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The Sobu High Service Club room was a quiet sanctuary tucked at the end of a hallway, far from the clamor of after-school chaos. Miwa Aoi hesitated outside the door, her fingers tightening around the handle of her schoolbag, the leather strap slick with the faint sweat of her palm. The air carried a hint of dust and old books, mingling with the distant sweetness of cherry blossoms drifting through an open window. Her heart thumped, a staccato rhythm that echoed the uncertainty gnawing at her. She'd rehearsed her excuse for coming here—I need help fitting in—but the words felt flimsy, a paper-thin shield for the deeper ache she couldn't name.
Taking a breath, she knocked, the sound sharp against the stillness. A muffled voice answered, cool and precise: "Enter."
Miwa pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly, and stepped inside. The room was smaller than she'd expected, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. A long table sat at the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs, and shelves lined the walls, stuffed with books and stray papers. The air smelled faintly of tea and ink, a grounding contrast to the sterile hallways outside. Three pairs of eyes turned to her, each carrying a different weight.
Hikigaya Hachiman slouched in a chair, his legs sprawled under the table, a can of MAX Coffee in one hand. His dead-fish eyes flicked up, assessing her with the same sharp indifference she'd felt in the classroom. Yukinoshita Yukino sat across from him, her posture impeccable, a novel open in her hands. Her gaze was cold, not hostile but dissecting, like she was already cataloging Miwa's flaws. Yuigahama Yui, perched on the edge of a chair, offered a warm smile, but her eyes held a flicker of curiosity, maybe wariness.
"Um… hi," Miwa said, her voice catching. She clutched her bag tighter, the strap biting into her fingers. "I'm Miwa Aoi. From Class 2-F. I… I heard about the Service Club, and I thought maybe you could help me."
Yukino closed her book with a soft thud, her movements deliberate. "The Service Club exists to assist students with legitimate concerns," she said, her tone crisp, each word a blade honed by precision. "What exactly is your request, Miwa-san?"
Miwa's throat tightened. She'd expected scrutiny, but Yukino's stare made her feel like a puzzle with missing pieces. "I'm new here," she said, forcing her voice to steady. "I transferred this semester, and… it's hard to fit in. I thought you might have advice. Or… something."
Hachiman snorted, the sound low and dry. "Fitting in's overrated. Most people here are just playing roles to avoid thinking too hard about how empty their lives are."
"Hikki!" Yui hissed, swatting his arm. Her sleeve brushed his shoulder, a casual touch that made Miwa's chest tighten for reasons she didn't want to examine. "Don't be so mean. It's tough being the new kid, okay?"
Hachiman shrugged, unfazed, his fingers tapping the coffee can. The metallic clink was rhythmic, almost hypnotic. "Just saying, if she's looking for a guide to shallow friendships, she's in the wrong place."
Miwa's gaze darted to him, her pulse quickening. His words stung, but there was something in his tone—not cruelty, but a raw honesty that made her want to lean closer, to unravel the thoughts behind those guarded eyes. "I don't want shallow," she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "I want… real. Something that matters."
The room went quiet, the weight of her admission hanging in the air. Yukino's eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers pausing on the spine of her book. Yui tilted her head, her smile softening, but Hachiman… Hachiman leaned forward, just a fraction, his gaze locking onto hers. For a moment, she felt stripped bare, like he could see the cracks she'd spent years hiding.
"Real's a tall order," he said, his voice low, almost a challenge. "Most people don't even know what that means."
Miwa's breath hitched, her fingers trembling against the fabric of her skirt. The soft cotton grounded her, its texture a lifeline as she fought to hold his gaze. "Maybe I don't either," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to find out."
Yukino broke the silence, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "A noble sentiment, but vague. If you're seeking guidance, you'll need to be more specific." She gestured to a chair. "Sit. Explain what 'fitting in' means to you."
Miwa hesitated, then obeyed, sliding into the chair across from Hachiman. The wood was cool against her thighs, the faint creak of the seat amplifying her nerves. She set her bag on the floor, her fingers brushing the table's edge, the surface smooth and worn from countless meetings. Hachiman's coffee can sat inches away, condensation beading on its surface, a tiny detail that felt oddly intimate.
"I… don't know where to start," Miwa said, her eyes flickering between the three of them. "At my old school, I tried to be what people wanted. I joined clubs, smiled at the right times, said the right things. But it didn't work. People still… looked through me." Her voice wavered, and she gripped her skirt, the fabric bunching under her fingers. The faint roughness of the weave steadied her, a reminder to keep going. "I don't want to do that here. I want to be… me. But I don't know how."
Yui's expression softened, her hands clasped in her lap. "That's really brave, Miwa-chan," she said, her voice warm, like a hug in sound form. "It's hard to start over. But you're here, right? That's a good step."
"Bravery's one thing," Yukino said, her tone measured. "But authenticity requires self-awareness. If you don't know who 'you' are, no amount of advice will help." She leaned forward, her eyes piercing. "What is it you're truly seeking, Miwa-san? Friends? Acceptance? Or something else?"
Miwa's heart pounded, Yukino's question slicing too close to the truth. She wasn't just here for advice. She was here because of Hachiman—because of the way his eyes had caught hers in the classroom, because of the spark when their hands brushed, because something in his bluntness made her feel seen. But she couldn't say that, not with Yukino's gaze pinning her in place and Yui's kindness making her feel like a fraud.
"I just… want to belong," Miwa said, the lie half-true. "Somewhere. With people who don't expect me to pretend."
Hachiman tilted his head, his fingers stilling on the coffee can. "Belonging's a trap," he said, his voice flat but not unkind. "You think it's connection, but it's just another way to lose yourself. People join groups to avoid being alone with their own thoughts. If you want real, skip the crowd and figure out what you're running from."
Miwa's breath caught, his words landing like a stone in still water. He wasn't wrong—she was running, from the loneliness that had haunted her old school, from the fear that she'd never be enough. But the way he said it, so matter-of-fact, made her want to argue, to prove she could be more than her fears.
"Maybe I'm not running," she said, her voice stronger now, fueled by a flicker of defiance. "Maybe I'm just… looking for something worth staying for."
Hachiman's eyes widened, just a fraction, before his smirk returned. "Bold words. Let's see if you can back them up."
Yui clapped her hands, breaking the tension. "Okay, okay, let's not scare her off on her first day! Miwa-chan, we'll help, right, Yukino?"
Yukino sighed, her fingers tapping the table. "If her request is genuine, the Service Club will provide assistance. But I expect commitment, Miwa-san. Half-hearted efforts waste everyone's time."
Miwa nodded, her chest tight with a mix of relief and anxiety. "I understand. I'll… I'll try."
The meeting shifted to practicalities, Yukino suggesting Miwa observe the school's clubs to find a niche, Yui offering to introduce her to friends. Miwa listened, nodding at the right moments, but her attention kept drifting to Hachiman. He leaned back, his arms crossed, contributing only when prodded by Yui's teasing or Yukino's pointed remarks. His presence was a quiet anchor, grounding yet unsettling, like a melody she couldn't stop humming.
As they discussed, Miwa's gaze fell to her hands, still gripping her skirt. The fabric was soft, slightly warm from her touch, but it couldn't quell the tremble in her fingers. She felt exposed, her carefully crafted excuse unraveling under the weight of their scrutiny. Hachiman's words echoed in her mind—figure out what you're running from—and she wondered if he saw more than she wanted him to.
When Yukino handed her a notebook to jot down suggestions, their fingers brushed, the contact brief but electric. Yukino's skin was cool, her touch precise, a stark contrast to the warmth Miwa craved from Hachiman. She mumbled a thank-you, her cheeks flushing, and glanced at Hachiman, hoping he hadn't noticed. But his eyes were on her, sharp and unreadable, and her pulse surged, a wild rhythm that made her lightheaded.
"Something wrong, new girl?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with something she couldn't place—curiosity, maybe, or challenge.
"N-no," Miwa stammered, her fingers tightening on the notebook, the paper's edge biting into her skin. "Just… nervous, I guess."
He hummed, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. The movement brought him closer, close enough that she caught the faint scent of coffee and something warmer, like clean laundry or skin after a shower. Her breath hitched, and she forced herself to focus on the notebook, her pen scratching out nonsense to hide her flustered state.
"Relax," he said, his voice low, almost gentle. "We're not gonna eat you. Well, Yukinoshita might, but she's picky about her prey."
Yukino's eyes narrowed. "Your attempts at humor are as tiresome as ever, Hikigaya-kun."
Yui giggled, the sound bright and disarming. "He's just trying to make you feel welcome, Miwa-chan. In his weird, grumpy way."
Miwa managed a small smile, her heart still racing. Hachiman's proximity was overwhelming, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. She wanted to reach out, to brush her fingers against his hand, to feel that spark again, but the thought made her stomach twist with fear. Instead, she clutched the notebook tighter, the paper's texture grounding her, a reminder to stay in control.
As the meeting wound down, Yukino assigned Miwa a "task": to spend the next week observing Sobu's clubs and report back with her interests. It was a practical step, but Miwa sensed it was also a test, Yukino's way of gauging her sincerity. Yui offered to tag along, her enthusiasm a balm to Miwa's nerves, while Hachiman remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Miwa stood, her legs unsteady, and slung her bag over her shoulder. The room felt smaller now, the air thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts. She glanced at Hachiman one last time, memorizing the way his hair fell over his forehead, the faint curve of his lips as he sipped his coffee. He didn't look at her, his attention on a stray paper, but she felt his presence like a pulse, steady and inescapable.
"Thank you," she said, her voice soft but clear. "For listening. I… I'll do my best."
Yui beamed. "You'll be fine, Miwa-chan! We've got your back."
Yukino nodded, her expression neutral. "We'll see you next week, Miwa-san."
Hachiman said nothing, but as Miwa turned to leave, she caught the briefest flicker in his eyes—a spark of interest, maybe, or recognition. It was enough to make her heart leap, a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, he saw something in her worth noticing.
She stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her. The air was cooler here, the scent of blossoms stronger, but her skin still burned where Yukino's fingers had brushed, where Hachiman's gaze had lingered. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the wild rhythm of her heart, and let out a shaky breath.
This was only the beginning, she told herself. A single step toward something real. And if that something led her closer to Hikigaya Hachiman, she'd chase it, no matter how much it scared her.