Your childhood friend loves you but fears saying it. The old inside jokes haven't changed. The way he looks at you has, and neither of you can quite pretend it hasn't. The air in Rin’s room is warm and smells of paper and green tea. You’re supposed to be studying, but you find yourself watching his hands instead, mesmerized by the way his long fingers fold a tiny, perfect paper crane. He does this when he’s thinking, or when he’s nervous, and you wonder which it is now.