Look at her! She’s no pushover, either.

“It’s been a while—let’s hold hands again.”

But just how long is “a while”? When was the first time he’d held this girl’s hand? Tsukimiya Shinomiya certainly couldn’t recall. Even if his memory were flawless, this wasn’t something he’d remember.

Perhaps it was before their first birthday, lying together in the same baby carriage, maybe even sucking on each other’s fingers. Or maybe it was during naptime in kindergarten, their hands fumbling together out of confusion, surrounded by unfamiliar children. Or perhaps it was in elementary school, with backpacks slung over their shoulders, walking hand in hand to school each morning, crossing to the far side of the street together. Hand in hand again after school, returning from the other side, reenacting the idyllic days of childhood friends—so close and inseparable.

The boy could not remember such distant days.

But if one were to ask when he last held the hand of the girl before him, Tsukimiya Shinomiya knew he would never forget.

…

He looked at the hand she extended, its size unchanged from his memory, and wondered if she’d grown at all over the years. Yet, if he took her hand now, he felt as if something fundamental might change.

He hesitated, unable to reach out for a long time.

If Morino Hoshino was “forgetting”—unable to move forward without leaving the past behind, silently agreeing to let memories fade and stumbling together into the unknown—then Sakurakoji Sakuya was “remembering.” She wanted him always to remember what happened, to remember how he’d hurt her, to keep him from forgetting, even tearing open her wounds from time to time to show him, never allowing herself to be forgotten.

Two girls as different as the two sides of a coin.

Just as Tsukimiya Shinomiya was about to back away, the girl’s voice came again, chasing after him.

“I’ll get lost, you know, if you don’t hold my hand.”

“I’ll definitely lose my way.”

Such simple words left him unable to retreat any further. Moonlight poured over her, dividing her beautiful face into halves—one bright, one shadowed.

He gazed into her amber eyes, finally sighing softly as he enclosed her suspended hand within his own.

The sharp gentleness of her touch felt so different from what he remembered.

Sakurakoji Sakuya stepped forward, resting her head against his chest and whispering, “Thank you.”

“Please, never leave me behind again.”

He silently tilted his head back, staring at the starry sky, feeling the warmth of the girl in his arms, listening to the faint sound of her breath.

The Big Dipper, so clear only moments ago, was now hidden behind gathering clouds.

And yet, it had been so beautiful.

The stars.

…

“We’re back! Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

When they returned home, Sakuya walked into the house, flopped over the kitchen island like a puppy, and sniffed the air.

Tsukimiya Shinomiya placed the plastic bag with the Strong Zero on the dining table, along with some pudding and snacks Sakuya had picked out.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Yuko Shinomiya said with a smile.

“Yay~~”

He settled onto the living room sofa, picked up the novel from the coffee table, and continued reading. As he turned the pages, he found himself absentmindedly rubbing his right hand, as if the softness of the girl’s palm still lingered there.

It wasn’t nostalgia—it was more like comparison.

With what, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps the memory of her smaller hand, or the way he used to feel when he held it.

But Tsukimiya Shinomiya had to admit, even holding hands with the present-day Sakuya, he felt nothing.

It was as if a dull knife had carved a piece from his brain; the part that once made his heart race was dead and unresponsive.

Perhaps it was not just Sakuya. Maybe it would be the same with anyone.

After dinner.

A minor incident erupted in the Shinomiya household. The culprit was Tsukimiya Shinomiya himself—he’d bought the drinks, even posing as a college student to do so.

Several crushed empty cans rolled haphazardly across the floor. Shinomiya gathered them up, glancing at the two middle-aged women passed out drunk at the dining table, and felt a headache coming on.

“Sakuya, help me out,” he called.

The girl appeared from the washroom, looking over. “Help? With what?”

“Carry my mom to her room, and your mom back to your place.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

She looked at the table. Both women, faces flushed, were sound asleep, occasionally mumbling grand declarations like, “That bald manager should just drop dead.”

“Not a chance.”

He sighed. “Then let’s just carry them both to my mom’s room. We can’t just leave them here.”

So, the boy and girl struggled to drag them into the bedroom.

After all that, Sakuya was drenched in sweat, and Shinomiya couldn’t help but tease her about being an athlete—earning him a sharp glare.

“I’ll go home to shower first, then I’ll be back.”

“You’re staying over tonight?”

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s not that it’s a problem, but why? Where will you sleep?”

“You know the answer,” she replied, and left the Shinomiya house.

…

So time slipped by. When the night was deep and silent, the boy rolled over, bumping his forehead against the caster of his desk chair with a thud of pain.

On the bed, the girl’s bright eyes glimmered in the moonlight streaming through the window crack, watching as he rubbed his head.

“Tsuki.”

“…What?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to call you.”

“I thought you were going to offer me the bed.”

“If I said that, would you really come sleep here?”

“I meant I’d take the bed, and you’d sleep on the floor.”

“That won’t do. I don’t like sleeping on the floor.”

Shinomiya said nothing.

After a moment, he heard rustling in the dark. The girl lifted her covers, crawled off the bed, and skillfully burrowed into his futon on the floor, forcing him to shift aside.

“Hmm? Not bad at all,” she murmured.

“Didn’t you say you didn’t like sleeping on the floor?”

“I don’t like sleeping on the floor alone.”

“Then if you’re here, I’ll go take the bed.”

Before he could move, she grabbed his hand.

Tsukimiya Shinomiya felt that Sakuya had been acting strangely lately. He probably knew the reason, but unable to resolve it, he’d been pretending not to notice.

Not everyone is as oblivious as the protagonist of a light novel. Most of the time, they have no choice but to play dumb.

“Tsuki…”

Her voice sounded dreamlike as she gazed at him in the darkness, searching for his eyes, then his nose, then his lips.

Noticing the change in her tone, his own voice wavered with uncertainty.

“Hm?”

“Hey… let’s kiss.”

…

“It’s been a while.”