"Kushi, I'm going to be a little late today, so heat up the rice you cooked yesterday,and I think there's still some stew in the fridge. Heat that up too, okay?" my mom's voice says through the phone, light but tired.
I roll my eyes, shifting the phone between my shoulder and ear. "Okay."
"Don't worry, this Saturday we'll go somewhere nice, that's why I'm taking extra shifts at the bar."
"Mom, you don't have to make any empty promises. I'm going to call you later, okay?"
"Kushi, it's not like-"
I hang up before she can finish. I can already hear her voice trembling on the edge of another sentimental talk, the kind that ends with both of us saying sorry for things we can't fix. I stare at the black screen for a moment, feeling that familiar pinch in my chest,..half guilt, half exhaustion.
"Kushida," Hinata calls from up ahead.
I shove the phone into my pocket and jog to catch up, slowing when I'm beside him.
"Was that your mom?" he asks, his tone gentle, careful—too careful.
"Yeah," I mutter. "She was just checking in on me."
He nods, glancing at me. "How is she though,haven't seen her in a while?"
I bite the inside of my cheek. I know he means well, but talking about her would only make my shitty mood worse. "She's alright," I lie.
We walk in silence for a while, the air between us carrying all the things we're not saying. The street hums with faint traffic and the sound of a bicycle bell somewhere far away. It feels weirdly peaceful.
We stop at the convenience store we used to go to years ago,the one that always smells like instant coffee and warm bread. The same green sign flickers above the door, and I feel this odd twist in my stomach, like a memory coming back too suddenly.
We both grab cup noodles from the shelf, our choices almost automatic. Old habits. When I reach the counter, he disappears for a second and comes back holding two cartons;apple juice and strawberry milk.
He sets them down in front of me, sliding the strawberry milk my way without saying a word. The same brand I used to drink every day after school.
I stare at it for a moment, the soft pink carton looking exactly like it did back then.
"You remembered," I say quietly, smiling before I can stop myself.
"Of course I did," he says with a small grin, opening his apple juice.
I take a sip the moment we settle down, the sweetness coating my tongue, warm in a way I didn't expect. For a second, it feels like nothing has changed—like the years, the distance, and everything that went wrong between then and now never happened.
But then the memory fades, and we're just two people eating cup noodles under the buzz of a convenience store light—pretending that's enough.
"We should meet up more often," I blurt, my words tumbling out before I can stop them. I take a sip from my strawberry milk to hide my nerves, pretending to focus on the tiny printed logo on the carton. "I,.I mean, if you want to. I know you're a senior and all, and you're busy with exams, but…"
Hinata looks up from his cup noodles, chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth. Then he smiles,that same familiar, soft smile that always feels like sunlight sneaking through the clouds.
"It's a great idea," he says simply. "I missed you."
The words knock the air out of me for a second. No one says things like that to me anymore. Not without a hint of pity or mockery attached.
"A-ah, I missed you too," I manage, my voice smaller than I want it to be. A shy smile creeps up before I can help it, and suddenly my milk tastes sweeter.
I lean back in my seat, stretching a little. "How about we go to a movie next weekend? It'll be fun. I heard there's this new-"
He stops me mid sentence.The warmth in his eyes flickers, replaced by something hesitant, almost guilty.
"Kushida… um," he starts, voice low, "we're moving to Tokyo next weekend."
The world seems to pause. The hum of the refrigerator in the store grows louder, the cheap plastic straw between my fingers bending slightly.
"Oh," I whisper, blinking. "You're… moving?"
He nods slowly. "Yeah. My stepdad got transferred. I was gonna tell you sooner, but I didn't think…" He trails off, his gaze dropping to the table.
I stare at the half-empty milk carton in front of me, the pink fading under the store's harsh lights. I force a small laugh, brittle around the edges. "Of course. Tokyo, huh? That's… great. You'll love it there."
He looks at me, as if he can see straight through the lie.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. Just the sound of the rain starting outside, soft and distant, like the world's trying to say goodbye for him.
We stay quiet for a while my mind drifting to why I'm hurting over someone I barely talk to anymore.I don't even notice the tear slipping down my face—but he does.
His gaze softens for a second, like he wants to reach out, like he almost feels sorry. Almost.
"It's going to be good for you, okay? Trust me." His voice is gentle, too gentle, and I hate that tone. The one people use when they've already made a decision that breaks you and still expect you to be okay with it.
I laugh, small and bitter. "How is you moving good for me?" The words come out sharp, scraping my throat on the way out.
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking toward the street where the light from the vending machines blinks red-blue-red against the pavement. "Because…" he starts, and my stomach drops at the hesitation in his voice. "I didn't want you to find out this way, but… Miyu will be moving away too. She's my stepsister. So you'll be okay when she's gone."
For a second, the world goes quiet.
The noise from passing cars fades. The soft hum of the store's freezer vanishes. Even the night air feels heavier.
"She's your… sister?" The words barely make it past my lips. I can't tell if I'm asking or accusing.
He nods, slow and guilty, his eyes not meeting mine.
"I was going to tell you," he murmurs.
I let out a short, humorless breath that could almost pass for a laugh. "You were going to tell me? It's been three years since your mom remarried, Hinata. Three years. And you're telling me this now?" My hands are shaking, my chest burning like I've swallowed something sharp. "You knew she bullies me. You knew what she and her friends did—every single day."
He flinches, eyes darkening. "I did."
Something inside me cracks. The kind of break you don't hear but feel—like glass splintering under skin.
"Then why did you never stop her?" My voice trembles, caught between heartbreak and fury. "You just stood there,..watching, pretending not to see—every time they laughed, every time they humiliated me."
Hinata opens his mouth, but no words come out. Just silence. The kind that stretches too long, heavy enough to suffocate.
I blink, another tear sliding down before I can stop it. "You used to lend me your umbrella when it rained," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "You used to stand up for me when no one else did. When did you stop caring?"
He looks at me then, really looks...his expression unreadable, torn between shame and something that looks like regret.
But it's too late.
Because for the first time, I realize I don't miss the boy in front of me.
I miss the one he used to be.
I stand up without waiting for an answer. My chair scrapes against the floor, too loud in the small store, but I don't care.
The air feels thick, heavy, pressing down on my chest as I push past the glass door.
"Kushida!"
His voice follows me out, but I don't look back. I can't.
Because if I do, I'll break.
I start walking,fast at first, then faster. The cold air bites at my face, but it's not enough to clear the haze in my head. Everything feels too loud, too bright;the buzzing neon lights, the hum of passing cars, the uneven sound of my own breathing.
Why does it still hurt? Why does he still have the power to hurt me?
My vision blurs. I blink hard, but the tears keep coming anyway, hot and stupid and uncontrollable. I rub them away with the back of my sleeve and keep walking, my steps uneven on the wet pavement.
I just need to get away. From him. From everything.
The sound of my heartbeat drowns out everything else.
It's all I hear—pounding, echoing, faster, faster—
Then, headlights.
They cut through the night, harsh and sudden, flooding my eyes in white.
I freeze. The world slows down, stretching thin like a photograph coming undone.
The roar of the truck's engine fills my ears, and all I can do is stare.
For a heartbeat, there's nothing—no sound, no thought, no pain—just me, standing there in the middle of the road, my reflection caught in the windshield.
An inch away.
And in that second, I can't tell if I'm scared to die… or too tired to move.