The classroom buzzed with chatter as the teacher announced the cultural exchange project. Aoi's pen hovered over her notebook, poised to document every detail—until Kaito's voice cut through the noise.
"Partners?" He slid into the desk beside hers, grinning. "Lucky draw says we're stuck together."
Aoi's grip tightened on her pen. "This isn't a game. We need to represent our school competently."
"Relax, Prez." He propped his feet on the desk, earning a glare. "We'll ace it. I'll handle the visuals; you can nitpick the script."
Yuki leaned over, stage-whispering, "It's fate! Now go bond over history or whatever."
---
Saturday morning found them at the local museum, tasked with researching Edo-period art. Rain sheeted against the windows, trapping them in a quiet exhibit hall. Aoi scribbled notes furiously, while Kaito snapped photos of ink paintings.
"This one's like you," he said, pointing to a stormy seascape. "All sharp lines and 'I'll drown you if you misbehave.'"
Aoi huffed. "And you're this." She gestured to a cheeky monkey scroll. "Immature and… distracting."
"Distracting, huh?" He stepped closer, camera dangling from his neck. "Admit it. You'd miss my distractions."
A clap of thunder shook the building—the lights flickered and died.
Aoi stumbled back, colliding with a display. Kaito caught her wrist, pulling her steady. "Easy. Your robot vision doesn't work in the dark?"
"I'm fine," she lied, pulse racing as his thumb brushed her skin.
---
They waited out the storm in a cramped storage closet, the only light from Kaito's phone. Aoi sat rigidly on a crate, knees pulled to her chest.
"Scared of the dark, Prez?"
"Of course not." Her voice wavered as lightning flashed.
Kaito sighed, shrugging off his hoodie. "Here. Robots probably don't feel cold, but…"
"I'm not—" She snatched the hoodie, warmth seeping into her bones. It smelled like cedar and film developer.
Silence stretched, broken only by rain.
"Why a writer?" Kaito asked suddenly.
Aoi stiffened. "What?"
"You mentioned it once. Why?"
She traced the hem of his hoodie. "Words… stay. Even when people leave."
Kaito's phone dimmed, shadows softening his smirk. "Guess I'll have to take more photos. Outlast your novels."
Aoi's breath caught. "You wouldn't dare."
"Watch me."
The lights flared on, the door bursting open.
"There you are!" A janitor frowned. "Building's closing."
---
On the train home, Aoi pretended to review notes, hyper-aware of Kaito's shoulder pressing against hers.
"Here." He handed her a crumpled polaroid—a blurry selfie of them in the closet, her wrapped in his hoodie, his grin half-visible in the gloom.
"Evidence of your incompetence," she muttered, tucking it into her bag.
But later, she pinned it beside Tree_2.jpg in her journal,captioning it in tiny script: "Stormy Interlude (Do Not Acknowledge)."