begin, and then pulled up the website of a local pizza parlour. Ordering delivery online, I put in my credit card information, and then hit submit. Switching back to the documentary, I set it to play - and then I sat back to relax.

This was my idea of a relaxing evening - a documentary, comfy pyjamas, and no distractions. No anxieties or fears. No wayward thoughts about my problems, and especially no wayward thoughts about you.

After a few minutes, I grabbed a blanket from the bed - wrapping its warm embrace about my shoulders, I could feel myself relaxing even further.

This is the best.

It was almost thirty minutes later, as lemurs leapt across the screen, swinging from tree to tree, that I was completely and utterly caught off-guard by the loud ringing of my doorbell – so unexpected that I fell out of my chair onto the floor.

I'd been so relaxed, I'd completely forgotten I'd even ordered a pizza.

Hurriedly scrambling to my feet, I paused the video with a tap of the spacebar. Half-running to the door, I clumsily unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

"Good evening! I have your pizza here, and-"

The words died in the delivery girl's mouth as we made eye contact. I felt like I was frozen. My hair was a mess, I was in my comfiest pyjamas and a tank top, I wasn't wearing my glasses.

I hadn't expected to see someone I knew.

Or, rather... somebody that I used to know.

"Raiha-chan? Is that you?"

The words were out before I could finish thinking. The black-haired girl with the top-tied ponytail awkwardly scratched her cheek, seemingly unsure of what to say. Then, her eyes widened, and shaking her head, she stammered.

"Uh... you... you have the wrong girl! Anyways, here's your pizza!"

Shoving the pizza roughly into my hands, she turned on the spot and fled along the balcony and down the stairs. I hurried to the edge and looked over to see her running in the direction of an old, beat-up looking car. Leaning over, I called out to her-

"Raiha-chan! You don't have to listen to me, but- I'm sorry!"

She paused, one leg already into the driver-side door, the rain still plummeting from above, already soaking her. Then, looking back up at me, she shook her head - and even with how far away she was, I could see her lip trembling.

"It's way too late for that," she called up to me. "That was what you should have said a decade ago."

"I-"

"Besides," she said, slipping fully into the driver's seat, water dripping from her hair. "You should be telling Onii-chan that, not me."

Then, she was gone.

Numbly, I stepped back into my apartment, slowly swinging the door shut behind me.

With a gentle click, it was closed, sealing me away with both my feelings of guilt– and also the tiny, selfish part of myself that longed for reconnection. The base part of me that wished I could have invited her in. Given her something to eat. Maybe watched the documentary together.

Maybe we could have been friends again.

Carrying the box in one hand, I slowly returned to the table, and the paused video. A lemur was in the middle of eating a mango that had been given to it by a photographer - probably not something they should have been doing. Sinking into the chair, I placed the pizza down on the table, and just stared blankly at it for a moment. Eventually, I reached forward with subtly trembling hands, and gently slid the lid open.

The warmth, and the scent of cheese and sauce filled my nose - and I could feel myself tearing up.

Stop it. Stop it stop it stop it stop it.

Gently slapping my face, I took a slice out, and took a bite.

...It's good.

Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. Then, I squared my shoulders.

There was nothing I could do to change the past. There was nothing I could do to change how I'd hurt Raiha, anymore than I could change how I'd led you to hate me. I'd already had my share of overwhelming guilt over the past few weeks. I didn't need the additional helping. I wanted my room to be a sanctuary again, where the outside world couldn't invade.

I'd wept enough.

Yet even as I told myself that, the constriction I felt in my chest wouldn't go away.

Pressing the spacebar, the video started again, the thick English accent barely understandable - but with Japanese subtitles, I could more or less make out what was being said. Leaning back in my chair, I lost myself in the wonders of nature, letting it shelter me. A virtual ensconcement of lights and sounds flashing across a screen.

No more tears.

Outside, the rain continued to fall.

The next morning, I didn't see you – though whether that was by design or by coincidence, I wasn't sure.

Even if I had seen you, I wouldn't have had the time to say much. I ended up being forced to spend the entire lunch break glued to my laptop at my desk, alternating between trying to hurriedly eat, and figuring out the details for the school trip next month.

Given I'd been put in charge of securing the housing, I wanted to try and strike a balance between several factors - proximity to tourist destinations, quality of the hotel's neighbourhood, quality of the hotel itself, and that most damnable of all factors, price. While the donor had given a considerable amount, that was to be split amongst a large number of students, not to mention the teachers who would be accompanying the group.

Determining these things was highly non-trivial.

To my chagrin, I had eventually been forced to resort to running comparisons in a spreadsheet.

My head was beginning to hurt, and I was grateful when the bell rang, indicating I could stop. Closing my laptop, I grabbed my lesson planner from inside my desk, and departed for my classroom. Yet, as I walked, the throbbing in my head worsened – and eventually, I pulled off to the side and stopped by a vending machine. Pressing my head against the cool glass, I sighed as it provided a modicum of relief from my rapidly swelling headache.

This is such a pain.

Leaning back, I quickly purchased a soft drink - I didn't care what, just something cold. Taking a sip, I stuck out my tongue in disgust at how sweet it was: but temperature (or lack thereof) was what I craved, not the flavour. Reaching into my bag, I grabbed a package of painkillers; then, swallowing a pill along with the drink, I grimaced. Putting the pack away, I chugged the rest of the drink, and tossed it in a bin.

I hope nobody saw that...

Glancing around, it seemed I was safe. Smiling to myself, I continued on to my classroom, where the students were already gathered.

Time to fly.

Chalk on board, equations upon equations upon equations. I was within my element.

My pain was driven back by the power of drugs and euphoria.

By the end of the day, my headache had been almost completely suppressed; though whether that was due to the painkiller, or the hydration granted by the drink, I wasn't sure. Regardless, I was feeling much better by the time I returned to the staff office. Plopping back down into my chair, I opened my desk and pulled out my notebook for the English Conversation club; then, remembering my wayward thought from the previous day, I put the book down, and pulled out my phone.

Nino. Nino can help me.

Quickly shooting off a text to my sister asking for her help with English practice, I put my phone away. I didn't expect a response from her for another few hours yet - once her and Miku's restaurant had closed for the night.

Sliding my lesson planner into the desk, I closed and locked it, then grabbed my notebook off the surface and rose to my feet. Exiting the staff room, I glanced to the left - and saw you entering via the other door.

A barely missed connection. …Probably for the best.

Sighing, an uncomfortable conflicted feeling in my chest, I left you behind. My students awaited.

"Senseiii, look at this picture of the cats I pet on the way to school today!"

"They look… very fluffy, Chikamori-san."

"Sensei– Yui! Call me Yui!"

After a couple of hours of conversing in English, I could feel my headache beginning to return - unlike teaching physics, the club required effort. It was too soon after taking the previous painkillers for me to take any more, and so I was forced to just grin and bear it. As I finally left for the staff office, I repeated what was at this point a daily ritual - reminding President Tokuyama to lock the door when she left.

As always, she simply nodded.

As I walked through the halls, footsteps echoing down the empty corridors, the pressure began to grow. More and more, my head began to pound, a constricting feeling, as though someone had taken a thick rubber band and had used it to squeeze my temples.

By the time I reached the staff room, I was swaying unsteadily in my feet, balance nothing more than a fleeting memory.

After struggling to get the door open, I sank down into the chair, and clutched at the sides of my head. The pain was ubiquitous - I could tell that this was the start of a full-blown migraine. Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping for some temporary measure of relief.

None came.

You're on your own.

Opening my eyes again, I groaned and lowered my head down to the table. I still needed to work on the housing for the trip. I also still needed to finish my marking for the day - something I'd neglected in favour of running off to babble in English.

I couldn't afford to go home yet. I couldn't afford to retreat to my makeshift sanctuary.

My head so heavy it was almost a physical effort, I raised my eyes and pulled open my laptop – and hissed in pain as the light of the screen caused the agony in my head to spike. Turning the brightness as far down as I could, which wasn't enough, I tried to continue working. As lines of text flitted across the screen, I could feel the pressure building in my head.

More and more and more and more and…

It was like I was wading through a swamp, my motion hampered by the mud clinging to my limbs, the slime and gunk of the watery depths dragging me down with them, making every move a hundred times more laborious. Eventually, even something as simple as copying over names from websites to my spreadsheet was getting to be too much - and I lowered my head down into my arms, the screen still open. Blessed darkness found me, a slight reprieve.

It was too much.

I can't do this.

In the distance, seemingly far, far away, I heard the sound of the office door sliding open: but I didn't raise my head to look. It was too much effort, and my skull hurt too much - it felt like it was being stabbed, lobotomized by a pickaxe. There were footsteps that echoed throughout the room: slow, halting. They seemed faint, almost muffled by the mental wall brought on by my pain.

They were approaching- and then they suddenly seemed to back away again. There was a shuffling of papers; and at that exact moment, another wave of agony went through my head.

Unconsciously, I let out a whimper of pain.

The shuffling sound stopped, as though the other person in the room were looking over at me. Then, I heard a sigh: and my heart burst with a sudden surge of anxiety.

From the depths of the pond of my mind, with its floating lotuses and its serene surface, a memory. A deeply buried recollection, something I hadn't thought about in nearly a decade; like the scents of one's childhood, an instinct so deeply embedded that I hadn't even realized I'd remembered it until it rose forth from the muddy bottom and began to rapidly ascend to the surface like an orca rising for air.

The memory of that damned sigh.

The sound of when you were frustrated, or irritated. The sigh you'd made every single time we'd disappointed you, or when you realized how large of a hurdle you were facing with us, or when you thought we were being stupid - which was often.

I didn't think I still remembered such simple things...

I heard another rustling sound, and then footsteps rapidly approaching. My chest constricted with tension– and then something was put down on the desk next to me with a clunk. There was a pause, and then the footsteps receded again.

"It's from my stash," your voice said from afar, a not-so-subtle tinge of annoyance in your tone. "Use it well. Or don't. I don't really care."

I could feel my own irritation flare.

I didn't ask for your help- why are you acting like I owe you a favour?!

Annoyed, I raised my head, wincing at the light from the long fluorescent fixtures in the ceiling. I just had time to see you walking out of the office with a carrier bag tossed over your shoulder - and then you were gone, and I didn't have even a remote chance of letting out the retort that had been building in my throat. All the words I wanted to say, my indignity, they went unspent.

Glancing down at the desk, I saw that you had placed a small bottle of what appeared to be an energy drink - one of those "five-hour energy" shots one sees employees using frequently at abusive workplaces.

Picking up the bottle and turning it over in my hands, I felt a moment of concern that you were resorting to such things, especially after our brief conversation the previous day about over-exertion. Nevertheless, I pocketed the drink. I certainly wasn't going to use it - my issue wasn't being tired, it was having a migraine. Caffeine would either help, or make it far worse. I wasn't about to gamble and find out.

But…

"Screw it. I'll just have to get more done tomorrow," I muttered. Closing the laptop, I put it into my bag and stood up.

Immediately, the blood rushed from my head, and I swayed on the spot.

Ugh... I need to get home. Now.

Leaving the staff office, I had made my way down to the front entrance, the stairs a trial unto themselves; I'd had to clutch onto the railing for dear life to keep my balance. Staring out into the grey rapidly-dimming light of the outside world, mental images of trying (and potentially failing) to make the walk all the way to the subway flashed through my head - and I winced.

Nope. Not happening.

Pulling out my phone, I called a ride share. Normally, I was loath to be chauffeured... but ultimately, I'd always had it drilled into me that money was less important than one's health. A lesson I wished my mother had actually practiced. A little extra expenditure was worth it so that I didn't run the risk of collapsing on my way home. Feeling the small bulk of the shot bottle in my pocket, I wondered if that was a lesson you'd managed to learn over the years - or if you were still as reckless with your health as you had been in high school, all those years before.

Somehow, I suspected I wouldn't like the answer.

A red car pulled up in front of the school, and I got in the back. Fifteen minutes later, I was home and in bed. After having transferred the energy shot from my pocket to the kitchen counter, I had turned off the lights and closed the blinds on my window, creating a blessedly dark space.

As I laid in bed, in silence and shadow, the pain began to slowly recede. Eventually, enough time had passed, and I could take a new dose of painkillers. Gratefully swallowing the pills, I crawled back into bed - and even though it was scarcely eight in the evening, I was soon out like a light.

The next day I felt better, for the most part. A good night's sleep worked wonders for not having your head feel like it was being caved in.

Rising from my bed, I eyed up the small bottle of liquid energy that was still sitting on my kitchen counter. It was a tiny thing... yet somehow, I didn't want to touch it. As stupid and childish as it was, as irritated as I'd grown by virtue of its presence... it was something you'd given me, even if it had been begrudgingly.

In a small way, it felt like a tiny beacon of hope. That maybe, eventually, things could go back to how they once were. That we could smile and laugh together. That we could face trials and hardships side-by-side, instead of in our own separate worlds.

That we could be friends again.

It was stupid.

But, it wasn't stupid enough for me to touch the bottle.

I made my way into the shower, and the cascading water cleansed away the last vestiges of my fatigue and pain. As I finished washing my hair, I suddenly realized that I was hungry - I hadn't eaten anything the previous night, I'd been in such pain. Stepping out of the shower, the water dripping from my hair and my appendages, I began to fantasize about the various things I could make for my breakfast.

It was precisely for times like those that I kept my fridge so well-stocked. I liked having options.

I ended up deciding to make an omelette, as I dried myself off. Stepping into the kitchen and throwing on some casual clothes, I lit the stove, and the construction of a gourmand's breakfast was soon underway.

Cracking three eggs into a glass, I vigorously beat them with cooking chopsticks; then, adding various spices and a dollop of milk, I poured it into the frying pan, and let the eggs begin to cook. As they began to fluff up, I added piles of shredded cheddar to the centre of the growing work of art, and then flipped it closed with a spatula - sealing the golden goodness inside to liquefy.

Eventually, it was done, and I transferred my creation to a plate. After grabbing cutlery from a drawer, I sank into the chair, and then eagerly leaned forward. Carefully cutting through the egg with my chopsticks, the melted cheese flowed out onto the plate, gushing. My eyes widened, and I could feel myself beginning to salivate.

May...Maybe it's time to update my food blog. It's been nearly a month...

The meal was exquisite - and yet, my eyes nearly committed a food crime. As I ate, piece by tantalizing piece, my sight was drawn once more to that small bottle on the counter. Idly, I wondered about its taste; what flavour your gift would impart. How it would affect my creation.

Then, I shook my head.

Terrible idea. No use spoiling something good just for want of change.

Yet somehow, as I went back to my food, the flavour felt just the slightest bit muted; as though a low-opacity layer of sepia had been cast over my taste buds.

After finishing breakfast, I prepared for work: changing into formal clothing, combing my hair, and applying a modicum of makeup. As I stepped into my entryway, shoes in hand, I glanced back into the apartment – at the small bottle still sitting, unperturbed, on the counter.

Then, I left.

When I got to work, the staff office was bustling - I'd come at exactly the wrong time. I preferred to arrive a bit earlier and avoid the rush, so I could do the greeting instead of being greeted. Making myself a coffee, I sat at my desk and flipped open my laptop; significantly less daunting of a task than the previous night. While I still needed to go perform my homeroom duties, after that I had the first period off; I planned to use that time to make significant headway on planning the trip.

As I was loading up the price-comparison website I'd been using, I had noticed movement out of the corner of my eyes, and I had turned to look. You had thrown a carrier bag over your shoulder, and were walking past me, clearly on your way to your classroom, a thick lesson planner under your arm. You looked exhausted - there were bags under your eyes, and your usually-messy hair was even more frayed. Part of me was almost impressed you'd remembered to shave.

Almost.

"Uesugi-sensei," I called, leaning back in my chair. You paused, and turned to look back at me.

Ice.

Swallowing, I wrestled down my suddenly-flaring anxiety.

"Thank you for the energy shot." I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "That said... those things can be dangerous. Please take care of yourself."

There was a long pause, the ice in your eyes not shifting an inch. Then, with a swift nod, you turned and left. I was left wondering what exactly was going on inside your head - what unholy fusion of exhaustion, apathy, and residual antipathy was swirling in the depths of your mind.

Just thinking about it made me feel sorry for you… and also a little fearful.

Whenever I thought the ice was thawing a little bit, it seemed to come back. As though you were intentionally refusing to let it melt. Intentionally refreshing the frozen facade, spraying water and pumping out heat to reinforce the barrier.

Intentionally refusing to let me in.

Is it really apathy if it has to be forced?

I felt like I was on the verge of a realization of some sort - but then the bell rang, and I scrambled to gather my lesson planner and head to my homeroom class, and the thought was driven from my mind. After describing various bureaucratic updates, I handed out waivers to all of the students for the upcoming trip - essentially, forms so the parents could give permission for us to take their children with us on the flight. I'd made a point to emphasize that anyone who didn't get them back to us within a week wouldn't be going on the trip.

Especially since I can't finish making the reservations until they're in...

After the homeroom ended, I returned to the staff office, and continued my work on price comparisons for lodging. As I scrolled through page after page, part of me was glad that I wasn't also in charge of the flights, but another part of me wondered as to why - it seemed like the sort of thing that ought to be combined together; after all, if we could get some kind of package deal, it would be far more convenient.

Seems fairly short-sighted to me.

Almost as if on cue, I suddenly got a ping in the top-right corner of my laptop; a new email. Opening it, I saw that it was from Kushijima; she was asking me to add taking charge of the flights to my job description, that logistical point having slipped her mind when she'd roped me in a few days before.

I could feel my eye twitch as I read over the short message.

More work.

At least there was some compensation. At the end of the e-mail, she mentioned that I'd been chosen as one of the teachers to actually go on the trip in a supervisory capacity. I'd expected it, given the amount of work I was doing to plan the thing, but it was nice to get explicit confirmation.

If I'm doing both... maybe we should go through a travel agent after all.

Closing my laptop with a frustrated click, I unlocked my desk and pulled out my lesson planner. Flipping it open, I reviewed my lessons for the day, taking advantage of the extra time to make small adjustments as necessary. Yet, I could feel an undercurrent of irritation flowing through me.

Part of me wondered if it was residual from the night before. If the pain and indignation had coupled together to leave a longer-lasting imprint on my psyche.

As the end of the first period drew near, I locked my desk again, and began making my way towards my classroom. Along the way, I passed the same vending machine as the previous day, quietly humming along in an alcove off the hallway. Slowing, I noticed that in the top-left corner there was an unusual option that evoked all sorts of nostalgia: the sort of matcha soft drinks that Miku had frequently drank in high school.

A twinge of loneliness passed through me.

How long had it been since I'd properly spent time with Miku?

Too long. Way, way too long.

I impulsively walked over to buy it.

As it clanged down into the receptacle and I pushed the plastic cover in to grab it, the cold metal was a mild shock to my fingers. Pulling it out, I tapped the edges to prevent any chance of it fizzing over - I'd never had one of these before, and I wasn't sure how carbonated they were. Walking towards the classroom, lesson planner in my bag over my shoulder, I pulled the tab, and with a hiss it opened.

Reaching the door, I took a sip of the drink as I slid it open.

Then, I immediately gagged.

Why would anyone choose to drink this?!

Not for the first time in my life, I wondered at Miku's tastes.

Nevertheless, not being one to waste food nor drink, I was committed to finishing it: and so, throughout the following period as I lectured, I would take the occasional break to take a sip from the can, which I had placed inside my small lectern. Each single time, I cringed, much to my students' consternation.

Eventually, I'd finished it - though by the end I was cursing my older sister under my breath after each sip.

Damn you, nostalgia! You lied to me!

Finally, after many hours of trying to get the bitter matcha taste out of my mouth, it was the end of the day; I'd long ago vigorously tossed the can in the recycling, vowing to never be fooled into drinking something so disgusting out of misplaced fondness. Returning to the staff office, I stowed my lesson planner in my desk in favour of my English Conversation club notebook - and then I was once again out and on my way.

Midway through the session, as Chikamori and Aoki were arguing about something or other, the door suddenly slid open. Glancing up from my own conversation with Morrissey, it was with a start that I saw you standing there, a folder in your hands, and an annoyed look on your tired face.

Ice. Every time, ice.

"Uesugi-sensei," I said in English, nodding my head. "How do you doing?"

Next to me, Morrissey involuntarily winced, and so I suspected I'd said something quite wrong. You just looked at me for a moment, before shaking your head.

"Kushijima-sensei wanted me to deliver these documents. Something about the upcoming trip. Here you go."

As you walked into the room, I could feel my eye twitching. The single most frustrating thing I'd experienced when trying to practice my English had been people switching on me - the fact you'd done it irritated me to no end. Nevertheless, as you handed me the folder, I tried to keep it contained.

"Thank you," I responded, refusing to switch back. "I am grateful."

You raised an eyebrow at me, silently. The frost in your eyes glimmered, slick and crystalline as black ice on a highway - hardly perceptible, yet deadly. I could feel myself wilting under your gaze... but as I swallowed my fears down, I decided to press on.

"Uesugi-sensei," I said, forcing myself to speak calmly and clearly, "will you go on the trip? To Okinawa."

You were silent for a moment - maybe you were debating whether or not to humour me. As the quiet stretched, Morrissey looked back and forth between us uncertainly. Even if none of the other students in the room were picking up on the silent tension, I could tell from the look in his eye that he was.

I quietly hoped it wouldn't cause any problems in the future.

"I've been selected to go in lieu of that teacher that went on mat leave," you said smoothly, pulling out numerous words which I didn't know. "Frankly, I'm not that interested - but it's part of the job, so I'll be doing my best."

I blinked. I'd been able to follow enough to understand that you were going, but that was about it - the subtle details had been beyond me.

"I... see," I said, nodding. "We will be together then."

Unexpectedly, the ice in your eyes seemed to momentarily waiver, as if caught by surprise by my answer. Then, it grew firm once more, meltwater funnelled back into yet another protective layer. Nodding your head, you turned on your heels and walked to the door. As you stepped back out, I was seized once more by an impulse to reach out, to not let you just... go. Not again.

"Do your best, Uesugi-sensei," I said. "I am believing in you."

Morrissey winced again, but I ignored him. You looked back at me silently; and perhaps it was merely a hallucination brought about by my own hopes, my own wishes, but I thought I saw you bite your lip, as though holding yourself back. Instead of speaking, you simply nodded, and then left, leaving me surrounded by students- and yet also, somehow, alone.

I stared after you for a long moment, lost in my own thoughts. My own ruminations on the ice in your eyes, and the way it seemed so impregnable – and yet also so fragile.

I wish I knew what he was really feeling.

"Morrissey-san," I said sharply, glancing over at the boy next to me. "Please stop wincing every time I make a mistake. It's disrespectful."

He hung his head. "Sorry, Sensei."

As the students eventually left one-by-one, however, and I conducted my ritual of reminding the president to lock up, a thought occurred to me, one that stopped me dead in my tracks halfway down the hallway.

...Why didn't he just leave the documents on my desk?

My breath caught for a moment.

If he'd really wanted to not see me... it would have been simple to just leave them there. So... why did he come all the way to the English Conversation club?

There was, of course, the easy answer, which was that you'd taken Kushijima's direction entirely at face value, and just didn't care one way or the other. But there was another option, which was completely in the realm of fantasy: that you'd come because you actually wanted to see me, despite your exterior frostiness.

My gut was telling me it was the former. My brain concurred.

It was my heart that was deluding itself.

Don't overthink things and get beyond yourself. At this point, I'd just be happy for him to be friendly.

Staring out the window of the hallway, a bucket of ice water fell over my shoulders, infiltrating my veins and my lungs and my heart, and the sudden thrill of lovely delusion was doused in its entirety.

I don't deserve to want anything beyond that.

I returned to the staff office, and packed up my things. Glancing over at your desk, I could see your carrier bag was gone - you'd already gone down to that bike and departed for home. Grabbing my own bag, I followed suit, sans the motorcycle.

My walk to the subway was slow, taking in the scents and sights of late spring: partially in appreciation, and partially in a futile attempt to make myself feel a bit better. As I descended below the ground, vernal wonder gave way to concrete, and I was once again consumed in the mundanity of my daily commute.

Nous avons faim. Nous avons chaud. Nous avons froid. Nous avons-

I was home.

Yet, the whole time, I'd just been turning our interaction over in my head.

Merde.

Stepping up from my entryway, shoes left behind, I felt restless - unsatisfied somehow with how the day had gone. It hadn't been a bad day by any means; if anything, I'd gained a glimmer of hope. But, it felt... incomplete. Like there was more I wanted to do, more I wanted to say to you.

Yet, I was home, and the day was done.

There was an excess of unspent energy in a low-level heat bath in my muscles, jittering and waiting to be released.

I decided to go to the gym.

The commute was a short one - there was a gym just around the corner with which I had a membership. While I didn't go that often, preferring usually to exercise in the comfort of my own home, I was quite fond of the place. It had all the facilities I wanted, but was also relatively obscure; whenever I went, it was busy, but not packed.

Walking in the front door, I made my way over to the turnstile and swiped my membership card to get into the changing room. Claiming an open locker and putting my street shoes inside, I quickly changed into workout clothes, tied my hair back, and ascended to the gym.

Looking around and seeing what was available, I decided that the best way to rid myself of restless energy was simply to expend it by lifting heavy things.

That said, I stepped onto the treadmill first as a warmup.

There were only two treadmills in the place, due to the limited amount of space. One of them was already in use, so I nabbed the other. Clipping the emergency cord to myself, a practice I'd started after an unfortunate incident on the news a few years prior, I slowly ramped up the speed, and was soon alternating between a relatively slow walk, and short bursts of high-intensity running.

I could feel the sweat beginning to flow… but it felt good. My mood was already beginning to elevate.

Glancing idly over at the treadmill next to me, the girl running beside me seemed to be having a hard time of things - but she was going much faster than I had been, and on a consistent basis to boot. Her black hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, which flowed halfway down her back; it was flapping with each step, and I wondered to myself if it was uncomfortable, the way it was smacking against her.

Then, I looked up at her face – and my breath caught in my throat as I realized who it was.

What… what the heck is Raiha-chan doing at my gym?!

I desperately wanted to ask her, to talk to her - but she was in the midst of running, and I'd learned long ago not to bother people while they were in the middle of working out. That coupled with the earbud headphones that were firmly embedded in her ears, and I knew I would need to wait.

So instead, I squared my shoulders, and continued my run.

Be strong, Itsuki.

When fifteen minutes had passed, I got off the treadmill, leaving Raiha behind me. Moving over to the weights, I began to lift. As I pulled heavy barbells up and down, I watched her; I couldn't help myself, awkwardly unsure of when the right moment would be to try to approach her, if at all.

Will she run away from me again?

The thought made my heart hurt.

As I transitioned to laying back on the bench and pressing weights into the air, I could hear the treadmill slowing down, and then the sound of her stepping off. Peeking over, I saw that she was voraciously drinking from a bottle with the green logo of Nagoya University. I briefly wondered why she wasn't using the university gym - but then I remembered my own time in university, and how crowded it had often been, and I nodded to myself.

It made sense.

I wasn't sure if she hadn't noticed me, or if she had and was choosing to ignore me. Regardless, Raiha proceeded to move on to a blue yoga mat, where she proceeded to start doing various body weight workouts. Sitting up on the bench, I wiped sweat from my forehead, and took a healthy swig from my own water bottle. Cricking my neck, I got up, wiped down the bench with the provided spray bottles and cloth, and then moved on to the next exercise.

After about thirty minutes of awkwardly dancing around one another, Raiha headed to the locker room - and, having managed to expend the majority of my excess energy, I followed suit.

Stepping into the shower, the cool water sprayed down from above and swept away the accumulated grime of a day's work and exercise. It felt like my weariness was, at least for a moment, taken away with it, and my insecurities too: my incessant overthinking about you, and about your feelings.

I felt cleansed.

Wrapped in a towel as I stepped out, I walked over to my locker to see Raiha doing the same thing. We briefly made eye-contact - but it felt awkward, like neither of us was quite sure what to say.

Yet, I couldn't help feeling a pang of relief.

At least she isn't running away this time...

Opening my locker, the silence seemed to stretch, neither of us looking at one another as we slowly got dressed. After I'd finally finished putting on my street clothes, I walked out of the locker room, the awkward silence too much for me. However, once in the lobby, as I was stepping out the front door, I suddenly heard a voice from behind me.

"Itsuki-ne- um, I mean, Nakano-san?"

Hearing the sudden change in how she referred to me, the forced override of a decade-old habit, made my heart ache... but I turned back to look at her, and I could see that her lip was trembling.

"Yes?" I asked, trying desperately to keep my voice steady.

"Um... I'm really sorry about running away the other day. That was... that was really rude of me."

I paused, surprised - I hadn't expected an apology. Then, I shook my head.

"You don't have anything to apologize for. After all this time... you were right. There are things I should have said a decade ago to you; and to your brother. If only I'd been there for you then, things might have been different."

I glanced away from her face, trying to quell the feelings of shame that were diffusing up from the depths, like murky black petrol dumped into water, clogging and suffocating.

Feeling sorry for yourself achieves nothing.

"I..."

Raiha seemed to choke up, her words catching in her throat and then trailing off. She didn't finish her sentence.

There was another moment of silence between us… and then I took a breath, and squared my shoulders.

"I just want you to know," I said, looking back at her, forcing the words out of my heart and into the air. "If you ever want to talk, or to re-connect... my home is open to you. It's not much, but... well, if you ever want to..."

I trailed off lamely. I didn't even know what I was trying to say. God, I'm so lame. It's been a decade. Why would she want to…

Some of my feelings must have gotten through to her, though, because Raiha nodded, with a phantom trace of a smile gracing her now-still lips.

"...Maybe. That… that might be nice."

Then, she re-adjusted her bag, and squared her shoulders. "Anyways... I've got to go. Um... bye."

She turned, and walked away, quickly vanishing into the crowds on the street, leaving me behind to watch her go.

A smile began to cross my face though, soon breaking out into a huge grin. I could feel tears forming in my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away.

She smiled. She said maybe. It… it wasn't a no. It wasn't a no!

Deep in my chest, a tiny bud of something, drowned in the murky depths of regret, slowly, tentatively, began to open.

Despite everything, despite all the time that had passed...

My mind turned to you, and all the times the ice had seemed to slip. I could scarcely believe it, with such a high chance that I was simply deluding myself into seeing what I wanted to see.

But it was a simple fact. Raiha had expressed at least some interest in reconnecting, even after she'd run away from me.

It was possible, maybe, to regain what had been lost.

There's hope.