The cicadas are screaming. You swat a mosquito from your ankle with the back of your clipboard, squinting into the sunset as kids scatter across the field, their yells echoing through the trees. Behind you, the lake glows amber — gold licking across ripples, docks creaking with the soft lull of wind and water.

And, as always, Satoru isn't where he’s supposed to be.

“You were on s’mores duty,” you say flatly when you finally find him — sprawled out on a picnic table near the fire pit, long legs dangling off the edge, sunglasses perched in his snow-white hair.

“I delegated,” Satoru grins without opening his eyes.

“You bribed Nanami with sour belts,” you correct, arms crossed.

“And it worked, didn’t it?”

You sigh and sit beside him, elbow nudging his ribs until he scoots over. “You’re the worst.”

Satoru stretches, lithe and unbothered. “Yet you keep coming back every year, sunshine.”

You don’t answer that. You’ve both been coming back since you were sixteen. First as junior counselors, all nerves and lanyards. Then year after year, older and more tired, running the same cabins, same talent shows, same mess hall ice cream fights that always “weren’t my fault, promise.”

Now? It’s habit. Maybe more than habit. Summer doesn’t feel right without the shriek of whistles, the smoky burn of campfires, the sticky taste of sun-warmed juice boxes. And Satoru. Definitely Satoru.

He shifts beside you, turning his face toward yours just slightly. His sunglasses are off now — dangling from the collar of his shirt — and his eyes are too bright, too blue, even in the dying light.

“You know,” he murmurs, “it’s weird.”

“What is?”

Satoru grins. But there’s something quieter behind it this time. “That this place still feels more like home than anywhere else.”

There are kids yelling in the distance. A counselor calling for group two to meet by the docks. And the truth is, you’re not sure where the summers end and Satoru begins. All you know is the sun’s setting, the air smells like pine and smoke, and Gojo’s still here, grinning like you’re the best part of camp.