The next rehearsal day, Mizuki showed up early, standing on the empty stage, running through his lines alone. His voice echoed through the auditorium, each word filled with precision and intent. He wanted to forget—everything. The kiss, Nakano’s casual dismissal, and the way his heart shattered in the park. If he could perfect the role of the princess, then maybe, just maybe, he could drown out the pain.

The theater crew trickled in, surprised to see Mizuki so focused. He greeted them with a bright smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. As everyone got into place, Nakano arrived, his usual laid-back self, but there was a flicker of something different in his gaze as he watched Mizuki command the stage.

“Wow, Mizuki,” one of the cast members, Sora, remarked. “You’re really giving it your all today.”

“Just trying to make sure we get it perfect,” Mizuki replied with a forced grin. “Can’t let the audience down, right?”

Nakano nodded from the sidelines, noticing how Mizuki hadn’t looked at him once. His brow furrowed, but he shook it off. Mizuki seemed fine—better than fine. He was giving one of his best performances yet. Nakano tried to brush off the lingering thought that something wasn’t quite right.

Throughout the rehearsal, Mizuki kept his energy high. He smiled, joked with the crew, and delivered his lines flawlessly. When it came time to practice the more intimate scenes with Nakano, he stayed professional, never missing a beat. He met Nakano’s eyes only when necessary, his voice unwavering.

Nakano, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the strange tension between them. Mizuki was doing everything right—almost too right. His usual awkwardness and blushing were gone, replaced by an almost robotic enthusiasm.

“Hey Prez” Nakano said, approaching Mizuki during a break, “you’ve been working really hard lately. You’re not, like... overdoing it, are you?”

Mizuki looked up, his smile bright but hollow. “I’m fine, Nakano. Just trying to get everything down, the cultural festival is around the corner.”

Nakano blinked, unsure of what to say. “Right..."

Mizuki turned back to the stage, signaling the end of the conversation, leaving Nakano standing there with an uneasy feeling in his chest. He wasn’t used to this version of Mizuki—the one who seemed so distant, yet so polished. But he couldn’t push it. Not yet.

As the days passed, Mizuki’s performance only grew more intense. He threw himself into every scene, determined to keep his emotions at bay. His friends in the theater crew started noticing how pale he was becoming, how dark circles formed under his eyes. But Mizuki waved off their concerns with a cheerful laugh, saying he was just tired from studying.

Deep down, though, he knew he was reaching his limit.

By the time the final rehearsal of the week arrived, Mizuki’s body felt like it was running on autopilot. His heart raced, and his head pounded, but still, he smiled and acted like nothing was wrong. During a scene where Nakano, as the Frog Prince, was supposed to gently take his hand, Mizuki’s legs wobbled slightly, but he stayed upright, focusing only on the lines.

Nakano, standing close to him, frowned. “Prez, you okay? You look kinda—”

“I’m fine,” Mizuki interrupted, his voice a little sharper than intended. He forced a grin. “Let’s just keep going.”

The scene continued, but Mizuki’s vision began to blur. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the dizziness creeping up on him. His breaths came shallow and fast, yet he kept pushing, repeating his lines mechanically, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

Then, just as the scene reached its emotional climax, Mizuki’s world tilted.

His knees buckled beneath him, and the last thing he saw before everything went black was Nakano’s worried face rushing toward him.

Mizuki slowly blinked his eyes open, the sterile smell of the nurse’s office filling his senses. He groaned softly, his head pounding. As his vision cleared, he realized someone was sitting beside him.

Nakano.

Mizuki’s breath caught in his throat as he met Nakano’s gaze. There was something different in Nakano’s eyes—soft, concerned, and... affectionate?

“You’re awake,” Nakano said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “The nurse said you were dehydrated... probably from overworking yourself.” He hesitated, then added, “You scared the hell out of me, you know.”

Mizuki blinked, trying to process everything. His body felt heavy, his mind foggy. He shifted slightly in the bed, avoiding Nakano’s gaze. “I’m fine. Just... a little tired.”

Nakano didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he reached out, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from Mizuki’s forehead. The touch was soft, lingering longer than necessary. Mizuki’s heart skipped a beat.

But then, reality hit.

Mizuki’s hand shot up, smacking Nakano’s hand away. His voice was low, but the hurt was unmistakable. “You can stop now, Nakano. We’re not at rehearsals anymore.”

Nakano froze, his hand hovering in mid-air before he slowly lowered it. His brows furrowed, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Prez, I—”

“Save it,” Mizuki muttered, turning his face away. “I get it. It was all for the play, right?”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, Nakano didn’t have a quick reply. He watched Mizuki’s profile, the way his shoulders seemed to tense, the way his voice wavered, and something inside him shifted. He didn’t know why, but seeing Mizuki like this—so fragile, so distant—made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt before.

Nakano swallowed hard, his usual carefree attitude slipping away. “Prez...”

But Mizuki didn’t respond. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, his face a mask of calm that Nakano knew wasn’t real.

The nurse entered the room, interrupting the tension. “Ah, Mizuki, you’re awake! You need to rest, alright? No more overdoing it at rehearsals. I’ll let your teachers know you’ll be excused from classes for the rest of the day.”

Mizuki nodded mutely, grateful for the distraction. He wanted Nakano to leave. The longer Nakano stayed, the harder it was to keep up his facade.

Nakano stood, his eyes lingering on Mizuki for a moment longer. “I’ll, uh... see you tomorrow,” he mumbled, but his voice lacked its usual confidence.

Mizuki didn’t respond, keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

As Nakano left the room, something gnawed at him—a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had always thought Mizuki was just a little weird, maybe a little too serious about things, but now... now he wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Mizuki had collapsed, the way he brushed off his hand so quickly. The way his own heart felt a little heavier when Mizuki wouldn’t look at him.

Sniffle..

Mizuki turned his head to the window and stared at the clouds. Tears running down his face as he sighs. "Prez?" Nakano whispered. Mizuki startled by Nakano's voice because he thought he had left and quickly turned his head towards him. "Are you crying?", Nakano asked.