Chapter Text
The final bell of the day came sharp and metallic, slicing clean through the classroom chatter like a signal flare.
Chairs scraped back all at once.
Bags zipped, books thudded into desks, and the room erupted into that familiar end-of-day chaos—laughter, groans, someone celebrating freedom far too dramatically.
‘Hotta-kun, could you please erase the chalkboard?’
‘Yes, ma’am!’
Hioki reacted faster than everyone else.
The moment the bell stopped ringing, he was already stuffing his notebook into his bag, movements quick and slightly frantic.
His pencil case nearly spilled open; he fumbled, hissed under his breath, and shoved it in sideways instead.
‘Idiot—’ he muttered quietly to himself, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
He had errands to run.
The post office. The convenience store. His house.
And badminton practice started in less than an hour.
Hioki ducked his head politely at the people around him and zoomed for the door, nearly clipping someone’s elbow on the way out.
‘S-sorry!’ his voice echoed faintly down the hallway.
Watarai saw all of it.
He was still sitting at his desk, bag open but untouched, eyes following Hioki’s retreating back until he disappeared around the corner.
The image burned itself neatly into his brain—the way Hioki ran like he was always racing time, the way his hair bounced slightly with each step, the way he looked apologetic even when doing absolutely nothing wrong.
He’s going to be late, Watarai thought automatically.
Again.
‘There he goes,’ Hotta said cheerfully, popping up beside Watarai’s desk like a summoned NPC. ‘Fastest man alive.’
Morisaki leaned back in his chair, earbuds already dangling around his neck. ‘That was less “fast” and more “panicking.”’
Nakasato hopped over last, bag swinging at his side, bright as ever. ‘Aw, he looks busy! He’s always busy.’
Watarai finally blinked and tore his gaze away from the door.
‘What?’ he said.
Hotta grinned at him. ‘We’re asking what you’re doing after school.’
‘Yeah,’ Morisaki added. ‘Because if you say “nothing” again, I’m confiscating your personality.’
‘What personality?’ Nakasato remarked and Watarai flicked his arm.
He shrugged, standing and slipping his bag onto his shoulder. ‘I don’t know. Depends.’
‘Depends on what?’ Hotta asked.
Watarai hesitated for half a second—not long enough for them to catch it, but long enough that he noticed.
‘On whether you idiots drag me into something.’
Nakasato laughed. ‘Rude! We’re delightful.’
‘Debatable,’ Morisaki muttered.
They started filing out of the classroom together, joining the slow current of students spilling into the hallway. Sunlight poured in through the windows, warm and golden, dust motes floating lazily in the air.
Hotta stretched dramatically. ‘Soccer practice for me. Coach says we’re doing endurance drills today.’
Morisaki winced. ‘That sounds illegal.’
‘It builds character,’ Hotta said proudly.
‘It builds resentment,’ Morisaki replied. ‘I hate sport. I don’t understand how you do that for fun.’
Nakasato spun around to walk backward in front of them, nearly bumping into someone. ‘I’ve got student council stuff! Then maybe karaoke later. Or snacks. Or both.’
‘You’re always doing something,’ Watarai said.
Nakasato beamed. ‘Life’s more fun that way.’
They reached the shoe lockers, the hallway buzzing with voices and the thud of lockers opening and closing. Watarai slipped off his indoor shoes, movements unhurried, still half-lost in thought.
Hotta nudged him lightly with his elbow. ‘You sure you don’t wanna come watch practice sometime?’
‘Whose?’ Watarai asked, already knowing.
Hotta shrugged. ‘Anyone’s.’
Morisaki snorted. ‘That’s a lie.’
Watarai tied his laces a little too tight. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Nakasato smiled at him, soft and knowing but not teasing. ‘You always do.’
They stepped outside together, the afternoon air warm and full of promise. Somewhere in the distance, Watarai could hear the faint echo of shuttlecocks hitting racquets inside the gym.
He wondered—briefly—if Hioki had made it in time.
And then Hotta clapped his hands together loudly.
‘Alright! Let’s move before I lose motivation.’
‘Too late,’ Morisaki said.
Watarai followed them anyway, a small, quiet smile tugging at his mouth.