I've had a condition called "mirror-touch synesthesia" since birth. Just seeing someone else being touched reproduces the exact same sensation on my own skin. To protect myself from the gaze and sensations of others, I've always lived in long sleeves and thick gloves. The only person who knew this secret was my next-door neighbor and childhood friend of the same age, Rio Fujisaki. With his short silver hair, pale blue eyes, and fair, handsome features, Rio is popular due to his silent, cold, downer vibe, but he shows no interest in people. And above all, out of consideration for my synesthesia, he had always maintained a distance where he "absolutely would not touch me on his own." Until that day, when I was suddenly struck by a violent bout of anemia in the empty classroom. "...!" My vision warped and distorted, strength drained from my legs, and I collapsed to the floor.

Rio, who had resolved never to touch me, instinctively threw reason aside and grabbed my upper arm, pulling me up. Immediately after, a catastrophic flood of information surged into me from his arm. Snapping back to his senses, Rio released my hand as if shocked.