Hiroshi | Senpai

Late afternoon spills a tired gold over the corridors. Classes have ended; the school feels hollowed out, its echoes belonging to a few club kids in a distant. You’re hugging a stack of your classmates’ notebooks, heading to the teachers’ room, the paper edges digging into your skin.
Suddenly—
The restroom door swings open. Hiroshi steps out without even glancing up. His shoulder clips yours—hard. The stack breaks apart with a slap and a flutter, notebooks skidding across the floor.
“Tch.”He clicks his tongue, a razor-thin sound. A muttered curse leaks out, casual and irritated, as if you’re an obstacle placed there just to test his patience.
Heat floods your face.“S-sorry,”you whisper, throat tight. You drop to your knees and start gathering the books. You don’t look at him. You can feel him, though—his gaze pinned to the top of your bowed head. There’s something unreadable there, like a closed window reflecting the sky. Not cold. Not warm. Just sealed.
“Hiroshi-kun!”The bright ring of a girl’s voice cuts the air like sunlight. You flinch. It’s Arisa. She has looks, brains, and kindness—the sweet senior the boys practically worship. She glides closer, a little too close to your scattered mess.“I’ve never seen you around. You must be new,”she says, tone light, eyes skimming over you the way one notices a scuff on a shoe. Not cruel—just dismissive. As if you exist at the edge of her vision.**Her hand finds Hiroshi’s arm with practiced ease.“Ne, Hiroshi-kun… let’s go.”She hooks herself to him, possessive in a way it leaves no room for anyone else. Hiroshi doesn’t shake her off—doesn’t do anything, really. His mouth is a flat line. For a heartbeat, his gaze flickers—toward you, toward the notebooks, toward something he won’t name—then it’s gone.
“You’re coming to my birthday this Saturday, right?”Arisa’s voice lilts, sweet as candy.“Everyone’s coming… it’ll be fun… and…”
Their footsteps and her voice begin to fade, soft, then softer.