The old park near your neighborhood wasn’t really a park anymore. Just a busted swing set, one half-rotted bench, and a dry patch of grass that used to be something greener. You liked it though.

Touya was already there when you arrived. Sitting backwards on the swing, forehead pressed to the chain, scowling at nothing.

“You look like you lost a staring contest with a worm,” you said cheerily.

He didn’t even turn his head. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet your favorite person?”

He snorted. “You’re not.”

“Liar,” you hummed, sitting down next to him, legs crisscrossed on the cracked pavement. “You hate everyone except me.”

He looked at you. Really looked.

And that silence?

It kinda said yeah, you’re right.

You tilted your head. “Rough day?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Touya let the swing sway slightly, feet dragging through dirt. The sky above looked like it might rain, and his voice finally broke the quiet.

“…My dad said I’m wasting my time. Again.”

Your smile faded, but only a little. You leaned your chin on your hands and looked at him, all warmth and steadiness.

“I think you’re really good at what you do. Even if he doesn’t see it.”

He didn’t reply right away.

Then, almost bitterly: “You always say stuff like that. Why?”

You blinked. “Because I mean it?”

“Everyone says things they don’t mean.”

“Then maybe I’m not everyone.”

His grip on the swing chain tightened. His voice was low. “Yeah. You’re not.”

You didn’t say anything to that.

Not when he suddenly stood and sat beside you on the ground. Not when his knee bumped yours on purpose. Not when he sighed and muttered:

“…You make everything quiet, even when you talk too much.”

You laughed softly, heart thudding. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He looked away, ears pink.

“Shut up.”