Side Story 3: It's Always This Gray

[Krei's POV]

The rain hadn’t stopped all morning.

From the corner window of the dorm study lounge, I could see the slate-gray sky pouring over the school courtyard. The old stone pathways were dark with rain, the hedges flattened into damp submission. Beyond the field, the chapel bell tolled once for the quarter-hour. I didn’t look up.

The literature worksheet in front of me was still half-finished. T.S. Eliot stared at me from the page like he was judging my margins. I let my pencil roll between my fingers and leaned back in my seat, listening to the low hum of weather and silence.

Then the door opened.

I didn’t turn right away. Nobody ever used the study lounge this early. And besides, I was busy not finishing my homework.

“Is that seriously all the sky looks like? That’s tragic.”

The voice hit before the footsteps. Familiar. Light, and annoyed by default.

I turned.

She stood by the doorway, school-issued blazer still drying at the shoulders, a duffel bag slung over one side like she’d just thrown it at someone five seconds ago. Her hair was longer than it used to be. Still a mess. Still unmistakably her.

“Aoi,” I said. My mouth did a thing that might’ve been smiling.

“You’re not gonna say hi?”

“I said your name.”

“Which is like saying the weather. Gimme more than that.”

I stood up slowly. She walked in, dripping slightly, already tossing her bag onto the nearest couch like she owned the place. Three years had changed a lot. She’d gotten sharper. Taller. Less like the braided girl who had once tried to curse her private tutor under her breath. But she's still Aoi.

“You’re early,” I said.

“They said I could settle before orientation.” Her voice dropped an octave, more deadpan now. “That was a lie. I’ve been interrogated by three teachers and one aggressively cheerful prefect.”

I snorted. “And your blazer looks like it lost a bar fight.”

“That’s because I had to run in the rain after customs took three decades.”

We stared at each other. And then, at the same time, I uttered, “You look older.”

We both blinked.

She broke into a laugh first.

“Yeah well,” she said, throwing herself onto the armchair across from me. “Puberty finally paid off. I now have the approximate emotional stability of a garden hose.”

“That explains your entrance,” I said, but softer. Watching her.

We hadn’t seen each other in person in three years. Not since she moved to San Francisco with her sister. We’d stayed in contact—calls on weekends, scattered emails, texts about games or weird internet things.

“So you’re really back?” I asked.

Aoi leaned her head back. “Yeah. For now, I think. Mom said she can’t handle me anymore.”

The way she said it was casual. But her eyes didn’t meet mine.

I sat back down. “What happened?”

She shrugged. Picked at the edge of her sleeve. “Apparently, I got worse. Started cutting class. Talking back. Broke a trophy case.”

“You broke a trophy case?”

“On accident. Mostly. But the attitude part was very on purpose.”

I frowned. “I’m sorry about your grandma.”

She gave a small nod. “Me too.”

Rain pattered harder against the window.

After a minute, she turned her head to look at me again. Her expression had softened.

“I missed this ugly weather.”

“You missed me,” I corrected.

“Maybe a little.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, maybe a lot.”

Later, after lunch, I helped her carry her duffel to the dorms. Her new room was on the opposite wing of mine. But we walked slow, like neither of us wanted to get there too fast.

She looked at the gray sky once more before stepping inside.

"I'm gonna hate the food here, aren't I."

"Absolutely."

"Cool. I'm stealing your snacks then."

"You'll have to find them first."

Her smile tilted. "Challenge accepted."

And just like that, it felt like she’d never left.

But this time, she wasn’t leaving either.

We dropped her duffel in her room without ceremony, just tossed it onto the bed. The room was plain. Same pale walls. Same ugly desk lamp. Same single-window view of the west courtyard, currently drowning in fog.

Aoi stood with her hands on her hips like she was considering burning the whole place down. “You’d think in a place that charges four digits a term, they’d at least give us curtains that match.”

I pointed to the corner. “There’s a corkboard.”

She turned and narrowed her eyes at it like it had insulted her fashion sense. “That’s not a personality. That’s a hostage wall.”

“You’ll fill it up,” I said. “You always do.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she dropped onto the bed like a cat testing new territory. Then she turned her head toward me with a sudden grin. “So. Are you still dating that girl? The one with the eyeliner?”

I blinked. “That was two months ago. We broke up.”

“No way,” she said, fully delighted. “You got dumped?”

“Yes.”

A beat. Then she wheezed. “That’s incredible. Christopher Astor, dumped! Oh my god, it finally happened. I want to commemorate this with a Tumblr post.”

“You don’t even use Tumblr.”

“I do now. For this reason.”

I gave her a look. “You’re gloating.”

“You were always smug about being ‘mature’ and ‘emotionally stable’ while I was out here having middle school meltdowns over My Chemical Romance breaking up.”

She had a point. I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t even dramatic. We just wanted different things.”

“Let me guess,” she said, flopping back dramatically, “you wanted peace and she wanted someone who wouldn’t hyper-fixate on books.”

“Actually, she liked the books. She just didn’t like me never looking up from them.”

Aoi let out a low whistle. “You are a tragic business boy.”

“You’re the last person who should be talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“You got sent back here.”

She grinned wider, unashamed. “That’s true.”

We both fell into a lazy silence again. The rain was finally starting to let up outside, just mist now, curling along the windows like breath on glass.

Then she said, offhand, “I tried smoking, by the way.”

My head snapped toward her. “What?”

“Over the summer,” she said, picking at a loose thread on her cuff. “My grandfather caught me behind the garden. Threw the pack in the pond.”

I stared. “You? Smoking?”

“It wasn’t even the good kind. Just tasted like smoke and a bit of mint. It's probably because I ate tictac beforehand.”

“I’m honestly shocked you didn’t set yourself on fire.”

“I think I did once. Singed half my bangs. Hid it under a hat for two weeks.”

I shook my head. “You’re unhinged.”

“Says the guy who got dumped for his addiction to books.”

“Touche.”

A beat. Then we both laughed again, something between fond and exasperated. The kind of laugh you only have with someone who’s known you long enough to remember your worst haircut and your secret childhood snack obsessions.

“You think it's better for me to change?” she asked suddenly, quieter now.

“You mean like your hairstyle?”

“No, like... just not being the problem child.”

I looked at her for a long second. Her face was still, but her voice wavered... just a bit. I could hear it. The kind of tired that didn’t come from jet lag.

“You’re not a problem,” I said. “You’re just... you.”

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “Inspirational. Pin that on the corkboard.”

“Want me to add a motivational cat poster?”

“An orange cat would be cute.”

Aoi finally stood, brushing off imaginary dust from her skirt. Her shoulders were still slouched in that casual defiance she wore like armor, but there was something steadier beneath it now. A little quieter. Like the way mist settled after rain.

“Well,” she said, tugging her blazer straight. “Guess I should at least pretend to be functional. Lead the way, Mr. Familiar-with-the-campus.”

“You’re going to complain the whole time, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. It’s how I bond.”

I pushed the door open, letting her pass. Her footsteps echoed lightly down the hallway, half confident, half cautious. Like the place hadn’t quite made space for her yet, but it would. It always did, eventually.

As we turned the corner, she glanced back over her shoulder, walking backward a few paces.

“Hey,” she said. “Thanks for being here.”

I gave a half-smile back. “It’s not like I’d let you get lost on your first day.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

We kept walking through the quiet halls and creaking stairs, through a place I’d memorized and she’d soon call hers.

And for the first time in a while, the day didn’t feel so gray anymore.