Leo wasn't dense.
He'd spent most of his early school life drifting through friendships, never quite attached, never quite missing. But that didn't mean he was blind.
So when Rin stopped lingering after club meetings—when Yuki's jokes started landing a bit sharper than usual, and Hana's gaze lingered just a beat too long—he noticed.
He just didn't know what to do about it.
---
It began subtly.
Rin, once the quiet anchor by his side, started answering with shorter phrases. Her hand would hover near his on the desk but never quite reach. Her smile still came, but it felt… rehearsed.
Yuki, on the other hand, had grown louder.
She sat closer than before, threw friendly insults with more bite, and laughed a bit too quickly when Leo responded. She began bringing him drinks every day, each labeled with a pun about chemistry, math, or literature.
"Here, Professor Shen," she grinned one day, handing over an apple juice. "It's got vitamin L—for Leo."
Leo chuckled. "You know that's not a real thing, right?"
"Shh. Let me have my moment."
Hana, meanwhile, had returned to form—cheerful, teasing, and casual.
Except when she wasn't.
Sometimes, Leo caught her looking his way from the track, eyes unreadable.
Sometimes, she skipped club meetings entirely, only to show up outside his classroom with lunch she "just happened to have extra of."
The strange thing was—none of them were unkind.
They didn't fight.
They didn't make scenes.
But something between them had shifted. Like three stars pulling at each other in quiet orbit, threatening to collapse into the same point.
And Leo was that point.
---
He didn't talk to Kai about it.
Not because he didn't want to—but because Kai had stopped showing up.
At first it was one missed class.
Then two.
Then five.
Leo texted.
Leo: You good?
No reply.
That silence, coupled with the slow unraveling of his daily routine, built into a pressure that made him feel constantly on edge.
Even the library felt different now.
Rin sat beside him, same as always, but she read in silence. No more shared notes. No quiet smiles over marginal doodles.
Just distance.
---
One afternoon, Leo finally spoke.
They were in the empty music room. It had become their unofficial retreat space.
Rin sat at the piano, fingers not playing.
Leo stood beside the window, hands in his pockets.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked.
She looked up.
"What?"
"You've been… different."
Rin blinked. "Have I?"
"Don't deflect."
She sighed. "I'm trying not to."
He moved closer. "Talk to me."
There was a long pause.
Then:
"I'm scared," she said.
He sat beside her. "Of what?"
"Of choosing. Of hurting people. Of being hurt."
Leo didn't answer right away.
He looked at the piano keys. "You think I'm not scared?"
She tilted her head.
"I feel like I'm being pulled in three directions," he admitted. "Like no matter what I do, someone I care about will get hurt. Or worse—feel like I lied to them just by being nice."
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Do you… like them too?"
He closed his eyes. "I care about them. But I love you."
She looked away.
"That doesn't make it easier."
"No," Leo said quietly. "It doesn't."
They sat there in silence.
No piano music.
Just the wind against the window.
Just honesty.
---
Later that night, Leo stood on the rooftop of the dormitory, phone in hand.
He typed a message.
Leo: Yuki. Hana. Can we talk? Just us. Tomorrow.
He hesitated.
Then added:
Leo: Please.
He hit send.
Below, the city shimmered like a thousand unsaid things.
And above, the stars kept their silent distance.