---
The morning feels... wrong.
Not in a cosmic, end-of-the-world kind of way.
Just off. Like someone rewired the sky and forgot to plug in the sun correctly.
Maybe it's the humidity.
Maybe it's the post-festival fatigue.
Or maybe it's the fact that my heart still hasn't decided whether last night actually happened.
Because now, the idea of seeing Hikari again has mutated.
From routine → to relief → to oh-god-what-if-she-regrets-it.
---
7:42 A.M.
I stand on the train platform, hands in pockets, heart doing push-ups.
She hasn't arrived yet.
I don't know what I'll say when she does.
I don't know if we're going to joke, or ignore it, or pretend that confessing semi-love things under exploding sky lights was just a shared fever dream.
The worst part?
I still don't know if she wanted me to kiss her.
Worse-worst part?
I wanted to.
---
7:43 A.M.
The train arrives.
The doors open.
She's inside already.
Window seat.
Looking out.
She sees me.
Raises a hand. Half-wave.
I raise mine back.
It's the most awkward interaction in human history.
---
I sit beside her.
Our usual seat. Our usual train. Our usual playlist.
Except everything feels one shade to the left.
Like someone nudged the entire world slightly off-track.
I offer her the splitter cable.
She takes it. Silently.
We both put in our earbuds.
The playlist starts.
Track One: a lo-fi beat with soft piano.
One of our shared favorites.
But neither of us hums.
---
Three stations pass.
I count them instead of talking.
Outside, the city flickers past like a movie I'm not watching.
Inside, I can feel the tension like static on my skin.
She hasn't made a joke.
Not even a bad pun.
This is dangerous territory.
This is the land of "do you remember what you said" and "it didn't mean anything" and "I think I got carried away."
I can't take it anymore.
I turn to her.
She turns to me.
At the same time.
We both pause.
Then both speak:
"So—"
"About yesterday—"
Silence.
Great start.
---
"You first," she says.
"No, go ahead."
She sighs.
Then finally mutters:
> "I ruined it, didn't I?"
That stops me.
"What?"
"This." She gestures to the space between us — a few inches that suddenly feel like a canyon.
"The routine. The music. The rhythm. I broke it."
I shake my head. "No, you didn't."
"I just thought... it was safe. To feel stuff. At night. With fireworks. It felt far away from real life."
"It was real."
"Yeah," she whispers. "That's the problem."
---
The train hums around us, but we're in our own little gravity field.
I look at her.
Really look.
She's still wearing the tanuki mask on her bag strap.
Still got that slightly smudged eyeliner.
Still messy, chaotic, undeniably her.
But something's pulled back today.
Her smile's on airplane mode.
Her voice? Lower volume.
---
"I don't regret it," I say.
She blinks.
"I mean… the stuff you said. I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."
"I was scared you'd think I was... too much."
"Too much?" I scoff. "You've always been too much."
"Gee, thanks."
"I mean that in a good way."
"You're terrible at this."
"Yeah."
Silence again.
But this time, it's not hostile.
Just hesitant.
Tender.
Like we're both afraid to step forward in case the floor disappears.
---
Then she says:
> "I don't want to go back to how it was."
I turn sharply.
She looks straight ahead.
"Not because it was bad. I loved our train mornings. They saved me."
Then, quieter:
"But now I want something... forward. You know?"
Forward.
A terrifying, beautiful word.
I nod slowly.
"I think I do."
She finally looks at me.
Her eyes are a little glassy, but she's smiling again. The real one.
The one that shows up between the sarcasm and the self-defense.
The one that makes me forget the train exists.
---
We don't hold hands.
We don't kiss.
We just sit there.
Listening to music.
Together.
---
But when her stop comes and she stands up to leave, she says:
> "Hey. Next time… maybe we get off at the same station?"
I smirk.
"Maybe we don't wait for fireworks to be honest."
She bites back a smile. "Careful, Minato. I might actually fall for you properly."
"Too late."
The doors open.
She walks out.
But the tension?
It's gone.
The weird weight between us has changed into something lighter.
Something almost exciting.
Like maybe, just maybe—
We're finally on the same track.
---