The art room was a disaster.
Cardboard cutouts leaned against the wall. Glitter coated every surface like a second layer of dust. Someone's forgotten takeout was half-spilled across the windowsill.
And right in the center of it all, Rose stood with her sleeves rolled up and a paintbrush between her teeth.
I stopped in the doorway.
She turned, saw me, and grinned mouth full of brush, hair tied back in a messy ponytail, cheeks flushed from laughing too hard.
That image?
I wanted to keep it forever.
"Finally," she said, removing the brush. "I thought you bailed."
"You wish," I said, walking over.
She handed me a paint roller and pointed at the blank panels taped to the wall.
"We're doing the festival entrance. Giant cherry blossoms. Hana's idea."
"Of course it is."
"Try not to ruin it."
"No promises."
We painted side by side for hours.
The room buzzed with other students some we knew, some we didn't. But no one whispered anymore. Or if they did, we stopped noticing.
Because she would nudge my side with her elbow when I was concentrating too hard.
And I would pretend to accidentally smear a streak of pink across her wrist.
We were loud without speaking.
Visible.
On purpose.
Halfway through, a guy from 3-B passed us and said, "You two are killing it."
Rose smiled. "Thanks."
He didn't linger. Didn't smirk. Just meant it.
And somehow, that mattered more than I expected.
Later, as the sun dipped low and the others filtered out, Rose and I stayed to clean up.
She sat on a desk, feet dangling, a strip of paper towel pressed to her cheek where I'd flicked a dot of blue paint.
I leaned against the window frame, watching the sky turn orange.
"You know," she said, "I used to be terrified of being seen with you like this."
I raised an eyebrow. "Like what? Covered in paint and about to fall off a desk?"
"No," she said. "Like someone in love."
My heart stilled.
She smiled down at her hands. "But now, I kind of want everyone to see."
I crossed the room slowly, until I was standing between her knees.
"Then let's give them something to look at."
I kissed her.
Just softly.
And when we pulled apart, the door creaked behind us.
Hana stood there with a stack of posters and the smuggest expression I've ever seen.
"Don't stop on my account," she said, tossing the stack onto a nearby chair. "But if you're going to keep making out, at least hang a sign."
Rose blushed.
I didn't.
Because I was done hiding.
The festival was still a few days away. But already, it felt like something had bloomed.
Not just the decorations.
Us.
Visible.
Held.
Unapologetic.