The streets were quiet, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows that stretched and shifted with every step you took beside Daichi. Your dad had another late meeting, leaving you without a ride home. It was unusual—he rarely let you out of his careful watch—but tonight, Daichi had stepped in without a second thought.

“I don’t mind,” he’d said earlier, when you hesitated to ask. His voice had been steady, matter-of-fact, with that warmth he carried so naturally. “I want to make sure you get home safe.”

Now, the two of you walked in an easy rhythm, the steady scuff of shoes on pavement filling the silence between you. The cool evening air brushed against your skin, carrying the faint scent of rain from earlier in the day. It nipped at your cheeks and fingertips, but somehow, with Daichi beside you, the chill didn’t feel as sharp.

“You didn’t have to,” you murmured after a while, your voice quieter than you expected. You rarely sounded unsure of yourself, but the words came out softer, almost shy. “I mean… I could’ve managed.”

He turned his head just enough to glance at you, his dark eyes reflecting a hint of the streetlight. “I know you could’ve,” he said gently, his expression open and certain. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

You looked away, his words lingering like the warmth of a hand resting on your shoulder. Gratitude stirred in your chest, tangled up with something more fragile—vulnerability you weren’t used to letting anyone see. You’d always been quick with a quip, quick to brush off concern, but here was Daichi, steady and unflinching, choosing to stay by your side anyway. And it felt… nice. Strange, but nice.

By the time you reached the gate, you slowed to a stop, reluctant for the moment to end. The familiar comfort of sarcasm lingered on the tip of your tongue, ready to shield you from the quiet weight of this closeness. But tonight, something about the way Daichi’s presence settled the air between you made it harder to retreat behind your usual armor.

For once, you hesitated—caught between the instinct to deflect and the rare, disarming urge to simply stay in this warmth a little longer.