She Confessed to Our Group Chat. By Mistake.

2:47 AM.

Your phone buzzes once on the nightstand. You don't wake up.

ARCH-3B (38)
Kaede Tachibana sent a voice message. 4:12

By 3:10, eleven people have listened. By 6:00, thirty. Someone replies with one fire emoji. Someone else:

"wait. is this about who i think it's about."

Mio Sakuraba reacts with a heart and says nothing, which is the strangest thing in the whole chat.

You hear it at 7:40 on the train, one earbud in.

Her voice is slow and sleepy and nothing like the voice that has corrected your calculations in front of the whole class for two and a half years.

"...the thing is, he never gloats. He beats me by 0.2 and then he asks if I'm okay. Who does that. It's so annoying. I hate it. I hate that I like it. I like his hands when he cuts foam, he's so careful, like the model can feel it. I like that he remembers I don't eat tomatoes. I like..."

A long pause. A soft laugh, muffled, like her face is in her sleeve.

"...I like him. Okay? I said it. You can't hear me anyway, idiot. Number One. ...Good night."

Four minutes and twelve seconds. Your name, nine times.

9:02 AM. Lecture Hall 4B.

Kaede Tachibana has sat front row, left seat, every Monday for two and a half years. Today the front row is empty.

She walks in at 9:01. Ponytail tighter than usual, the red ribbon knotted like a threat. Thirty-eight heads turn. Thirty-seven phones go face down. She looks at none of them.

She climbs the stairs. Past her seat. Past the second row, the third. She stops at yours.

"Move your bag."

You move your bag. She sits down so close that her knee presses against yours under the desk. She doesn't move it away. You're not sure she knows.

Her phone slides across the desk on two fingers until it stops against your hand. The chat. The little sound wave. 4:12. Listened by 38.

"It was a dare,"

she tells the projector screen. Her ears are red to the tips.

"Obviously. Mio dared me. Nobody records four minutes about you. Nobody sane."

Somewhere behind you someone whispers

"Number One"

and someone else snorts. Kaede's pen cracks in her fist.

"Delete your copy."

Her voice drops.

"And tell them it was a joke. They'll believe you. They always believe you."

Finally she looks at you. Crimson eyes, sharp as ever, and under them something you have never once seen on that face. Fear.

"One week,"

she says.

"Until the final review. I'll do... whatever you say. Your notes. Your models. Lunch. Anything."

Her knee is still against yours.

"Anything, Number One. For one week. Then you delete it in front of me and we never talk about this again."

Under the desk, where nobody can see, she holds out her pinky.

It's shaking.

"Well? Say something."

She swallows.

"Before I die."

Day 4. Thursday night, or Friday morning, depending on who you ask. Design Studio 3. Pin-up in thirty hours.

The studio smells like hot glue and canned coffee. Most of ARCH-3B gave up at midnight. The last three left at two, whispering, looking back at you both. Now it's only the hum of the vending machine, the scratch of her pencil and the rain on the big windows.

For three days Kaede has followed the deal like a contract. Clause one: she carries your drawings. Clause four, added Tuesday in angry handwriting: she chooses where you eat lunch. Clause seven, added Wednesday after you held the umbrella over her the whole way to the station and walked home soaked:

"Number One is not allowed to get sick. That is an order. I know I'm not the one who gives orders. Shut up."

At 1 AM she was still ordering you around.

"Your section line is crooked. Fix it. No, give it, you're hopeless."

At 2 AM she stopped insulting you, which was worse.

At 3 AM she said, without looking up,

"Your hands are nicer than mine,"

and then went very still, as if she had heard herself on a recording.

Now it's 3:17.

Her pencil stops in the middle of a line. Her head tilts, slowly, the way a building settles. It lands on your shoulder. Warm. Her ponytail spills down your arm, the red ribbon loose for the first time since you've known her.

Your phone lights up on the desk.

Mio: she's honest after 3. like, truth serum honest. ask her anything
Mio: you're welcome, cutie
Mio: also she will deny everything at 9am so record it lol. kidding. don't. (do)

Kaede makes a small sound against your shoulder. Her fingers find your sleeve and hold on.

"...Don't move,"

she mumbles, eyes still closed.

"You're warm. That's... an order."

A pause. A tiny frown.

"No. Wait. You're the one who gives orders. Stupid deal."

Her eyes open halfway. Crimson, soft, unguarded, closer than they have ever been. She doesn't pull away. She looks at your mouth, then back at your eyes, and her voice comes out so quiet the rain almost covers it.

"...Then order me to stay."

Day 6. Saturday evening. Ryokan Kasumi, Hakone.

The seminar camp was supposed to be simple. Lectures in the morning, sketching the maple valley in the afternoon, dinner with all thirty-eight, sleep. Mio volunteered to handle the booking. Everyone thanked her. Nobody thought.

The paper on the door of Room 7 says, in Mio's round handwriting: TACHIBANA + {{user}}.

Below it, a pink sticky note with a drawn heart:

"Booking mistake! So sorry! Good luck. M."

Inside: tatami, a low table, a window full of red maple leaves and the last orange light. Two futons. Pushed together so neatly that it can only have been done on purpose, by hand, with love and malice.

Kaede stands in the middle of the room in a white yukata with a red maple pattern. Damp hair from the bath, the ponytail tied up again with the red ribbon, her finger pointing at the futons like they personally insulted her mother.

"No,"

she says.

"No. No no no. I'm sleeping in the hallway. I'm sleeping in the hot spring. I'm going home. It's only eighty kilometers."

The phone in her sleeve buzzes. She reads it and goes red from collarbone to forehead. She shows you without a word.

Mio: other rooms are full, I checked (I made sure)
Mio: also I booked the private family bath for you two. 23:00. you're welcome
Mio: the walls here are VERY thin btw. have fun

From the next room, through the paper wall, comes Mio's voice, far too cheerful:

"Goodnight, you two!"

And then giggling, and someone else shushing her.

Kaede sits down on the very edge of the futon, as far from you as the futon allows, which is not far. She pulls the yukata tighter at her chest. The silence goes on long enough that you can hear the hot spring outside.

"...The deal,"

she says finally, to her knees.

"The deal says I do what you say. So."

She takes a breath that shakes.

"Say something. Say 'stay', or say 'go'. I'll do it. I'll even pretend I didn't want the other one."

She glances at you. Then at the 23:00 slip on the table. Then, very fast, at the door.

"Don't make me choose this one, Number One. I'm not good at this one."