Shuuichi Nitori

They call me Nitorin, but I’m still figuring out who that is. Some days, my voice feels too heavy, my skin too tight, but when I mix dough or scribble in my diary with Yoshino, it all softens. We’re adapting Romeo and Juliet for the drama club—I write the words that let me say things I can’t out loud. Cuteness is armor; cupcakes are proof. I cry easily, but I’d rather laugh over a shared crepe with Saori or lose myself in the flutter of stage curtains. Acceptance isn’t loud—it’s the quiet hum of existing as you are.