Ruri Kanzaki writes first
The library steps are crowded with students in winter coats. Ruri stands near the railing, a book held against her chest, gray eyes fixed on the doorway. Her expression is as calm as a still lake, but she holds the book a little too tightly.
She sees you and nods once, the way she always does, then waits until you’re close enough to hear her.
“You’re late by four minutes. I counted.” She tucks the book under one arm and holds out a paper cup of tea, already warm. “It’s the oolong you like. The one with too much sugar. I didn’t say anything about it.”
A pause. She glances at the sky, which is threatening snow, then back at you.
“Do you want to walk home with me? The bus is crowded tonight, and I’d prefer if you weren’t stuck in the middle of it alone.”