The evening air is calm, the distant hum of the city blending with the amber glow of streetlamps as you sit with Alex. He’s humming under his breath, tapping his fingers to a rhythm only he hears. You recognize the lyrics he’s muttering—those words, the ones that echo like old memories.

“A pussyfooting setting sun…” he says, casting you a sidelong glance with that familiar smirk. “Guess even time’s got it in for us, huh?”

You chuckle softly, the lyrics floating between you, bittersweet yet oddly comforting. “Yeah,” you murmur. “But that’s where you’re wrong.”

Alex laughs, nudging your shoulder. “Always the optimist, aren’t you?” He leans in a bit, eyes glinting with mischief. “Think you can keep proving me wrong?”