“I’m leaving!” Yahiko shouted, grabbing his bag from the hook by the door.

“Yahiko,” his grandmother’s voice came from behind – a little hesitant, a little worried. “Whose umbrella is that?”

“Huh?” He turned, following her gaze toward the dark umbrella standing neatly in the basket. “Ah… that one.”

“It looks expensive,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You should return it.”

“Yeah, yeah. On Monday,” Yahiko said quickly, already stepping into his shoes. “I’m not going to the shop today.”

“Yes, but, Yahiko—”

“I’ll return it, I promise!” he called back, darting out before she could finish.

She sighed softly behind him, but the boy was already outside, hopping over puddles that still shimmered from last night’s rain.

“What’s with her and that umbrella…” he muttered, tightening his grip on the handle of his bag. “Oh, right – Shin.”

He pulled out his phone, swiping through his notifications. Only one new message waited for him – the one he hadn’t checked before leaving.

From Shin: Hurry up.

From Yahiko: What’s the matter?

From Shin: It’s better if you see it yourself.

A strange feeling crept up his chest. Yahiko shoved the phone back into his pocket and started walking faster.

Yahiko checked the time on his watch and hurried toward the station. The sky was bright and clear, as if there had been no typhoon at all. Only puddles on the pavement and the scent of damp earth reminded of it. 

On the train, he took out his phone again.

For a second he frowned. He could’ve sworn he’d seen a message from Hayashi-senpai earlier that morning – just a small notification banner while he was half awake. But now, the chat window was empty. No unread messages. No record of anything new. Just the line at the bottom: Send your first message.

He stared at the screen for a moment longer.

“…Must’ve dreamed it,” he murmured and locked the screen.

By the time he reached the park, the morning had grown livelier. Stalls and tents were being set up for the Sunday fair. Boxes thumped softly on the ground, vendors carried trays and signs, and a few vans idled nearby. It was the kind of quiet bustle that always came before an event truly started.

Yahiko’s phone buzzed again.

From Shin: Somewhere in the middle. Look for a blue van.

He crossed the path and soon spotted it – the familiar blue minivan with its back doors wide open and boxes stacked nearby. Shin was standing there, sleeves rolled up, sorting through supplies.

“Hey,” Yahiko called out.

“Oh, hi!” Shin waved, smiling.

“So many boxes,” Yahiko said, impressed. “You planning to sell all of that?”

“Yeah, that’s what Mom says.” Shin grinned.

Inside the van, his little brother sat on the edge, playing on his Nintendo. Their father was talking to someone near the front, while their mother tapped quickly on her laptop, checking notes.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” Yahiko said, glancing at the pile of boxes.

“As if,” Shin sighed, sitting on the edge of the van.

Yahiko crossed his arms and leaned a little closer, taking a seat beside Ryota, who was still absorbed in his game. “So? What was that ‘see for yourself’ about?”

Before Shin could answer, a cheerful voice cut in.

“Hey, guys! Oh, Takahaya-kun – you’re here too?”

They both turned. Shin’s older brother strode toward them, arms full of wooden planks.

“Ah, Keito-san, hel—” Yahiko began, but his words caught mid-way as another figure appeared right behind him. “Yamamoto-san?”

“Good morning, Takahaya-kun. Hasegawa-kun,” the history teacher greeted, polite as ever.

“You know,” Keito said with a grin, balancing the beams on his shoulder, “there’s no need to be that formal. We’re not in class.”

“Still,” Yamamoto said mildly, “a teacher and a student should keep proper distance.”

“Oh yeah? Then maybe you should call me Hasegawa-san, too,” Keito laughed. “Fair’s fair, right?”

“Keito…” Yamamoto’s voice dropped, half in protest, half in amusement.

“Relax, I’m joking,” Keito said with a chuckle before heading off.

Shin groaned softly and turned his back to them, burying himself in the boxes. “Don’t. Say. A. Word.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Yahiko said carefully, suppressing a grin.

“Good,” Shin muttered, rummaging through another box.

Yahiko watched him for a moment, then asked gently, “Need any help?”

Shin sighed, finally letting his shoulders relax. “Yeah. Help me look busy, so Mom won’t send me to help those two.”

“Deal.” Yahiko smiled and crouched beside him, pretending to sort through the nearest pile.

They’d been busy for a while, watching Shin’s older brother with Yamamoto laughing as they built the stall.

When Shin finally looked a bit calmer, Yahiko said lightly, “I’d have never thought you’d be this close with a teacher.”

Shin gave a crooked smile. “If it were you, I’d be upset. Who in their right mind would want to tie themselves to a teacher? Always older, always wiser, always telling you what to do…” He snorted. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

Yahiko let out a thin laugh that didn’t sound quite like him. Shin didn’t seem to notice. Once, the two of them had sworn they’d never bow to alphas or let anyone dictate their lives – two omegas, who didn’t need alphas. And now, how bitterly funny it was: Yahiko’s neck burned under his bandage, the secret bond with someone not just older but from their school.

“Shin! Help me here!” his mother called across the van.

“Ah, damn…” Shin sighed. “I’ve got to go. Can you manage for a bit?”

“Yeah…” Yahiko murmured, but Shin was already gone, his back retreating before Yahiko could think of what to say next.

Left standing, Yahiko’s gaze wandered: the history teacher joking with Keito, Shin kneeling to toss a ball back to Reta, their father arguing over beams with their mom. Everyone moving together, familiar and easy. Yahiko’s chest tightened. For a second he saw his own family in that warm tangle – his mother, his father before he’d passed. And the last image of his mother before she left: the black mark across her neck, like a closing door.