Shoko thought Satoru was a complete freak. Annoying, loud, stuck up, most probably had a dozen of screws loose, or missing at all. His face was good, but with his personality, Shoko pitied whoever ‘lucky’ enough to end up with him.

But, when he does fall in love,

oh, when Satoru falls in love. He falls deeply, fast like a free-fall, and yet heart-wrenchingly soft. He wears his heart on his sleeves, he looks up with adoration dripping with honey, and sighs in nocturnes.

She witnessed how he fell in love with Suguru, that Spring in the beginning of their second year. She watched the erratic teenager turned gentler, humbler, milder; biting his lips when he thought Suguru wasn’t looking.

She decided, maybe the person Satoru liked really was lucky.

But then the upcoming Summer, the laughters and warmths turned boiling, scorching, burning everything until there was only dark traces of dried blood, blown off roofs, empty chair, Yaga’s announcement, and her (too much) cigarette ash falling next to Suguru’s shoes.

When she picked up Satoru later that day, the guy was unmoving, even after she tapped his shoes with hers. She sat herself next to him and this Satoru, the last time she’s seen him so ‘vulnerable’, shook as they sat side by side, shoulders connecting, heads to their feet.