To You, The One Who Never Thought He Should Change.

Takumi sits at his desk, pen moving steadily across the page.

The teacher’s voice blends into the quiet scrape of graphite and paper.

Afternoon light spills through the classroom windows, warm and bright, washing over the rows of desks. When it reaches his eyes, Takumi stands and pulls the curtain shut. The room dims. The warmth fades with it.

He doesn’t miss it.

By the time he sits back down, the teacher is already erasing the board. Chalk dust drifts down in thin white lines.

Takumi exhales and glances sideways.

Yuna’s notes are neat, her handwriting familiar now. He copies the last few lines he missed.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

She gives a small nod without looking up.

Takumi faces forward again.

There was a time when he’d done this every class, borrowing answers without thinking, without saying anything at all. Back then, he’d barely noticed where he was.

Today, he does.

The bell rings.

Chairs scrape back as the room fills with noise, weekend plans spilling out in overlapping voices. Takumi packs his bag at an unhurried pace.

“Heading home?” a girl asks, stopping by his desk. “Let’s walk together!”

He looks up at her. For a moment, habit tugs at him. An automatic smile. A practiced excuse.

He lets it go.

“Sorry. I have plans after school.”

She pauses, then nods, forcing a smile of her own before walking away.

Takumi watches her leave.

The words hadn’t changed.

But he didn't need to lie to say them.

Outside, his phone vibrates. An unfamiliar number.

<It’s Yamaguchi.>
<Do you want to study together after school?>

He adds the contact before replying.

<Sure.>
<What time?>

…

At the filming, the director begins the scene.

A female actress, long and light blonde hair flowing to her shoulders.

She sits at a riverbank on a hill, her school bag next to her, and high school uniform swaying in the warm spring air.

Takumi walks into frame behind her, and decides to take a seat.

“You really shouldn’t be out here alone,” Takumi whispers, staring out at the canal just feet away from them.

“Why do you get to decide that?” She answers, chuckling it off.

He smiles, just enough.

The serene music swells. The camera lingers.

“Cut.”

The moment breaks.

Crew members shuffle in, adjusting equipment. The actress stands up, brushing dirt off the skirt.

Takumi stands up too, the smile already gone.

“Good take,” the director says. “Let’s move on.”

Takumi nods, and steps away from the riverbank.

…

By the time he left the set, the sun had almost disappeared. His phone vibrates.

<I’ll be at the library.>

<I’m headed there now>

…

The school library is quiet when he gets there.

Yuna sits at a table near the windows, books spaced out in front of her.

“You’re late.” She says, looking up from her books.

“Did we ever set a time?” Takumi replies.

She moves her bag to make space for him. He sits across from her, setting his phone face-down on the table.

No cameras.

No music.

No lines to follow.

At first, they work in silence, turning pages and moving their pens individually. When Takumi pauses, Yuna slides her notebook toward him, not saying a word.

“Thanks.”

She quietly nods, and returns to her work.

The quiet feels different here. Not waiting for direction.

It’s shared.

Hikaru stops just barely inside the library doors.

At first, he thinks he’s mistaken.

Takumi, in the library. Sleeves rolled up, pen between his fingers. A girl sitting across from him, books open across the table.

They’re not talking. They don’t need to.

Yuna slides her notebook across the table. Takumi glances at it, copies something down, then slides it back to her.

This isn’t how Takumi studies.

That’s not how he sits.

This isn’t how he acts when someone’s watching.
That’s not the person I’ve been trying to stand by.

A laugh breaks the silence nearby. Takumi doesn’t react.

Hikaru exhales through his nose, and walks over.

“This is new.”

Takumi looks up.

Yuna stiffens slightly, her eyes glancing at the two of them.

Hikaru rests a hand on the back of Takumi’s chair.

“Didn’t think you’d be into library dates.”

Takumi closes his book.

“We’re studying.”

Hikaru’s eyes darted over to Yuna, then back.

“Yeah? Together?”

Yuna shifts, uncomfortable.

“Didn’t know nobodies got private lessons,” Hikaru adds lightly, like it’s a joke meant to pass over.

Takumi doesn’t respond right away.

Yuna shifts in her seat. Her hand moves, hesitant, then stills.

Takumi closes his book.

Slowly.

“We’re studying.”

His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t soften either.

Hikaru snorts. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

Takumi looks at him now.

“No, you’re not.”

The chair softly scrapes as Takumi pushes it back, just enough to stand.

The sound carries in the quiet room.

“...wow,” Hikaru says softly. “You’re serious.”

A few people in the library try hard not to listen.

Hikaru lets out a quiet laugh, in disbelief.

“So this is what we’re doing now? Playing normal?” He continues.

Takumi doesn’t answer.

“Careful, people might get the wrong idea.” Hikaru adds.

“What idea?” Takumi asks.

“That you’re dumpster-diving,” Hikaru replies easily. “Or worse, using her.”

Yuna tightens up again.

So does Takumi’s jaw.

Hikaru shrugs, “Don’t look at me like that. You know how it works. Everyone’s always watching you, whether you like it or not”

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to feel private.

“Don’t act like you’re above me. Not after all this time.”

Takumi steps closer.

“I’m not acting.”

Hikaru scoffs.

“Yeah? Then what happens when this gets boring?”

The question hangs.

“What happens when she stops being… convenient?”

Yuna’s fingers dig into the fabric on her skirt.

He straightens, raising his voice enough for the room to hear.

“You think this makes you different? Hikaru says, getting louder.

“Because it just looks like you don’t know what you’re doing anymore.”

That sticks.

Takumi’s breath catches.

Hikaru sees it.

He smiles.

“See?”

“That look. That’s you forgetting who you need to be.”

Takumi’s fists clench by his sides.

Yuna stands abruptly, her chair screeching across the floor, louder than Takumi’s had.

Takumi hesitates for a half second, just long enough for Hikaru to notice.

“Let’s go.” he says to Yuna, grabbing his bag.

Hikaru laughs sharply.

“You’re really walking out from that?”

Takumi doesn’t turn back.

Yuna and Takumi leave the library together.

The doors shut behind them with a soft, final click.

…

Outside, the air feels cold.

Yuna walks a few steps ahead of Takumi, her arms crossed tight around herself.

Takumi follows, unsure of what to say, or if anything he can say would help.

They reach the front gate before she stops.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says.

Her voice is tired.

Takumi opens his mouth.

Then closes it.

Then tries again.

“I know.”

She turns to face him.

“You don’t even know why you did it,” she says.

Takumi swallows.

“No,” he admits.

That surprised her more than anything else.

They stand there for a moment, the street stretching quietly behind them.

“...Do you want to come over?” Yuna asks. “My place is close.”

Takumi nods.

…

Her house is smaller than his.

Not dark, nor empty.

…lived in.

A used bag slung over a chair. The AC is softly humming from another room, not much else being heard.

“Sorry” Yuna apologizes. “It’s messy.”

“It’s fine.” He replies.

He means it.

They sit at a small coffee table in the kitchen. No studying, or books. Just the quiet hum of the house.

Yuna doesn’t offer any explanations. She doesn't need to.

Takumi notices it anyway.

The single cup by the sink. A kind of quiet that doesn’t feel temporary.

She runs her fingers along the edge of the table.

“Your brother wasn’t wrong,” she says suddenly. “About how people see me.”

Takumi looks up.

“I stopped caring about that sort of thing a long time ago.”

“Being nobody is just easier.”

She shrugs, like that’s nothing.

“When people say it, it usually doesn’t matter to me.”

She pauses.

“But when it’s someone you care about…” she trails off.

Takumi watches her hands tighten slightly.

“My parents never really saw me as someone who was worth anything,” she adds.

“So eventually, I stopped expecting them to.”

She gives a small, practiced smile.

“This is just how things go.”

Takumi doesn’t rush to contradict her. Doesn’t try to fix what she said.

He just listens.

“I don’t know why I reacted that way.”

Yuna looks at him.

“I know I’ve said it before. But…

…I couldn't stand hearing it. Not from anyone.”

Silence settles between them again.

Yuna exhales slowly.

“...that’s enough.” she says.

Takumi blinks.

She’s embarrassed, but sincere in her words.

“That’s more than enough.”

The clouds of dusk cascade across the sky, and the streetlights flick on. One by one.

Takumi sits in this kitchen…across from someone the world would call insignificant.

A word he’d used before. Too easily.

…someone like her can’t change anything, or anyone….

Right now, that word felt meaningless.

Because somehow…

This nobody had captivated someone.

And he didn’t want to look away.