After lunch, I walked back into class like a man returning from war.
Not that I had any medals.
Just emotional bruises from a battlefield of bento boxes, overly sweet tamagoyaki, and awkward silences with a girl who might be in love with me. Or might just be very committed to performance poetry. Hard to tell.
In any case, my stomach was full.
My heart? Debatable.
Some students were already at their desks, chatting about normal, non-traumatic things like test scores and anime, when a familiar voice stabbed into my ears like a karaoke machine running on pure smugness.
"Well, well, well—look who's back from a date under the cherry blossoms~"
Yuuki Kaneshiro.
My best friend.
My human migraine.
He was leaning back in his chair like he owned the school, legs crossed with the grace of a B-list actor in a teen drama and a confidence built on zero academic merit. His brown hair was stylishly disheveled—probably the result of running his fingers through it every five seconds—and two of his uniform buttons were undone in what I assumed was his daily tribute to chaos.
His necktie dangled loosely, like his sense of responsibility.
I blinked at him slowly.
"I literally just ate lunch," I muttered, sliding into my seat.
Honestly, I was too tired to swat at mosquitoes, let alone Yuuki's nonsense.
But he was already grinning like a wolf who'd spotted two lambs spoon-feeding each other fondue.
"Oh-ho~ Just lunch, huh? So the school's shyest flower confesses her undying love to you with actual verse in front of everyone this morning, and then you go have lunch alone with her? My guy. That's not lunch. That's the first chapter of a shojo manga."
"Then I want a refund on the art budget," I said dryly.
"Oh come on," Yuuki leaned in, resting his chin on his palm, his smile getting smugger by the second. "Tell me at least one thing she said to you over lunch. Something sweet. Something innocent. Something that makes me want to scream into a pillow."
"She offered me a pickled plum," I replied, without emotion.
"That's it?"
"She said, and I quote: 'I hope this doesn't taste weird.'"
Yuuki stared at me.
I stared back.
"You're killing me," he whispered.
"Good."
He let out an exaggerated sigh and slumped back into his chair like I'd personally offended his romantic world view.
"Kaito, my man. You have the emotional range of a rice cooker. This is why I weep for your love life."
"That makes one of us," I replied. "Personally, I'm okay with the rice cooker lifestyle."
"Rin literally looked at you like you were the last boy left on Earth."
"She was probably looking at the fried chicken behind me."
"Have you considered," Yuuki said slowly, raising a finger, "that maybe you're hot in a tragic, quiet boy way? Like the mysterious background character girls secretly obsess over?"
"I have considered it," I said. "And then I woke up."
Yuuki snorted.
"You're a menace."
"You're a walking dress code violation."
We both paused.
Then we grinned.
Well—he grinned.
I smirked. Barely.
Oh my god.
Were they seriously eating together?
A second voice chimed in—Ayane, the class gossip queen and unofficial Instagram ambassador of our year. She strutted over, dragging two more girls like backup dancers in a shoujo drama ambush.
"She confessed to him this morning, didn't she?" one of the new arrivals said, eyes gleaming with the unholy light of live drama consumption. "Do you think they're dating now?"
My stomach shriveled into a raisin.
Yuuki, who was very clearly enjoying this far too much, leaned in with a grin that could melt butter. Or trust.
"Don't be shy, Kaito," he said, slapping me on the back like I'd just scored a date with an idol. "Tell the ladies about your dramatic lunchtime romance. Was it cute? Did she feed you? Did she wipe your mouth with a napkin like your mom?"
I turned to glare at him.
"I almost choked on her tamagoyaki."
I meant it as a cry for help. A warning. A legal disclaimer.
Ayane squealed like someone had just told her idol was transferring to our school.
"She made you lunch?! That's like, girlfriend level already!"
I raised both hands in defense. Emergency posture: activated.
"We're not dating."
"But she confessed!" one of the girls, a short one with twin pigtails and the subtle energy of a detective anime sidekick, pointed out.
"True," I muttered, feeling the heat creep up my neck. "But I haven't given her an answer yet."
A moment of actual, blessed silence. A miracle, if you ask me.
Yuuki blinked. Tilted his head like a cat hearing a new noise. "Wait, seriously? You're just gonna leave her hanging like that?"
"It's… complicated."
There it was. The universal excuse of awkward teenage boys since the dawn of middle school.
Everyone leaned in, their combined interest forming a literal wall around me.
"She confessed because a god blessed her with love for me that will last exactly one month," I wanted to say. "I don't even know if she likes me, or if it's just divine matchmaking gone wrong. After thirty days, she might look at me like I'm expired tofu."
Yeah. No way I could say that out loud.
So Instead, I gave the safest answer I could without sounding like a lunatic.
"I just want to understand how I feel. And how she feels."
Ayane's perfectly plucked brows shot up. "That's… kind of mature," she said, clearly confused that someone with my posture and social skills was capable of emotional processing.
Yuuki leaned in, hand over his mouth like he was spilling a scandal. "Translation: he has no idea what he's doing."
I punched his shoulder. Lightly. Regretfully not harder.
He winced like I'd snapped his collarbone. "Ow. Abuse. Witnesses, take note."
The girls laughed. Tension: broken. Pride: still dead.
"Um…" Hana started, clutching her elbow. "Do you… like her?"
She looked like she'd just built up the courage to ask for my autograph.
I blinked.
Oof. That one slipped under the sarcasm shield and went straight for the feels.
"I…"
I thought of her eyes—wide and blinking behind uneven bangs as she nervously handed me the lunchbox. The way she panicked when I almost coughed on the egg. The brightness in her eyes when I smiled. And that voice… too soft for its own good, whispering under the cherry blossom tree like it was a secret between us.
"Not yet," I said, quietly.
Ayane gave me a slow nod. "That's… honestly kind of cool."
Hana smiled. "I hope it goes well. You're not the type of guy to play around."
Yuuki clutched his heart like I'd just dropped a love ballad on national television.
"Ugh, you're such a main character," he groaned. "Seriously, if I had half your luck, I'd already be married by now."
"You'd be divorced in a week," Rei muttered, eyes never leaving her book.
He turned to her, scandalized. "That's rude. Accurate, but rude."
Ayane snorted. "Okay, but for real. If she likes you, and you might like her, and there's bento involved—doesn't that already make you two like, halfway married in high school terms?"
"I feel like we skipped a few steps," I said, mostly to myself.
Rei flipped a page. "Step one: tamagoyaki. Step two: wedding invitations. Step three: two kids and a mortgage."
"Step four: Kaito dies from social interaction," I added flatly.
Yuuki patted my back again, far too pleased with himself. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll write your eulogy. It'll start with: 'He died doing what he hated most—talking to people.'"
"You're not invited to my funeral."
Ayane clapped her hands. "Anyway! We're going to go analyze this whole situation over crepes. Come, girls. This isn't over."
Like a flock of curious pigeons, they scattered.
Rei gave me a subtle nod and walked away with her book still open.
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch break.
The girls returned to their desks.
Yuuki gave me a long look as we sat back down.
"Still don't know what's going on with you, man," he said. "But for some reason, I get the feeling it's heavier than it looks."
I glanced at him, surprised.
Maybe he wasn't as clueless as I thought.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It is."