1,095 Days II

The class-change bell pierced the lecture hall, jolting Ren awake. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting sharp grid-like shadows across the polished wooden desks.

Finally, lunch.

He stifled a yawn into his sleeve and began to collect his scattered notes. He rose to his feet, his sweater’s empty sleeve brushing the desk as he moved into the aisle, only to feel a slender grip clamp onto his shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Turning, he met Haruka Sumire's gaze. Her stare narrowed slightly as she adjusted her burgundy scarf, the silk catching the light as it slid against her collar. She tapped one foot, the polished shoe gleaming beneath her navy skirt hem. When she shifted her weight, her blazer creased at the elbow, momentarily distorting the university crest—that wave curling around a blossom—before she straightened. A strand of her short black hair fell across her forehead; she tucked it back with a quick, practiced motion that suggested she'd been doing it all morning.

“To eat,” he replied flatly.

Her scarlet eyes were as sharp as any blade. “You fell asleep again.” Her arms were tightly crossed, her expression cool, but her voice was loud enough to draw attention. “Let me guess? You don’t care. Do you even know what exam you just took? Or when the next one is?”

Ren looked at her, scratching his temple with two knuckles.

“Huh?”

Her face tightened like a fist.

“You’re unbelievable,” she scoffed, her pale cheeks flushing with color. For a moment it seemed she might say more, but instead she clamped her mouth shut, spun around, and marched off. Her pleated skirt swirled, and the scarf trailed behind her like a banner of indignation.

Ren let out a long breath.

Dinner tonight is going to be interesting...

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Ren melted into the crowd, one more anonymous silhouette among hundreds of winter-bundled students hurrying past. Glances slid away from him; bodies curved slightly to avoid contact. The message was clear without words.

“There you are!”

An arm like a steel beam locked around his neck, dragging him into a headlock. Ren winced as his vision filled with a flash of teeth and tousled sand-colored hair escaping from beneath a knit cap.

“Hey!”

Midori Igawa towered over most students—a mountain in a gray sweatshirt layered over white turtleneck, green varsity jacket hanging open, finger-less gloves stretched over hands that could palm a basketball. The only other person in this hellhole who actually spoke to Ren by choice.

“Midori,” Ren managed through clenched teeth. “Head. Hurts.”

“Shit—my bad!”

The iron grip released and Ren's neck burned with sudden freedom. Midori's massive hand flew to his own nape, fingers scratching through short hairs as his eyes darted to the floor.

Ren tugged his bag higher on his shoulder, gaze fixed straight ahead while whispers rippled through the corridor like wind through tall grass. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “Wasn’t avoiding you. I was coming to find you, actually.”

Midori’s face split into that perpetual grin. “Yeah, right! Wouldn’t be the first disappearing act!” He clapped Ren’s shoulder. “Listen—big news. Huge! Wanna guess what it’s about?”

They fell into step toward the cafeteria.

“Haruka.”

Midori snorted. “Direct, as always. But yeah! Haru-chan said yes! We’re official!”

Ren arched an eyebrow.

“Oh. Good for you.”

“That’s it? Man, I’ve been working up to this forever! She cried, Ren. Actually cried. Just kept nodding and saying yes like—like I proposed marriage or something. I’ve never been this happy. You think that means she wants to marry me someday?”

“Have you told Kurobane?”

Midori blinked. “Kuro? Not yet. He’s next. I know they had that thing when we were kids, but we’re adults now. He’ll understand.”

He won’t. Ren exhaled slowly. “You’re a moron.”

“Rather be an honest moron than a liar!”

“Whatever you say.”

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Ren pushed through the heavy metal door onto the rooftop. Concrete planters lined the edges, winter-dormant except for a few stubborn evergreens. Below, students crossed the courtyard in ant-like patterns, their voices rising up as a soft hum that blended with the whistle of wind through the chain-link fence.

“Yo! Snag that spot over there—lunch on me. Same as always?” Midori called.

Ren shook his head. “Not today. I brought my own.”

Midori flashed teeth, jabbed a thumb skyward, and disappeared down the steps. Ren's posture rounded as he dropped onto the bench. His gaze drifted upward where clouds hung low and dense, their underbellies the color of wet cement.

I’m still here.

He slid open the bento Aki had packed, admiring her careful arrangement. Inside, there was grilled eggplant dusted in a strange purple spice that tasted faintly like home, thick slices of gobo root—steamed, not stir-fried, a twist that felt almost nostalgic—and, tucked beneath it all, a handmade flatbread folded over seasoned meat and crisp pickled greens. His fingers hovered over the warm bread a moment too long.

Why am I still here?

The light dimmed across his food. “Well shit, check this out—fancy lunchbox you got.” A palm slammed onto the tabletop and laughter followed it.

Three guys stood over him. Wealthy shadows of important names, coasting on connections. They had that sharp, lazy swagger of boys who’d never been told no and didn’t know how to handle being ignored. Ren kept his attention locked on the bento, unhurriedly peeling back a piece of flatbread.

“That’s imported stuff, right?” the tallest asked, leaning in, half-smile, half-sneer. Eyeing the food. “Real exotic. Bet you got cash to burn. Hey, come on, spread the wealth—spot us lunch, or we’ll starve till dinner time. Be a shame if you made us pissy today, right, Kazuo?”

The middle one elbowed the smallest and snorted.

Kazuo—the one with the baby face—stuttered, “I… I don’t think we should mess with this guy.”

“Huh? Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Kazuo flinched. “I’m not! It’s just… I’ve heard things. About him.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Kazuo glanced at the bento, then back at Ren. “Bad things. Weird stuff. Maybe we should leave this one alone.”

“Quit being chickenshit. Probably gossip,” the middle one sneered. “Still, even if it’s a rumor, this guy does give me the creeps. And, uh... have you noticed how Aokawa Reina’s always following him around?”

The tallest laughed. “Yeah,” he said, voice mocking. “I heard it’s because he got her hooked on something. Mind sharing some, friend? I’d love a taste.” The ringleader’s grin threatened to split his face. “Imagine scoring with Aokawa Reina.”

Ren raised his head. His features remained as still as a frozen pond. Nothing in his expression changed—no furrowed brow, no narrowed eyes, no curled lip. Just a blank look that somehow made the air around them grow colder. His stare moved from face to face.

Kazuo’s neck bobbed in a hard swallow. The second boy's fingers twitched toward his pocket. The ringleader met Ren's gaze and stepped back, his shoe scraping concrete, as though he'd peered over the edge of something vast and felt gravity shift beneath his feet.

Their laughter died. The rooftop fell silent except for the whistle of wind.

"Hey! Sorry I'm—" Midori's voice cut through as he burst onto the roof, tray balanced in one hand. His expression hardened. His shoulders squared beneath his varsity jacket, knuckles whitening around his tray. His grin thinned when he saw the three. “Everything all right here?”

"We were just leaving," the tallest muttered, eyes fixed on a point beyond Ren's shoulder.

"Yeah. Didn't know anyone was up here," the second added, backing away.

Kazuo turned first, his sneakers squeaking against concrete as he hurried toward the stairs. The others trailed after him, their footsteps fading.

Midori lowered his tray to the bench with a clatter.

"What'd I miss?"

Ren picked up his flatbread, tore off a piece, and chewed twice before swallowing.

"Doesn’t matter."

"Bullshit," Midori said, dropping onto the seat. "But whatever. Eat before I take that bread."

"Line held you up?"

Midori's mouth curved upward. "New girl at the register. Real cute. Dimples."

"Haruka has dimples."

"Different dimples," Midori said, unwrapping his sandwich. "A man can appreciate art without buying it."

Ren snorted.

"Idiot."