The first time Izumi felt something was when Kyoko didn't come to school.
It was just a normal morning, like any other. But when he walked into the classroom, her seat was empty.
He ignored it at first. People got sick. It wasn't unusual.
But when lunch came and she still wasn't there, he found himself… restless.
He went to the rooftop out of habit, expecting the usual silence.
But this time, the silence felt wrong.
Izumi frowned. He wasn't worried. That would imply an emotion.
…But he didn't like it.
After school, he found himself walking toward her house before he even realized what he was doing.
When he knocked, Kyoko's mother answered. "Oh, Izumi-kun! Kyoko caught a fever. She's resting right now."
A fever.
That was all?
It should have been enough to reassure him. Instead, he found himself asking, "Can I see her?"
Her mother looked surprised but smiled. "Of course. She's upstairs."
He stepped into her room quietly. Kyoko was curled up under her blankets, her face flushed with fever.
She blinked drowsily at him. "Izumi …?"
He stood at the edge of her bed, staring down at her. "You didn't come to school."
She chuckled weakly. "You noticed?"
He scowled. "Obviously."
Kyoko smiled. Even sick, she still looked at him like he was something—not broken, not emotionless, just him.
"Hey," she murmured. "Can you hold my hand?"
Izumi hesitated.
But then, without knowing why, he reached out.
Her fingers were warm against his.
And for the first time, Izumi didn't just think he might feel something.
He knew.
Izumi didn't know why he stayed.
Free
He told himself it was logical. If Kyoko's fever got worse, someone needed to be there. Her mother was busy, and Kyoko was clearly exhausted.
But logic had never made him feel like this before.
He sat beside her bed, their hands still loosely joined. Kyoko's fingers twitched slightly, and he realized she was squeezing his hand—just a little.
"Izumi…" she murmured, her voice hazy with sleep.
"Hm?"
Her grip tightened for a brief moment. "I'm glad you're here."
Izumi didn't respond. He didn't know how to respond.
But he didn't let go.
Kyoko recovered quickly, returning to school within a few days. If she noticed the way Izumi glanced at her more often, she didn't mention it.
But he noticed something else.
He was… aware of her now.
When she smiled, when she laughed, when she looked at him like he was more than just a hollow person—he noticed it.
And it wasn't just noticing. It was… something else.
Something he didn't understand.
One afternoon, as they walked home, Kyoko suddenly asked, "What do you think love feels like?"
Izumi frowned. "Why are you asking me?"
"Because I like the way you think," she said simply.
He considered it. "Love is… attachment," he said slowly. "A deep connection that makes people act irrationally."
Kyoko hummed. "That's the logical definition. But what about your definition?"
Izumi paused. "I don't have one."
She smiled. "Then maybe you should figure it out."