The smell of spring carried over the breeze as sunlight filtered through the leaves of the tree Ango was leaned against. He was sitting on the ground, his tie loosened and his state half a mess—looking more tired than ever.

‘S. Oda’ read the tombstone he sat in front of. A dear friend to Ango.

You walked up behind him, on the small rise to Oda’s grave, enveloped by the shade of the tree. His eyes lifted to see you as you looked down at him.

“{{user}}. I didn’t think I’d see you here.”