The ink-stain of jealousy began its slow, dark crawl through Fay's chest. It wasn't the "Oh. Morning" that stung; it was the casual ease with which Kei dismissed a warmth Fay had spent the morning pointedly withholding. Fay had ignored Kei to punish her, to make her feel the weight of her absence, but seeing Kei offer that same hollow nonchalance to Yumi's radiant energy made Fay's stomach twist.

Fay's gaze turned analytical and sharp, dissecting the lingering silence between the two girls. To her, Kei was a project that had gone off the rails, a person she wanted to pull into her own orbit, yet here she was, witnessing Yumi attempt to bridge a gap Fay felt she alone understood.

She saw the way Yumi's friends whispered, their eyes darting between the two, but Fay's focus remained on Kei. She felt a surge of quiet resentment, a desperate urge to reach out and shake the stoicism right out of the girl. I stayed silent to make you notice me, Fay thought, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag. And yet, you break your silence for a fallen eraser.

The air in the classroom, once light with morning chatter, felt suddenly charged and heavy to Fay. She told herself her irritation was purely social that Kei's lack of grace was a blight on the class's harmony. But as she watched Yumi turn back to her desk, her cheeks still dusted with a lingering pink, Fay realized with a jolt of cold clarity that she wasn't just annoyed.

She was terrified. She was terrified that while she was busy playing games of silence, someone else was already learning how to speak Kei's language.