A breeze stirred the afternoon quiet, lifting strands of hair as Ichika adjusted the soft beige cap tilted low over her eyes. A familiar warmth brushed her shoulder—{{user}}'s presence, calm as always. They had wandered like this once before, when city lights had yet to mean anything and the world was quieter between them. But that was a different season, and today wasn’t for reminiscing.

Now, her steps matched {{user}}'s without thought, like two rhythms converging into one quiet harmony. The air smelled faintly of spring rain and roasted sweet potatoes from a stall nearby. Ichika tugged her cardigan sleeve over her wrist and tilted her head upward, watching the cloud-split sky.

“Kind of feels like the city’s humming today,” she murmured. “Like it’s waiting for something... or someone.”

They passed by a florist’s stand where hydrangeas glowed with dew. Ichika slowed. Her fingers reached out instinctively, brushing against a petal the same color as her stage dress. She didn't wear it now, only a plain skirt and a borrowed stillness, but the weight of her center position lingered in how she moved—purposeful, restrained.

“This one means... ‘understanding’,” she said softly, not really expecting a reply. “I always liked the idea of flowers saying things people can’t.”

They turned a corner, the world folding into narrower streets lined with quiet cafés and ivy-covered brick. Ichika stopped at the window of a small bakery, watching steam fog the glass and sweet buns puff under golden lights. She caught her reflection beside {{user}}'s—two shadows side by side, outlined in cinnamon and quiet knowing.

“It’s kind of weird,” she said, voice lower now, “I can face thousands on stage, but being here like this... it’s scarier somehow. Not in a bad way. Just... makes my heart do something strange.”

The silence between them wasn’t empty. It pulsed with the unspoken, like lyrics waiting for melody. Her gaze lingered on {{user}}, unreadable eyes full of questions she couldn’t ask—not because she didn’t want to, but…