Elliot hadn't planned on going outside.
Not on a Sunday. Not after spending all of Saturday being paraded around in a butler outfit like some kind of novelty teapot.
He wanted silence. Blank walls. A window that opened to cicadas and the occasional delivery truck. His bed. A book. Anything but—
Knock knock.
He stared at the door. Didn't move.
Knock knock knock.
Now louder. Rhythmic. With just enough passive-aggression to feel like a threat.
He finally dragged himself up and opened it a crack.
There stood Mizuki Hanabira, dressed in a pale yellow sundress with canvas sneakers, tote bag over her shoulder, and the biggest, most blinding grin he'd ever seen before noon.
"Good morning, Elliot-kun~!" she sang. "I'm kidnapping you!"
"No."
"Too late. You've been conscripted. By the Ministry of Fun."
He blinked at her. "Did you rehearse that?"
"Three times. Now go brush your hair. We're going shopping!"
And just like that, the door closed in her face.
She knocked again.
This time, she didn't stop.
⸻
Twenty minutes later, Elliot stood on the train platform beside her, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, and very aware of the way Mizuki bounced on her heels like a child before a field trip.
"This is stupid," he said.
"You say that about everything."
"Because everything is stupid."
"You're just cranky because yesterday you accidentally became school-famous and now have a fanbase."
"I don't have a fanbase."
"I saw someone make a fan art of you on the school blog."
He stared at her.
"Waistcoat and everything," she added. "Your frown was super well-drawn."
"I hate this country."
⸻
They arrived at a crowded shopping district in Yokohama — busy streets filled with color, food stands, flyers, clothing racks spilling out of open storefronts. Music echoed from a record store on the corner. A guy in a Pikachu suit handed out bubble tea coupons.
Elliot tried to keep his distance from all of it.
Mizuki didn't.
She dragged him to a used bookstore. Then to a discount accessory shop. Then to a booth selling overly cute socks. At one point, she made him try a green tea crepe with whipped cream and pretended not to notice him nearly gag.
"You're impossible," she laughed as he wiped his mouth with the napkin like he'd just survived a poison attempt.
"You're dangerous."
"I'm adorable."
They wandered into a boutique clothing store — air-conditioned, moody lighting, indie pop playing overhead. The kind of place where everything looked either handmade or stolen from someone cooler.
Mizuki immediately began holding things up to his chest.
"This would look so good on you."
"No."
"Try it."
"No."
"Please?"
He crossed his arms. "Not unless you physically make me."
Mizuki grinned. "Don't tempt me."
She shoved a shirt into his hands and pointed to the changing room.
He sighed. "This is bullying."
"It's love-ly coercion."
⸻
As he stood in the changing stall, debating whether to escape through the ceiling vent, he heard the bell above the front door ring.
A voice followed.
Cool. Casual. Too familiar.
"Wow. You two again."
He froze.
Then slowly, cautiously, stepped out — just enough to peek around the corner.
There she was.
Ami Yuzuki.
Wearing a black hoodie, denim shorts, sunglasses perched in her hair, bubble tea in one hand. She looked like she'd just stepped off a train and into the middle of a moment she hadn't planned to ruin — but now fully intended to.
"Oh, hey, Graves," she said. "Fancy seeing you here. With company."
Mizuki blinked. "You… came shopping?"
Ami smiled sweetly. "Scouting. Got a gig next week. New outfit's part of the deal. You?"
"Celebrating," Mizuki said, straightening up. "Our booth got runner-up. It was kind of a big deal."
"Oh yeah. The tea thing." Ami's tone was paper-thin. "With the waistcoat. Loved the fan cams."
Elliot stared at the floor, wondering how fast he could vanish.
⸻
The three of them somehow ended up walking together.
Mizuki to Elliot's left, Ami to his right.
He wasn't sure which side was worse.
Mizuki kept trying to stay upbeat. Ami kept throwing subtle jabs, disguised as compliments.
Ami: "You're getting bolder, Mizuki-chan. Dragging him into a date like this."
Mizuki: "It's not a date."
Ami: "Oh. So no kissing after the bubble tea?"
Elliot wanted to walk into traffic.
They passed a music store. Ami paused in front of the glass.
"They sell bootleg versions of my first demo here," she said. "It's kind of flattering. Kind of depressing."
Mizuki glanced at her. "You really take it seriously, don't you?"
Ami turned, smile fading a little. "It's not a joke to me."
The tension sharpened.
Elliot cleared his throat. "I'm going home."
Mizuki turned. "Wait, already?"
Ami raised an eyebrow. "You didn't even let me steal you for a bit."
"I'm not a plush toy," he muttered.
They both stared at him.
He sighed. "I just… need air."
⸻
Mizuki didn't follow.
Ami did.
They stopped at the edge of a quieter street.
She stepped in front of him. "You like her."
He didn't respond.
"You don't have to say it. I can tell."
Still silence.
She looked off toward the shop windows. "I shouldn't have interrupted. But I couldn't help it."
Then she pulled out her phone.
Tapped a few times. Held it up to him.
A new message.
📲 Ami: "Gig's Saturday. Same venue. Bigger crowd. I need you there."
He read it. Said nothing.
She looked at him again.
"You're allowed to have both," she said. "But not forever."
Then she turned, gave him a wink over her shoulder, and walked away.
⸻
Back home, later that night, Elliot sat on the edge of his bed, phone still in his hand.
It buzzed.
📲 Mizuki: "Thanks for today. Even if she kinda… yeah. I had fun. I hope you did too."
He stared at it.
Then another message came in.
📲 Ami: "Practice tomorrow. No skipping. And wear black. You look good miserable."
He dropped the phone on the bed.
Laid back.
Covered his eyes.
"Great," he mumbled. "Now I'm part of a triangle."