Colors Start to Bleed Through

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Two weeks had passed since that afternoon on the rooftop.
Two weeks of tutoring sessions that always ran longer than planned. Two weeks of shared lunches and origami cranes left on her desk. Two weeks of text messages that made Airi smile at her phone like a fool.
She was slowly getting used to Ren's presence in her life—the way he appeared beside her desk every morning with stories about the stray cats, how he'd started actually taking notes in class (messy notes, but notes nonetheless), the way he made even mundane moments feel significant.
But she wasn't used to the way her heart raced whenever he smiled at her.
Or the way she found herself looking for him in crowded hallways.
Or the way everything felt a little dimmer when he wasn't around.
These feelings were new. Unfamiliar. Slightly terrifying.
Airi had spent seventeen years being perfectly in control of herself. Now, one chaotic boy had turned her entire emotional world upside down, and she had no idea what to do about it.
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## 🎨 Art Class Accident
Wednesday morning brought art class—Airi's least favorite subject. Not because she disliked art, but because she wasn't naturally good at it. There were no formulas to memorize, no correct answers to find. Just blank canvases and the expectation to create something from nothing.
The assignment was simple: paint something that represents who you are.
Airi stared at her blank canvas, brush hovering uncertainly. What did represent her? Textbooks? Perfect test scores? Empty spaces?
Around her, classmates had already started. Miki was painting vibrant flowers. Yuki worked on an abstract piece with bold strokes. Even the students who usually complained about homework seemed to know exactly what they wanted to create.
But Airi's canvas remained white.
"Need help?"
She jumped slightly. Ren had materialized beside her easel, his own canvas tucked under his arm. His hands were already stained with paint—blue and gold and green mixed together.
"I'm fine," she said automatically.
"You've been staring at that blank canvas for ten minutes." He tilted his head. "That's not fine. That's stuck."
Airi bit her lip. "I don't know what to paint."
"Paint what you feel."
"I don't feel anything."
Ren's expression softened. "Liar."
The word should have stung, but the way he said it—gentle, knowing—made it sound almost affectionate.
He set his canvas down and picked up a brush from her palette. Before she could protest, he dipped it in pale blue paint and made a single, broad stroke across her canvas. Horizontal, like a horizon line.
"What are you doing?" Airi whispered, aware that their art teacher, Mr. Yamada, was watching from across the room.
"Helping you start," Ren said simply. He added another stroke, this one darker blue below the first. "Sometimes the hardest part is just making that first mark. Proving the canvas isn't sacred. It's just... possibility."
He handed her the brush. Their fingers touched briefly, and Airi felt that now-familiar jolt of electricity.
"Now you try," he said.
Airi looked at the two blue strokes. They weren't perfect. One was slightly uneven. But somehow, they made the blank space feel less intimidating.
She dipped her brush in white paint and added clouds above his horizon line. Small, soft clouds. Then, impulsively, she mixed gray into the white and added shadows beneath them.
"Rain clouds," Ren observed, smiling. "Fitting."
"It's all I can think of lately," she admitted.
"Maybe that's not a bad thing."
They painted in comfortable silence after that. Airi created a rainy landscape—soft and melancholic but somehow hopeful. Ren worked on his own canvas nearby, occasionally glancing at her progress and nodding approvingly.
When the bell rang, Mr. Yamada walked around to observe everyone's work. He paused at Airi's canvas.
"Interesting, Sato-san. More emotional than your usual work. I like it."
Airi blinked. "Thank you, sensei."
As students filed out, Ren lingered beside her. "See? You can create something beautiful when you stop overthinking."
"You started it," she pointed out.
"Yeah, but you finished it. That's what matters." He grinned. "We make a good team."
Airi's heart did that annoying flutter thing again.
---
## 🍰 The Convenience Store Detour
After school, they had their usual tutoring session. But an hour in, Ren stretched and declared he couldn't focus anymore without sugar.
"There's a convenience store two blocks away," he said. "Come with me?"
"We're in the middle of a problem set," Airi protested.
"And we'll finish it better if our brains have fuel." He was already packing up his notebook. "Come on, Airi. Live a little."
She should say no. Stick to the schedule. Maintain discipline.
Instead, she found herself standing up. "Fine. But just for fifteen minutes."
"Sure, sure." His grin said it would definitely be longer than fifteen minutes.
They walked through the quiet streets as the sun began to set. The convenience store's fluorescent lights seemed garish against the soft evening sky. Inside, Ren made a beeline for the snack aisle while Airi wandered more cautiously.
"What do you usually get?" she asked, finding him contemplating the options with unexpected seriousness.
"Depends on the mood. Today feels like... chocolate." He grabbed a chocolate bar, then another. "You want something?"
"I don't usually eat sweets."
"Usually?" He raised an eyebrow. "So there are exceptions?"
"Sometimes. Rarely."
"What's your favorite? And don't say you don't have one."
Airi hesitated, then pointed to a strawberry cream cake in the refrigerated section. "That. But it's impractical. Too messy, too sweet, too—"
Ren was already grabbing two. "Too perfect for someone who needs to learn that messy can be good."
"I didn't say I wanted it!"
"You didn't have to. Your eyes said it." He walked to the register, paying before she could argue.
Outside, they sat on the curb in front of the store. The evening air was cool and pleasant. Ren handed her one of the cakes with a plastic fork.
"I can't believe you bought this," Airi said, but she was already opening it.
"Sometimes you have to indulge the things you want instead of the things you think you should want." He bit into his chocolate bar. "Life's too short for should."
Airi took a bite of the cake. It was exactly as good as she remembered—sweet and creamy with the perfect hint of strawberry. She let out an involuntary sound of satisfaction.
Ren laughed. "See? Was that so terrible?"
"It's going to ruin my appetite for dinner."
"You can have dinner later. Right now, have cake." He watched her eat with an expression that was almost... fond. "You know, you should let yourself enjoy things more often."
"I enjoy things."
"You *appreciate* things. That's different from enjoying them." He leaned back on his hands. "Appreciation is up here—" he tapped his head, "—but enjoyment is here." He touched his chest, right over his heart.
Airi swallowed her bite of cake. "When did you become so philosophical?"
"I have my moments." He grinned. "Usually when I'm procrastinating."
"We should get back to studying."
"In a minute." He looked at the sky, which was turning shades of orange and pink. "The sunset's too nice to waste."
So they sat there, eating their sweets and watching the sky change colors. And Airi realized that this—this simple, impractical, unscheduled moment—felt more real than most of her carefully planned days.
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## 💌 The Indirect Confession
They returned to the classroom just as the sun finished setting. The room was bathed in the last golden rays of daylight, making everything look softer, warmer.
Airi settled back at her desk, ready to resume their math problems. But when she opened her notebook, something fell out.
A small piece of paper, folded carefully.
She glanced at Ren, who was suddenly very focused on his own textbook, ears slightly pink.
Airi unfolded the paper.
Inside, in Ren's messy handwriting, was a simple sketch. Two stick figures sitting on a rooftop, surrounded by stars. Below it, he'd written:
*"Thanks for seeing the real me. Most people don't bother looking."*
Airi's breath caught. It wasn't a love letter. Not exactly. But somehow, it felt more intimate than any confession could be. It was honest, vulnerable, *real*.
She looked up at him. He was still pretending to study, but his leg bounced nervously under the desk—a tell she'd learned to recognize.
"Ren."
"Hmm?" He didn't look up.
"Thank you. For this."
Now he met her eyes, and there was something unguarded in his expression. Something that made her heart race. "Yeah, well. You should know. That you matter. To me."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning neither of them was quite ready to name.
"You matter to me too," Airi said softly.
His smile started slow, then bloomed into something brilliant. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
They stared at each other for a moment that stretched too long. The classroom felt suddenly smaller, warmer. Airi was acutely aware of every detail—the way the fading sunlight caught in Ren's hair, the intensity in his eyes, the way her pulse hammered in her throat.
"So," Ren said finally, voice slightly rough, "should we actually study now, or...?"
"We should." But neither of them moved.
"Right. Definitely. Math. Important."
"Very important."
Another beat of silence.
Then Ren laughed, breaking the tension. "We're terrible at this."
"At studying?"
"At pretending we're just studying."
Airi felt her cheeks heat. He wasn't wrong. These tutoring sessions had stopped being about academics weeks ago. They'd become something else entirely. Something she didn't have a name for yet.
"Let's just... try," she said, opening her textbook.
"Okay." But he was still smiling that soft, knowing smile that made her insides feel like melted chocolate.
---
## 🌙 Walking Home
They studied for another hour—or tried to. But every few minutes, one of them would say something that turned into a conversation that had nothing to do with math. By the time they finally packed up, the school was dark and empty.
"I'll walk you home," Ren said as they left the building.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
So they walked through the quiet streets together. The night air was cool, and somewhere nearby, cicadas sang their evening song. Street lights cast pools of yellow glow along their path.
"My house is that way," Airi said, pointing. "It's a fifteen-minute walk."
"Then we have fifteen minutes." Ren adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
"Like what?"
"Anything. A secret. A dream. Your most embarrassing moment."
Airi thought about it. Most of her life was an open book—perfect grades, perfect behavior, perfect attendance. But there were small things. Private things.
"I used to want to be a writer," she admitted. "When I was little. I'd write stories about magical worlds and brave heroes."
"Really? What happened?"
"They weren't very good. And writing isn't a practical career." She shrugged. "So I stopped."
"That's sad."
"It's realistic."
"It's sad," he insisted. "You gave up something you loved because you decided it wasn't good enough. That's the saddest thing I've heard all week."
Airi felt something twist in her chest. "I... I guess I never thought about it that way."
"Maybe you should start writing again. Not for a career. Just for you."
"Maybe," she said, though she wasn't sure she believed it.
They walked a bit further in silence. Then Ren said, "My turn. Secret: I'm actually really scared of failing at vet school."
Airi looked at him in surprise. "You want to be a veterinarian?"
"Yeah. I know it's not what people expect from the guy who got suspended for fighting." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "But I love animals. They don't judge you. They just... accept you. And I want to help them. Save them."
"That's beautiful, Ren."
"You think so?"
"I think it's perfect for you." She smiled. "You're someone who fights for those who can't fight for themselves. Animals need that."
He stopped walking. Just stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing. Just... you get it. You get me." He shook his head, smiling. "It's weird. Good weird."
They resumed walking, and somehow, the distance between them had shrunk. Their shoulders almost touched with each step.
Too soon, they reached Airi's street.
"This is me," she said, pointing to her house at the end of the block.
"Already?"
"Time flies," she said, then immediately felt embarrassed by how cliché it sounded.
But Ren just smiled. "It really does. When you're having fun."
They stood there awkwardly, neither quite ready to say goodbye.
"So," Ren said. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Same time."
"And maybe another convenience store run?"
"Maybe. If we actually study this time."
"No promises." He grinned, then did something unexpected. He reached out and gently tugged one of her hair strands that had come loose from behind her ear. "You had paint. From art class."
But the gesture felt less about the paint and more about an excuse to touch her. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary.
Airi's breath hitched.
"Goodnight, Airi."
"Goodnight, Ren."
She watched him walk away, hands in his pockets, whistling softly. When he reached the corner, he turned back and waved.
She waved back, smiling like an idiot.
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## 📱 That Night
Airi lay in bed, staring at her ceiling, her mind replaying every moment of the day. The painting. The cake. The note. The walk home. That gentle touch.
Her phone buzzed.
**Ren**: *did you keep the note?*
**Airi**: *Yes. Did you mean what you wrote?*
**Ren**: *every word*
**Airi**: *Then you should know... nobody's ever really seen me before. Until you.*
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
**Ren**: *then i'm lucky. because you're worth seeing*
Airi pressed her phone to her chest, heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst.
She'd spent her whole life being perfect, being untouchable, being safe.
But with Ren, she was learning something new.
Being seen was better than being perfect.
Being understood was better than being safe.
And maybe—just maybe—being happy was worth the risk of being hurt.
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## 🌸 End of Chapter 3
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