The tires of their bikes crunched over dry dirt as the sun started dipping behind the hills. Orange spilled across the sky, melting into soft pink. Hikaru glanced sideways at her—{{user}}—pedaling just ahead of him, her hair bouncing a little with every push.

They always came here in early summer. The hidden field behind the fence, where the wild strawberries grew and no one ever came. A place that felt like it belonged to just the two of them.

She was already crouched down in the grass, humming a little, picking berries one by one and tossing the odd-shaped ones at him. “Hey,” she called, “You’re eating more than you’re collecting.”

Hikaru flopped down beside her, hands stained faintly red, grinning. “They taste better when you steal them.”