By the time the final week before the Cultural Festival rolled around, Aoba High buzzed with frenzied energy. Classrooms turned into art studios. Corridors smelled like paint and glue. Laughter and panic blended together as students hurried between rehearsals, last-minute costume changes, and decoration disasters.
In the middle of all the chaos stood Takara Minami—covered in glitter, shouting across the room.
"I said the hanging stars go on the left side of the curtain, not the right! And someone PLEASE get the fog machine down from the closet before I combust!"
"Minami-kun," Kana called gently, "you're vibrating."
Takara stopped mid-rant and looked down at his trembling hands. "…Oh."
Kayo Tsukishiro appeared beside him like a ghost, pressing a cold can of tea into his palm. "Drink. Breathe."
Takara took a deep breath. "I'm fine. Just… I want it to be perfect."
Kayo looked around at the warm café lights, shimmering decorations, and the sheer amount of effort their class had poured into the event. "It is perfect."
Takara gave a tired smile. "Thanks to you too."
But as the festival neared, so did the tension.
Because being visible—really visible—came with a cost.
Rumors spread faster than fire through a dry field.
Takara overheard it in the halls.
"Did you see them last night? Practically holding hands."
"I thought Tsukishiro hated everyone. What's with the change?"
"Do you think Minami's faking it for attention?"
It shouldn't have hurt. He told himself not to care.
But it did.
Not because he was ashamed, but because it made Kayo retreat again.
Kayo grew quieter with each passing day. He buried himself in set lists and café schedules. He showed up to every meeting, but it felt like he was slowly drifting backward into that version of himself that Takara had worked so hard to pull forward.
That evening, as they walked back to their dorm room, silence hung between them like fog.
Takara couldn't take it anymore.
"Are you mad at me?" he asked quietly.
Kayo stopped walking. "No."
"Then why won't you look at me? Why do I feel like I'm chasing you again?"
Kayo's shoulders tensed. "I didn't ask for attention. I didn't want this to become some performance for the whole school."
Takara's breath caught. "Do you think I did?"
"No," Kayo said, voice lower now. "But I don't know how to be with you out there. I only know how to be with you here."
Takara swallowed hard. "So what, you want to stop?"
Kayo looked stricken. "No. I want to find a way through it. I just… don't know how yet."
Takara stepped closer. "Then say that. Don't shut me out."
"I'm not good at this," Kayo said softly.
"I never asked you to be good at it," Takara whispered. "I just asked you to try."
Kayo's eyes lifted. "I am trying."
Takara reached for his hand and held it there in the quiet courtyard.
"Then let's try together."
The next day brought more pressure.
The festival was hours away, and final touches were underway. Banners were hung, seating was arranged, and a steady stream of students and teachers helped test equipment.
When a power outlet overloaded in the corner of the room, blowing out a fuse, chaos ensued.
"KANA! KAYO! I NEED WIRES!" Takara screeched from the café counter. "The sound system just died!"
"I told you we needed to test everything twice," Kayo muttered, pulling out the backup cords.
"I did test everything twice!"
"You tested the microphones and then got distracted by snacks!"
"Snacks are vital!"
Somehow, amidst the meltdown, the two of them worked together seamlessly, even when they argued. Takara's frantic energy and Kayo's precision balanced each other like gravity and motion.
"Okay, okay, try it now," Kayo said, holding the new cord in place.
Takara tapped the mic. "Testing—one, two—OH THANK GOD!"
Cheers erupted around the room. Kayo gave a rare smile.
Takara leaned over and whispered, "You're my hero."
Kayo rolled his eyes but didn't let go of his hand.
That night, the café opened.
Warm, golden light filled the room. The walls shimmered with silver stars and constellations. Cushions were arranged for the audience. Students served drinks and pastries while acoustic music filtered through the speakers.
It was magical.
Takara flitted from table to table, greeting guests and checking on performers. Kayo stayed behind the curtain, organizing the next act's equipment with calm precision.
Everything was working.
Everything mattered.
After a brief intermission, Takara took the stage.
He adjusted the mic, breath shaky. The lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed.
"I wasn't originally going to perform," he began. "But I realized something. This whole festival has been about showing who we are—what makes us light up, what makes us real. So… this is for someone who helped me find that light."
He began to sing.
It wasn't perfect. His voice wobbled in places. But it was raw and beautiful and honest.
And Kayo, standing behind the curtain, frozen in place, listened to every word.
When Takara finished, the crowd applauded, warm and thunderous. He bowed and backed offstage, heart racing.
Kayo met him in the wings, eyes wide and unreadable.
"That was…" Kayo started, but words failed him.
Takara looked up at him. "Was it too much?"
"No," Kayo said. "It was you. And I love it."
Takara blinked. "Wait… you what?"
Kayo flushed. "I said I love it."
Takara's heart cracked wide open. "That's not what you meant."
Kayo hesitated.
Then he said it again, clearer. "I love you."
Takara choked on air. "You're—you can't just say that after I've sung in public—!"
Kayo grabbed his sleeve. "But I do. I love how you see the world. I love how you pull me into it, even when I resist."
Takara stared at him.
And then launched himself into Kayo's arms.
"I love you too, you absolute idiot."
They didn't kiss—too many people, too many eyes.
But they didn't need to.
Because for the first time, there was nothing between them.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just the truth.