“Has everybody confirmed a partner for their new photography task?” asks the teacher over the loud voices of the excited students.
You scowl at Himchan, who sits next to you with a grin plastered on his face. It’s a shame he was the only one left. I had no other choice. Literally. Not a lot of people like to partner up with a suicidal girl.
“Decide what your subject will be, and both of you will mutually agree on a photo that you would like to submit to me. For today, you can go to the school garden to test out the new cameras.” states the teacher.

Everybody floods out of the class. Him Chan grips your wrist, and you suddenly compare the pressure of Zelo’s hand to Him Chan’s. For some unexplainable reason, you wanted to slap Zelo’s hand off you, but Him Chan’s slender fingers on your wrist felt somewhat comfortable. Who knows, you were weird.

As you focus the camera lens on a butterfly that sat peacefully on the scarlet petal of a rose, Him Chan exclaims so loudly that it flies away. You miss the shot.
“Are you serious?” you ask him in annoyance.
He just laughs as he faces the camera to the sky. You hear a flash, and the next thing you know, he is standing next to you, showing his camera screen with a grin. Both of you are crouched down, your shoulders touching slightly, and you feel his hair brush against your ear. You glance at his screen, which shows a baby blue sky, blanketed with white, puffy clouds that reminded you of cotton balls.

The sunlight seeps from one of the clouds, and rays of light manage to escape from the tiny gaps in the clouds, creating a lens flare effect on the photo. For a simple subject, it was one damn beautiful picture.
“Impressive,” you say, raising an eyebrow in pleasant surprise.
He just smirks as you focus on another subject. His feet. You snap a shot, and review your own picture. He is wearing chucks, with scrubs of dirt collected at the edges of the sole. The ends of his untied shoelaces are fuzzy, and the scarlet material of the shoe is worn out and blanketed in a layer of girt. He should really get new shoes.

You grab his ankle before he can get up to leave and tie his shoelaces. You can feel the tip of his nose touch your hair, and hear his steady heart beat in front of you. You tighten the last knot, and stand up, wiping the dirt off your lap.
“Back to class?” you ask him, turning your back.
“Yeah,” you hear him murmur quietly behind you.

“What place should we choose...” he says humming, looking up to think of where we should go to take pictures for our task.
“I don’t care,” you say, staring out the window whilst leaning on your elbow.
“We might as well make it a ‘date’, ne?” he whispers cheekily into your ear.
You turn red.
“Ani. (No.)” you say in cold rejection, facing his direction.
“Well, that got your attention,” he says with a smile, and clears his throat. “So I have decided: let’s go to the museum!”

You sigh and nod your head slightly. How can a guy have so much energy?
“Arasso. Tomorrow at 2PM. I’ll meet you there,” you tell him nochalantly as you pick your bag up.
As you begin walking to the exit, the sound of the ringing bell echoes throughout the school. You head to the dance practice room, hoping to find the guitar there. You had memories attached to the guitar, ones with Zelo teaching you how to play, but you do not remember. All you knew, the guitar was important to you.

Slightly opening the door and peeking through, you see that the practice room is empty, so you take a tentative step inside. It is eerily quiet. As you pick up the guitar, noise from the wood hitting the wall echoes in the room. You are not used to this kind of silence, but you take advantage of it while you can. It’s not everyday you can hear the beat of your own heart and the steady pace of your inhales and exhales.

“Hm,” you think, not knowing what song to sing.
As you play around with the strings of the guitar, a memory flashes in your mind. In the corner of your vision, you see strands of vibrant blue hair. Blue hair? You hear a loud voice with echoing laughter in your mind. And finally you hear your own voice, calling out a name, but it is muffled, and you cannot determine what you were really saying. But whatever it was, you sounded happy. You unconciously thought of Zelo. Happy is something I have not felt in a very long time. I don’t know if it’s a good thing to feel it again. I don’t think I want to be happy anymore.

Only a few moments later you realize that there is something large places in the opposite corner of the room. It is blanketed with a dust-covered-khaki-colored cloth. Coughing from the dust which floats suspended in the air, you pull it off in one swift movement to uncover a grand, ivory piano. You tap your finger gently on a key, and it plays a bright note. Smiling, you sit on the small leather chair that accompanies the piano.

It’s a shame I don’t know how to play, you think to yourself. You imagine all the great pianists and their hectic fingers jumping around the keys like it’s nothing to them. You glance down at your own fingers and feel envy for them, your lips forming a pout. Then you feel arms wrap around from behind you. The person’s warm palm pressing above yours, and makes your fingers follow theirs. You can feel their body behind you and hear their breaths. Then a flash.