Chapter Text
There was always a hum inside your chest.
Soft, faint, like the whirring of cicadas far beyond the windowsill.
Low enough to pretend you didn’t hear it.
"You’re crying again. You’re so sensitive."
"Just like your mother."
The smell of burnt toast in a too-small kitchen.
Fingers yanking at your wrist when you hesitated too long.
"Stop copying everyone. It’s annoying."
"She’s weird. Always doing whatever we’re doing. Like a little parrot."
The chatter of a playground too loud to think.
The taste of pennies under your tongue when you bit your lip too hard.
"You’re lucky you have me," a girl’s voice whispers, sticky and saccharine. "You'd be nothing without me."
The gleam of school shoes on polished floors.
The way your heart caught and stuttered every time she smiled.
"You killed her."
"You ruined my life."
"If you hadn’t been born, Inari would still be here."
Your father’s voice was never louder than when he blamed you.
Never kinder than when he ignored you.
"You're embarrassing when you try so hard."
"You don't even know who you are, do you?"
The sting of cold railings under your palms.
The dizzying hush of empty classrooms when the day ended and no one stayed behind but you.
"Smile more."
"It’s pathetic how desperate you are. It’s boring."
"Stop being so sullen!"
"Come on," the girl cooed, her voice a hook through your chest. "I’ll catch you. I promise."
The smell of rain on concrete.
The endless hum climbing higher, sharper, louder—
As if it knew something you didn’t.
The sky tilted.
The laughter blurred.
The ground split open.
And the hum turned to a scream.
You bolted upright in bed, heart hammering against your ribs.
The room around you was still dark, the faintest trace of blue twilight barely creeping in through the edges of your curtains. It was cold, the kind of bone-deep chill that clung to the early spring air even inside the house.
“It’s just a dream,” you whispered, voice hoarse.
The buzzing in your chest hadn’t faded—if anything, it was louder, heavier, like a swarm of unseen insects trapped just beneath your skin. You pressed the heel of your clammy palm against your forehead, shivering even as sweat cooled against your temples. It took a few long minutes before you trusted your legs to move. You swung them over the side of the bed, feeling the chill of the wooden floor seep into your bare feet.
Dressing was mechanical—your uniform sliding on easily from where you’d neatly laid it out the night before. The tie around your collar felt stiff under your fingers, and the polished shoes at the foot of your bed looked too bright against the gloom pressing down around you. Every sensation—the cold air, the scratch of the fabric, the creaking of the old wooden floorboards—was sharper than it should have been.
You made your way downstairs, every step too loud in the silence.
Downstairs, the television buzzed faintly with the morning news. Your Ojii was already awake—or maybe he never really slept anymore—sat in his armchair by the window, a blanket thrown over his knees. His wheelchair lingered, empty, beside the old leather seat he occupied. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, his expression lighting up with a gentle warmth.
"Inari," he says brightly, like it's a morning greeting. Like it was your name.
You paused, a familiar ache blooming in your chest.
“Morning, Ojii,” you said softly, fetching his favorite cup and filling it with the strong mugwort tea he loved. There was something comforting about the monotony, even if it couldn’t reach the hollow ache still lingering from your dream.
The television buzzed softly with the local news, covering the preparations for Morioh’s annual Spring Festival. Bright paper lanterns, children laughing, booths being built along the edge of the riverbank.
You didn’t linger to watch.
You tucked your lunch into your schoolbag, kissed your grandfather’s forehead, and slipped out the door with a quiet goodbye.
By the time you left the house, the sky had brightened to a pale gray, promising a cool, clear day. The early morning air outside was brisk, the street still damp from yesterday’s rain. The scent of wet asphalt and blooming flowers filled your nose, but it wasn’t comforting. You hugged your schoolbag closer to your chest as you walked, the streets still mostly empty aside from a few shopkeepers opening their shutters and sweeping their stoops.
Your steps were slow. You weren’t exactly in a rush.
You were barely into the second week of your second year at Budogaoka High School. A new class, new seating assignments, new group projects—new expectations. The buzzing in your chest only seemed to get louder the closer you got to the school gates.
The courtyard was already bustling, students greeting old friends, swapping stories about their spring breaks. The noise pressed against you, but you breathed through it, keeping your head down, weaving through the crowd carefully.
It wasn’t long before you spotted her—standing just a little apart from the chaos, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her dark hair falling in perfect waves past her shoulders.
Yukako Yamagishi.
She caught sight of you almost immediately and smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made some of the tension in your body ease without you even realizing it.
You made your way toward her, the crowd thinning a little as you moved.
“Good morning,” she said warmly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Morning,” you answered, voice quieter but steady.
Yukako tilted her head slightly, studying you. There was a knowing gleam in her eye—the kind she got when she could tell you weren’t quite yourself. But she didn’t press. She never did.
Instead, she leaned in a little, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret.
“Guess what?” she said.
You blinked, caught slightly off-guard. “What?”
“As of yesterday, I’m officially dating Koichi.”
It took you a second to register. “Koichi… Hirose?” you clarified, feeling the faintest lift of surprise. You knew her feelings hadn’t faded over the year—if anything, they had grown stronger after the events last spring—but it still shocked you that he had even considered giving her a second chance.
“The one and only,” she said, barely containing her excitement. "He finally called me his girlfriend! Can you believe it?!"
You smiled—practiced, but still earnest—and felt a faint, warm pulse in your chest at her happiness. The buzz in your ribs shifted, settling into something gentler.
“I’m happy for you,” you said sincerely.
She beamed, reaching out to link your pinkies briefly in a quick, affectionate gesture. You let her, feeling the lingering buzz of her happiness brush against the edges of your own.
And for a brief moment, despite the heavy start to your morning, despite the lingering weight of everything you carried, for once, you felt a little lighter.
Yukako gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before she split off toward her own classroom, flashing you an encouraging smile. You watched her disappear into the crowd, the noise of students shifting and shuffling around you rising like the tide. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and stepped into your homeroom, slipping into your seat near the back of the room without drawing attention to yourself.
The teacher, a woman with sharp eyes and a perpetual cup of coffee in hand, clapped her hands once at the front of the room, calling everyone to order. “Now, I'm sure over the past week, the lot of you have realized that there aren't many new faces in class this year,” she commented dryly, sweeping her gaze across the room, already seeming tired with the bunch only a week into the new school-year. “And that’s not because of chance, mind you. I managed to pull a few strings when the rosters were finalized—memorizing new names is such a pain.”
A few chuckles rolled through the room, but you just stared down at your desk, tucking your hands in your lap.
Homeroom blurred together—weekly announcements about new club policies, the school already enforcing stricter rules about rooftop access (you noticed a few students shifting guiltily at that one), reminders about the class trip in early summer, updates on campus maintenance, and a strong reminder to ‘please not flood the art room sinks again, this is your final warning’.
You barely registered the words, the hum of the fluorescent lights and murmured side conversations blending into white noise, the hushed excitement from everyone else settling into your ribs like the weight of an old promise. It wasn't until the bell rang and your teacher picked up a clipboard and thudded it against the desk that your attention sharpened.
“Alright, listen up! This year, we’re starting strong. Semester-long project. You’ll be paired up. Partners have already been decided to make sure everyone pulls their weight, so you shouldn't come complainin' to me.”
A collective groan from everyone rippled across the room. Well—almost everyone. You caught Koichi Hirose straightening his notes diligently, and Josuke Higashikata stretched his arms lazily, looking... well, certainly not upset about it.
Your teacher started rattling off names, pairing students in groups of two. You kept your gaze on your notebook, doodling absently in the margin until you heard it: “Mitsukage and Higashikata.”
Your head snapped up instinctively. Josuke was already half-turned in his seat, his elbow propped on the backrest of his chair, flashing you an easy, casual wave. His grin was wide but not mocking, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
You stiffened, offering back a stilted, half-formed wave before ducking your head again, cheeks heating. The buzzing hum in your chest returned—not sharp this time, but a steady, low warmth that made it hard to focus.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Notes blurred together, the rhythm of the lessons slipping away from you. You caught yourself staring at the clock more than once, wondering if he would actually try to talk to you once the final bell rang.
And he did.
As you quietly packed your bag at the end of the day, head bowed over your desk, a shadow crossed your periphery. You glanced up just as Josuke stepped beside your desk, his school bag slung casually over his shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and easy. “You got a minute? I was thinking, since we got paired up for this history thing, maybe we should head to the library and get a head start. Y'know, brainstorm a little? Draft a timeline, or somethin'.”
You blinked at him, caught slightly off guard by how natural he made it sound. For a moment, your mind raced for excuses, a safe way out—but there wasn’t really a reason to say no. You were partners. It was the right thing to do.
You nodded once, quietly. “Okay.”
Josuke’s grin widened just a fraction, soft around the edges. “Great. C’mon—we should go before all the good tables get snatched.”
He turned, and you slipped your bag onto your shoulder, following a half step behind. The classroom was still buzzing with students, and yet somehow, as you stepped into the hallway beside him, the crowd felt a little less overwhelming.
The hum in your chest stayed steady, warm and comforting like a secret you didn’t quite understand yet.