The sun filtered lazily through the sheer curtains of Shinichi's apartment the next morning, casting soft, golden lines across the wooden floor and up the legs of the small dining table.
The quiet hum of the refrigerator was the only sound accompanying the gentle tick of the wall clock. Despite the promise of a peaceful Sunday, there was a tension lingering in the air—as if the apartment remembered the echoes of yesterday's storm better than its inhabitant did.
Shinichi awoke not to the alarm, but to the scent of dust and warm fabric. His blanket had tangled around his legs during sleep, and his pillow was slightly damp with sweat.
He blinked slowly at the ceiling, letting his thoughts catch up to his body. Koizumi's solemn gaze. Hinoka's cutting words. His own helpless silence.
He sat up, rubbing his face with both hands, and swung his legs over the bed. The wood was cold against his feet.
There was a hollowness in his chest that hadn't been there before, like something had been carved out while he wasn't looking.
He didn't eat breakfast.
Instead, he walked aimlessly around his apartment. From the kitchen to the balcony, back to his bookshelf, and then to the kitchen again.
He opened the fridge, stared blankly at the half-empty shelves, and shut it without taking anything. He couldn't even tell if he was hungry. It was like his body had gone on standby, waiting for something—anything—to give it direction.
It wasn't until almost noon that he finally stepped outside. The city was alive, a different kind of silence replacing the one in his apartment.
This silence had motion in it—cars passing in the distance, footsteps echoing from alleyways, a bird chirping high above, distant but real. He didn't have a destination in mind. He just walked.
The streets near the university had a strange serenity on weekends. Students emerged from their rooms in pairs or small groups, heading to cafes or parks, dressed in relaxed clothes and sleepy smiles. Shinichi passed them like a ghost, his thoughts spiraling.
What was he supposed to do now?
They had always been a trio. From childhood to adolescence, from playgrounds to school corridors.
There had been laughter, games, competitions. But somewhere along the way, the harmony cracked. Affection grew into something deeper, and the line between friend and lover blurred until none of them could pretend anymore.
He arrived at a small neighborhood bakery—one he used to visit with Koizumi and Hinoka in high school. The signboard had faded, the chalkboard menu stood outside with a doodle of a smiling croissant. Without thinking, he walked in.
The warm scent of yeast and sugar greeted him like an old friend. Behind the counter, the same older woman with salt-and-pepper hair smiled. "Oh! It's been a while. You've grown taller again, haven't you?"
Shinichi smiled faintly. "I think I stopped growing two years ago."
She chuckled, then asked, "The usual?"
He paused, remembering that their usual order had been for three people. Three pastries, three drinks. He nodded anyway. "Just the melon pan. One."
The woman wrapped it in brown paper, tied it with a string, and handed it over with a knowing look. "You okay, Shinichi?"
He hesitated. "I don't know."
She didn't press. "Bread helps."
He left the bakery with the warm pastry in hand and found a bench in a nearby park.
He sat there, watching children chase after bubbles blown by a father kneeling on the grass, their laughter piercing through his fog like rays of sun.
The melon pan was sweet and soft. It reminded him of summers. Of simpler days.
"Found you."
He looked up. Hinoka stood there, arms crossed, wearing a loose yellow sweater and jeans. Her hair was slightly windswept. She looked tired.
He sat up straighter. "How did you—?"
"I guessed," she said, sitting beside him. "You always come here when you're trying to think."
He didn't respond.
She looked at the half-eaten bread in his hand and smiled faintly. "Your comfort food. You're really that shaken, huh?"
He exhaled. "Hinoka, about yesterday—"
She shook her head. "Don't. I'm not here to fight. Or to push. I just..." She leaned back against the bench.
"It hurts, you know? I thought if I pushed harder, if I was more honest, maybe I'd get ahead of her."
"But Koizumi... she doesn't even need to try. She just has to exist, and you soften."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" she asked, looking at him directly.
He struggled for words.
"I'm not blaming you," she continued. "I just needed to say it out loud. For me."
They sat in silence for a while.
"Do you regret it?" she asked suddenly.
"Regret what?"
"This. Us. Staying close. Letting it become this complicated."
He looked down at the last bite of melon pan, then at her.
"No," he said. "I don't regret it. Even if it hurts. Even if I feel lost. You're both too important to me."
Hinoka gave him a bittersweet smile. "That's the problem, Shinichi. You want to hold both of us. But love doesn't split cleanly like that."
"I know," he whispered.
She stood up, brushing off her jeans. "I'm giving you space. Take it. But not forever. Don't make us wait in the dark while you sort your heart."
He nodded slowly. She turned and walked away, her silhouette shrinking against the path until she disappeared behind the trees.
That night, as he returned home, he found a note taped to his door.
It was Koizumi's handwriting.
"When you're ready, I'll be on the rooftop. Don't take too long. The wind's nice tonight."
Shinichi climbed the stairs slowly. The rooftop of the apartment complex was a quiet, rarely visited space—just a few benches, a view of the city skyline, and the hum of distant traffic. Koizumi stood near the edge, her arms resting on the railing.
She didn't turn when he arrived. "I thought you might not come."
"I wasn't sure I would."
Silence again, but this one was different. Not heavy. Not expectant. Just quiet.
"Did she find you?" Koizumi asked.
"Yes."
"She always knows where to look."
He stepped beside her. The city stretched out before them, lights blinking like stars below. A plane passed far above, its lights tracing a thin line through the sky.
Koizumi's voice was soft. "I'm scared, Shinichi."
He looked at her.
"I've loved you for so long I forgot what it's like to not hope. To not wait. And yesterday..." She trailed off. "Yesterday felt like I was watching everything I built fall apart."
He reached out slowly, his hand brushing hers.
"I don't know what the right answer is," he said. "But I don't want to lose either of you."
Koizumi turned to him then, eyes shimmering with restrained emotion.
"Then you have to choose who you'll walk with, Shinichi. Because standing still will only make us drift further apart."
The wind rustled between them.
And somewhere in that silence, something in Shinichi finally began to crack.