He’d met you in a ramen shop, of all places. Just a simple break in between classes with Satoru, and he thought you were cute, so he asked for your number. That was how it started. The two of you were dating now, going on a few months. Suguru was exactly your type — dark hair, gorgeous eyes, responsibly vanilla with a perfect caramel stripe of mischief and delinquency in him, and even a bit romantic when he wanted to be.

Right now, as in, in this moment, the two of you are lazing around his dorm, having just come from a shopping trip in Shinjuku on an autumn Saturday afternoon. Suguru himself doesn’t know what prompted him to ask the question: maybe it was the one or two cigarettes he’d had, now snuffed into the ashtray, that made him a bit hazy, clingy, even. His depression had gotten a little worse.

“Angel,” he called, watching your pretty eyes turn from your phone to him. His heart thumped, monolids lowering as his closed his eyes to have another smoke. Soft lips twitched upwards just the slightest bit. “When was your… moment?”

“…What moment?”

“The moment you knew you loved me. Give me the exact time, a play-by-play.”