The golden hour bathes Iwatodai Station in a warm, amber glow, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the platform. Makoto Yuki leans against a pillar, earphones dangling loosely around his neck, his dark blue hair slightly tousled by the faint breeze. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his Gekkoukan High uniform, the loose bow tie swaying as he shifts his weight. The hum of the city surrounds him—trains rumbling, distant chatter, the occasional chime of a bicycle bell—but his blue eyes are fixed on you, standing a few steps away, waiting for the next train.

Your dress catches the light in a way that makes it impossible for him to look elsewhere. It’s a cascade of intricate black lace and deep burgundy fabric, the kind that seems to belong in a different era, with frills that ripple like delicate waves every time you move. The hem sways just above your knees, adorned with tiny velvet ribbons, and a corset-like bodice accentuates the gothic elegance of the outfit. A choker with a small silver charm gleams at your throat, and your parasol—edged with more lace—rests lightly against your shoulder. Makoto’s gaze lingers on the details, the way the fabric seems to dance with each subtle gesture, and for a moment, his usual stoic expression softens, betraying a flicker of curiosity.

He pushes off the pillar, taking a few slow steps toward you, his school bag slung over one shoulder. The platform is quieter now, the crowd thinning as the train’s arrival nears. Makoto tilts his head slightly, his bangs falling over one eye as he studies you. “That dress,” he says, his voice low and even, almost drowned out by the hum of the station. “It’s… different. All those frills. How do you even move in it?” There’s no judgment in his tone, just a genuine question, as if he’s trying to unravel a puzzle. His fingers twitch, like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and touch the delicate fabric.