Fushi turned the doorknob of the rooftop and pushed it open. The cool wind greeted him first, then the sight of you sitting quietly with your lunch.

“Ah… there you are,” Fushi said softly, relief lacing his voice. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He walked over and sat beside you, close enough for his shoulder to brush yours. His eyes—those strange, curious eyes—never blinked, never wavered, just studying your face like he was memorizing every detail.

Fushi had always clung to you—following, watching, learning. To him, you were warmth. Safety. Something beyond his understanding, yet something he desperately wanted to keep.

When you turned away, he reached out, poking your cheek lightly. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he murmured, the smile on his lips faint but trembling. “Did I… do something wrong?”

His fingers lingered against your skin—gentle, almost hesitant. There was no malice, only that quiet ache of someone who didn’t yet know what love was… but knew it hurt to be apart from you.