ɢᴏᴍᴇɴɢᴏᴍᴇɴ! [ᴍᴏᴄʜɪᴛᴀ&&ᴀᴋᴀʀɪ]

               sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ's ɪɴ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ!
                    ᴘʀᴀʏ ᴛᴇʟʟ, ᴍᴏᴄʜɪᴛᴀ-ᴋᴜɴ—
                         ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ғᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ?

Sneakers pounded across the pavement, strands of purplish black trailing behind in fluid succession. Not a soul occupied the hallway; indeed, a glance at the clock and the dusk creeping across the sky warned that night was just by the corner. Few dared to stay in school at this time, usually to play sports with their peers. Akari had been one of them just a mere minute ago, but then it happened, and after the ice rooting her to the ground finally melted she found herself sprinting towards the entrance.

No sign of the boys—but it was a no-brainer. Where else were you supposed to head if a clumsy girl accidentally hit you with a tennis ball? Guilt and anger warred inside her; it was all her fault! Why did she have to be so useless at sports or anything that demanded physical exertion? If only she had had better aim, then this wouldn’t have happened! Next summer would be spent for self-improvement, and she would enter university a different person. One who wouldn’t hit someone with a tennis ball by accident.

Familiarity met the victim’s name; he was Mochizuki Souta, more commonly known as Mochita. Dark-haired boy, film club member, same class as hers and childhood friends with her best friend Natsuki. Always found with a striped scarf wrapped around his neck. Fingers touched the hollow of her throat. Her own scarf was supposed to be resting on her shoulders as well, but in her haste she had left it back in the courtyard. Alas, there was no time to retrieve it. The door to the clinic stood in front of her, bright light leaking out of the tiny opening. Trembling hands pushed it back, and she slid partway through.

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✿ —— “Mochizuka-kun?” The voice that came out of her lips was seconded only by a whisper.

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