I Love You, I Miss You, I'll Always Be With You

Nagisa Shiota had gotten used to being underestimated. It happened often enough that he barely noticed anymore. The first time a new student looked at him and asked if he was really their teacher, Nagisa had smiled and introduced himself again.

The second time, he had laughed. By the third time, he had started keeping count.

"Midget-sensei," one of his students called out, leaning back in his chair with all the swagger of someone who had not yet learned to fear consequences. "Are you sure you're strong enough to teach us?"

The classroom went dead quiet. Thirty pairs of adolescent eyes shifted toward the podium. Nagisa looked up from the stack of handouts in front of him, blinking his clear, pale blue eyes before offering a calm, unbothered expression.

"Strong enough for what?" Nagisa asked pleasantly.

The boy hesitated, thrown off by the complete lack of irritation. A few of his desk-mates snickered under their breath, egging him on.

"You know," the boy pressed, crossing his arms. "To control us."

Nagisa tilted his head, the neat ends of his light blue hair brushing against his collar. "I see." He placed his red pen down with an almost imperceptible click. "Then I suppose we'll find out."

The student swallowed hard.

Nagisa smiled just a fraction wider. It was almost unfair. He was not intimidating in the traditional sense. Even at twenty-three, he was still shorter than most of the teenagers sitting in his homeroom. He had a soft, lilting voice, an approachable face, a wardrobe filled with muted pastels, and a gentle habit of explaining a math problem three times rather than raising his voice. But he had learned a long time ago in a rundown classroom on a mountain that patience and weakness were entirely different things. A snake did not need to roar to make a predator freeze.

By the end of the semester, the students who had once called him small were among the easiest to handle. Nagisa privately called it taming. He was not entirely sure his fellow faculty members appreciated the phrasing, but he used it casually all the same.

"I've finally tamed them," he mentioned one afternoon in the staff room, carefully stamping attendance sheets.

His colleague, an older literature teacher sitting opposite him, nearly dropped her mug.

"Nagisa-kun... you really can't say it like that."

"Why not?"

"You make it sound like they were wild animals!"

Nagisa considered this for a quiet second, his thumb resting lightly against the edge of the stamp. "Maybe they were." Then he smiled boyishly and returned to grading.

Teaching suited him. That was something he had never expected to say with such conviction when he was fourteen and clutching an anti-sensei knife in the damp grass.

His life now was considerably quieter than it had been back then. There were no assassination plots lurking behind chalkboards. No top-secret government briefings. No yellow octopus moving at Mach 20, grinning cheerfully while twenty-eight children tried their best to kill him. Just weekly lesson plans. Ungraded quizzes, parent-teacher conferences, students who needed a nudge, and students who stubbornly pretended they did not need help from a man the size of a twig.

And the occasional headache. It was ordinary. Nagisa loved ordinary.

After everything that had unfolded in Class 3-E, he had developed a deep, almost reverent appreciation for the little things most people took for granted. A quiet morning with toast. A warm meal after sunset. A reliable routine. And, well...

Someone to come home to.

That last thought had become increasingly difficult to brush aside lately. Nagisa was not embarrassed by it. When one of the younger science teachers had asked him over tea whether he ever thought about getting married, he had answered without missing a beat.

"Yeah," he had said, looking out the faculty window at the cherry blossoms. "I do. To somebody that I love."

The answer had been so prompt, so devoid of hesitation, that she had blinked at him. "Really? Nagisa-kun has some very simple wishes."

Nagisa chuckled softly. "I'd like a family."

"A family?"

"Someday." He had cradled his lukewarm mug, his gaze dipping toward the ceramic rim. "I think it'd be nice... I want to see if my heart can open up for someone like that." His smile had been gentle, radiant in its simplicity. "I'd like to make someone happy. Surely, their smile would mean the world to me."

There was nothing convoluted about the dream. A vague, gender-neutral concept like a lifelong partner sounded perfectly natural to him; Nagisa had realized over the years that his heart did not place boundaries on gender. He had tried dating here and there. There had been pleasant conversations, nervous café dates, and genuinely kind people he had spent evenings with—including Karma Akabane, an electric, fleeting chapter that had eventually dissolved into the demanding grind of high-stakes bureaucratic overhauls and diverging paths.

Nothing had been wrong with any of them. Yet, each time, something quiet in his chest had whispered that he had not quite arrived where he was supposed to be. It felt as though he were waiting, though for what—or whom—he could never definitively name. So he had stopped searching so frantically. He figured that, eventually, time would give him his answer.

---

Across the city, beneath a grid of blazing studio lights, Akari Yukimura was being told she had twelve minutes to eat lunch.

She stared down at her digital schedule. "Twelve?"

"Thirteen, if the director runs late getting his coffee," her manager said, holding out a bento box with an apologetic wince. "You know how these commercial wrap-ups are."

Akari looked up, a bright, professional smile blooming effortlessly across her face. "I do. It's quite alright, really!"

She took the container with polite grace. Twelve minutes. She could easily work with twelve minutes. In fact, over the last four years, she had become extraordinarily adept at thriving on very little time.

Her world had changed beyond recognition since middle school. The girl who had once dyed her hair green and worn the name Kaede Kayano had vanished from public knowledge. Akari preferred it that way. She had folded that persona up and tucked it away into a forgotten drawer. The name existed in faded school registries and old photographs, but it belonged to a role she no longer needed to perform to survive.

Now, she was simply Akari Yukimura. A working actress. A successful one, if the magazines and billboards lining Shibuya were anything to go by.

Her breakout drama had become an overnight phenomenon. A subsequent period film had solidified her standing, earning her critical praise that still felt surreal to read in morning papers. People recognized her on trains if she forgot her cap. People recognized her voice even faster.

Her schedule, however, was merciless. There were always new scripts to memorize, fittings to attend, and directors waiting for her to step onto a taped mark. Yet she never resented it. She adored acting. She loved the thrilling alchemy of sliding into another person's skin, making an entire soundstage believe in an illusion simply because she willed it to be real.

The only consequence was the quiet narrowing of her personal life. Non-essential things were shelved. Acquaintances fell away. And in the silent spaces between takes, her mind invariably drifted toward the one person she had never quite managed to tuck away like an old script.

Nagisa.

The thought of him surfaced as naturally as drawing breath.

She had kept tabs on him from a careful distance. She knew he had become a teacher. Little updates filtered through their old classmates during rare phone calls. She saw his name pop up occasionally in their ancient class chat, and once, during a loudspeaker call with Sugino, she had heard his voice. That soft, breathy cadence, still pitched higher than most men's, had settled into her chest like a physical warmth.

Nagisa had found his purpose. He was building his ordinary, peaceful life, and Akari respected that far too much to intrude with the messy baggage of an actress's chaotic schedule. So she had stayed away.

Mostly.

Whenever she passed a middle school during an on-location shoot, she wondered. Whenever someone laughed a certain way in a crowded café, her head turned. Years could change a person's features, but she suspected that rule would not apply to Nagisa Shiota. His silhouette was etched into her memory, right alongside the taste of blood, fire, and the gentle touch that had saved her life.

She had loved him for years. The realization did not carry any sharp shame anymore; it was simply a permanent fixture of her soul, like the faint scars on her neck that makeup covered each morning.

"Akari?"

She blinked, coming back to the bright dressing room. Her manager was looking at her with furrowed brows. "You stopped eating."

"Oh." Akari glanced down at her half-eaten bento, a tiny flush touching her cheeks. She quickly picked up her chopsticks. "Sorry! So sorry. I was simply... lost in my thoughts for a moment."

"Thinking about the next scene?"

Akari smiled softly. "Nothing important."

It was a lie, of course. They both probably knew it.

---

That evening, the soft sizzle of onions in a skillet filled Nagisa's small apartment. He was halfway through preparing a modest dinner when his smartphone chimed against the counter.

He slid the pan off the heat, wiped his hands on an apron, and tapped the glowing screen.

It was a notification from the old Class 3-E group chat.

Reunion☆☆☆

Nagisa raised his brows. It seemed someone had finally taken the initiative to corral their scattered lives together. Swiping through, he watched the messages flood the thread in real time.

Terasaka was already loudly complaining about the izakaya Kurahashi had picked, while Hara firmly argued that the food there was magnificent. Yada chimed in, asserting that everyone had to come—except Okajima, unless he swore on his life not to bring a camera.

A fond smile curved Nagisa's lips. The banter had barely changed. Even across years of adulthood, the rhythm of their voices echoed effortlessly through the text.

Then, his thumb paused over the glass.

Akari Yukimura.

Her profile icon was still a round, cartoon pudding.

Nagisa stared at it. A peculiar, gentle thrum settled into his ribs. He could not remember the last time they had exchanged more than brief holiday greetings. Life had simply rushed forward; months had blended into years, each of them caught in the momentum of their chosen crafts.

He thought of her face—not the glamorous billboards he occasionally walked past on his way to the station, but the girl who used to sit beside him, whispering conspiratorially behind a textbook.

Without second-guessing himself, Nagisa tapped the keyboard.

Nagisa: I'll be there. Hopefully, I won't be distracted by late assignments. Hello to all of you! ♡

Across town, waiting in the wings of a studio soundstage while the lighting crew adjusted a boom mic, Akari's phone vibrated against her thigh. She slipped it out quietly.

The reunion chat had been hovering on her screen for the past twenty minutes. She had drafted and deleted three different responses, unsure how to sound casual without sounding detached.

Then a fresh message popped up at the bottom of the feed.

Nagisa: I'll be there.

Akari's breath caught. She stared at the little heart at the end of his greeting. Before she could even exhale, the chat scrolled violently as Hinata Okano jumped in.

Hinata: Hey, Nagisa-sensei! I was actually wondering if you were up for any drinks at the reunion. Everyone wants to act too good to get drunk, aside from me and Yoshida, apparently.

Nagisa: I suppose I could let loose a bit, if you really need me to...?

Hinata: Really?! Don't act so hesitant, Nagisa, we all know you absolutely adore your booze to an extent www

Nagisa: That is true...!!

Akari’s lips parted. A soft, breathless giggle slipped past her throat.

Nagisa... letting loose?

The mental image of him, cheeks flushed pink from sweet plum wine or cold draft beer, wearing one of those soft knit sweaters he always favored, was dangerously vivid. She leaned her forehead against her arm, hiding a broad, giddy smile from the crew.

"Effortlessly handsome... I can't wait," she whispered to the empty space between set flats. "Do I get drunk with him, or stay sober to watch over him? Hehe... I wonder how high his tolerance is now..."

"Yukimura-san?"

Akari straightened up immediately, sliding the phone into her skirt pocket as the assistant director approached with a clipboard.

"We're ready for your close-up," the woman said.

Akari smoothed her hair, her eyes alight with an energy that had nothing to do with the script. "Thank you. I'm ready now."

---

The Friday night of the reunion arrived with a light, cool drizzle that washed the Tokyo pavement in neon reflections.

The chosen venue was a private dining room in a traditional, slightly upscale izakaya near Shinjuku. Nagisa arrived ten minutes early, shaking off his umbrella at the door. He wore a cream-colored turtleneck beneath a tailored slate coat, his hair pulled back into a small, neat tail at the nape of his neck.

"Nagisa!"

He barely had time to slide his shoes into the wooden cubby before Sugino slapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

"You haven't grown an inch, you bastard!" Sugino laughed, looking broad-shouldered and sharp in a baseball club track jacket.

"Good to see you too, Sugino-kun," Nagisa wheezed, smiling warmly as he stepped up onto the tatami mats.

Within minutes, the room was a chaotic storm of laughter and clinking glasses. Isogai was already pouring tea for the early arrivals, Maehara was showing off photos from his advertising firm, and Hinata was true to her word, immediately sliding a frosted glass of draft beer into Nagisa’s hands.

"Drink up, Sensei," she teased, grinning widely. "You promised!"

"I did," Nagisa conceded with a small laugh, taking an appreciative sip. The crisp bitterness was welcome after a long week of grading.

The sliding screen door at the front of the room rattled open again.

The chatter did not die completely, but it dipped noticeably as several heads turned.

Standing in the doorway, brushing a few stray droplets of rain from the lapel of an elegant camel-wool coat, was Akari.

She wore her dark hair down, cascading past her shoulders in soft, glossy waves. Beneath the coat was an emerald-green blouse that brought out the warmth in her hazel eyes. She wore minimal makeup, yet there was an undeniable poise in how she stood—a natural grace forged under thousands of camera lenses.

Nagisa froze with his glass halfway to his lips.

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to blur at the edges. She wasn't Kaede Kayano anymore; she was entirely Akari Yukimura, radiant and grown. Yet, as her eyes swept across the room and landed directly on him, the polished celebrity veneer vanished in an instant.

Her face brightened with a pure, unrestrained warmth.

"Nagisa," she breathed, her voice cutting through the ambient hum of the restaurant like a chime.

Nagisa set his drink down on the low wooden table, his fingers tingling faintly. A quiet spark, bright and sudden, ignited behind his ribs.

"Akari," he said softly, rising to his feet with an easy, welcoming smile. "You made it."

She stepped onto the tatami, her eyes never leaving his as she closed the distance between them. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."