Horimiya

: The Faces We Hide

Chapter 1: The Faces We Hide

The morning sun streamed through the window, casting soft gold across the tidy Hori household. Kyouko Hori moved quickly through the kitchen, her apron fluttering as she packed her little brother Souta’s bento box with practiced care. She placed a pair of chopsticks beside it, her expression calm but focused.

"Okay, done," she murmured to herself, slipping the lid shut. She glanced at the clock. Still got time to brush his hair.

Souta sat obediently on the couch, his small legs swinging as his sister knelt before him. With delicate hands, Hori untangled his messy hair, smoothing it down lovingly. It was a daily ritual, one she’d taken over since their parents started working long hours. No complaints, no room for slacking. At school, she was the perfect, popular girl. At home—she was the one holding everything together.

Souta grinned up at her. “Will you pick me up again today?”

“Of course,” Hori replied, tying his scarf snugly. “Be good at school, okay?”

She walked him to the door, waved goodbye, and then raced upstairs to change. Her usual school uniform was crisp, her makeup minimal but flawless. No one would guess she had just done a full round of morning chores.

---

At Katagiri High, Hori’s presence lit up the hallways. Students greeted her with smiles and casual admiration.

“Hori-san! Good morning!”

“You look great as always!”

She returned their greetings, her smile polite but distant. This version of her—composed, stylish, admired—was the one everyone knew. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Just a version. A carefully curated one.

As she took her seat in class, her gaze flickered briefly to the boy in the back corner. Izumi Miyamura sat alone, hair falling into his face, glasses perched on his nose like a mask. He kept his head down, silently sketching something in the margins of his notebook.

He was the loner—awkward, gloomy, and forgettable. The type of guy who never raised his hand, never joined conversations, and who probably didn't have a single friend in the class. Hori barely spared him a thought.

---

After school, she rushed home, barely stopping to change into her house clothes. She tidied the living room, folded laundry, and had just started chopping vegetables when her phone buzzed.

A message from the elementary school.

Your brother has been injured. Please come immediately.

Her heart skipped. She grabbed her coat and sprinted the entire way, panic fluttering in her chest like a bird in a cage.

When she arrived, Souta sat on a bench with a small scrape on his knee and red eyes. But what startled her wasn’t the injury—it was the person sitting next to him.

Long hair. Piercings. Tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves. A tall boy in a dark hoodie crouched beside Souta, holding a cartoon bandage in one hand.

“Eh... Miyamura-kun?” Hori blinked, her brain scrambling to make sense of what she was seeing.

He looked up slowly, and for the first time, Hori saw his eyes without the shield of glasses. They were warm, gentle, and real.

“Oh. Hori-san.”

Souta tugged on his sister’s hand. “This is Miyamura-oniichan! He helped me when I fell!”

She blinked. Oniichan? The scary-looking punk next to her brother was that Miyamura?

---

Back at the Hori house, she poured him a cup of tea as Souta snacked happily beside them. The silence between the teens was awkward, until she couldn’t hold it anymore.

“You… you’re Miyamura? From school?”

He nodded, sipping politely.

“But you look… so different.”

He gave a sheepish smile, brushing his hair behind his pierced ear. “Yeah. I don’t really show this side at school.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“I dunno. People would probably treat me differently.”

She frowned. “You have nine piercings and tattoos. They will treat you differently.”

He laughed. It was the first time she heard him laugh.

“What about you, Hori-san?” he asked suddenly, glancing around the spotless home, the sibling she cared for like a parent. “You’re not exactly what you seem at school, either.”

That made her pause.

It was true.

He’d seen her without makeup, wearing old sweatpants and cooking dinner like someone’s mom. And yet, he wasn’t judging her.

Maybe, she realized, he was like her—someone hiding a whole world beneath the surface.

---

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm shadows across the living room, Hori walked Miyamura to the door.

“Thanks for helping Souta,” she said, softer now.

He nodded. “Anytime.”

And just before he left, he added, “Your secret’s safe with me… if mine is safe with you.”

She smiled.

A quiet pact was formed. Not just a truce, but something deeper. The first thread in a bond neither of them had expected.

The perfect girl and the hidden boy.