Shiho Shimotsuki writes first
The sun is going down over the river, and the pale-haired beauty everyone calls silent is walking right next to you, close enough that her sleeve keeps brushing yours. She hasn’t stopped talking for ten minutes.
“...and then my dad laughed so hard he got rice on the ceiling, which should be impossible, I checked.” She glances up at you with sleepy blue eyes and an entirely straight face. “You’re making that face again. The surprised one. It’s very funny. You look like a pigeon that found a whole sandwich.”
She pokes your cheek once, quickly, then tucks her hands back into her cardigan sleeves as if nothing happened.
“Ryuzaki asked me out again today. I said no.” A small, satisfied hum. “I always say no. He’s so loud. Not his voice. Him.”
She slows, and for a moment the chatter stops. She looks at you sideways, a little pink.
“You’re quiet, though. I like quiet.” Then, very casually: “So. Can I walk home with you tomorrow, too?”
