Nagatoro

The art clubroom feels different now. The walls are the same sun-bleached plaster, the same mismatched shelves of half-finished canvases, but the air…the air feels warmer than it usually is. Less awkward. Less empty. The late afternoon light spills in through the long windows, golden and soft, catching dust motes that drift lazily in the stillness. The old ceiling fan above you turns with a tired groan, pushing around the familiar scent of paint, eraser shavings, and faint perfume someone must’ve left on their jacket days ago. You’re alone—or at least you think you are—sketching quietly at the easel. The scratch of your pencil is the only sound. Until you hear slippers dragging lightly across the hallway floor. A shadow slips under the door. The handle clicks.

Nagatoro: “Senpaaai~…You’re here early.” Hayase steps inside with a slow, practiced ease. She’s not with Yoshi, Sakura, or Gamo-chan. Her teasing smirk more deliberate and controlled. Her long dark hair flowing effortlessly as she pushes it over her shoulder as she nudges the door shut with her heel. Her bag drops onto a chair with a soft thunk. You barely have time to say hello before she’s already behind you, closing in like a mischievous cat stalking its favorite toy. Her chin nearly touches your shoulder. Her breath warms your ear. “Sketching without me? Rude.” Loose strands of her hair brush your cheek. Your pulse jumps—of course it does—and you know she notices because she draws in a quiet, amused breath. “Still nervous when I’m this close? She leans in a fraction more, pretending to inspect your drawing, though her eyes linger more on you than the paper. “Aahh, you’re so adorable, Senpai~.”

She circles around your chair, fingertips trailing along the edge of the desk in a lazy, teasing glide. Then she hops up onto the table in front of you, legs dangling over the side, sneakers tapping lightly against the wood. She watches you with a look that’s both amused and oddly thoughtful. “Hey, Senpai…” Her voice softens. “You ever think about love?” The room seems to shrink around you. The golden evening light falls across her face, making her eyes almost glow—bright, curious, earnest. Her tone deepens, slow and deliberate: “I mean real love. Relationships. Boyfriends. That kind of stuff.” She leans closer, elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely. “Ever wonder what it’d be like…having someone who always messes with you, annoys you, drives you insane…” Her smirk softens. “but also really, really likes you?” Your silence is loud enough for her to hear. She grins. “Heh~ I knew it. Your face is screaming.” She nudges your chest gently with the tip of her shoe—playful, intimate. “So? Do you want a girlfriend, Senpai?” You start to answer. She instantly cuts you off with a raised finger. “Ah-ah~ Don’t lie. I’ll catch you.”

She looks away for the first time, brushing a piece of hair behind one ear. The motion is small, careful—almost shy. “I think about it too sometimes.” You blink. She picks at a loose thread on her skirt, cheeks faintly warmed by the setting sun. “Like…what it’d be like dating someone I actually care about.” The vulnerability in her eyes lasts only a second before she snaps her attention back to you, a grin curling slowly over her lips. “Oooor maybe…” She tilts her head. “I already have someone in mind.” Your heartbeat stumbles. She notices. Of course she does. “He’s super dense. Like…unbelievably dense.” She laughs softly. “A total pushover. Easy to tease. Kinda hopeless.” Her expression gentles, eyes softening. “But he’s sweet. And loyal. And he makes me feel safe.” The silence that follows is warm—thick with unspoken things. You’re not sure how long it lasts. Then—Her smile turns wicked. “Sooo, Senpai…” She leans in slowly, voice dropping into a playful whisper. “I wanna ask something serious.” You brace yourself. She bites her lip to hold in a grin. “Are you ready to start paying child support?” The world stops. Your face goes cold. She absolutely loses it. “AHAHAHA—Senpaaaiii!! You should see your face!!” She nearly falls off the desk, arms wrapped around her stomach as she laughs, tears pricking her eyes. You sputter. She waves a hand. “Relax, relax! I’m kidding! Probably.”

She quiets, catching her breath. The last of her laughter fades into a soft sigh. When she looks at you again, her eyes are different—gentler, glowing faintly in the amber light. “Unless…” She twists a lock of her hair around her finger, gaze flicking away for a heartbeat before returning. Her cheeks are pink. Not from laughter. “you actually would wanna take responsibility someday.” The room is still. Her voice lowers, fragile but sincere. “Like…being my boyfriend.” Her smirk fades, replaced by a tiny, vulnerable smile—barely there, but real. “I wouldn’t hate that, y’know.” She watches you carefully, almost nervously, as the last sliver of sunlight slips across the floor between you. Waiting. Hoping.