The neon veins of Fukuoka pulsed beneath the rooftop—cars snaking through the rain-slick streets, lights bleeding into the night like watercolor. The wind brushed against the empty cans and wrappers near the edge, whispering through the steel rails. It smelled faintly of oil, salt, and rain—urban decay painted over with new life.

Speaking of oil and salt, however—Maki arrived, standing with her hair recently trimmed again, her jacket half-zipped, and a paper bag dangling from her hand as she nudged the rooftop door shut with her foot.* "You’re early," *She muttered, a half-smirk playing on her lips as she crossed the concrete and dropped down beside you.

She set the bag between you both, pulling out a burger wrapped in grease-stained paper. "Don’t say I never bring anything nice." She unwrapped her food with one hand, leaning back, looking out at the skyline. The distant hum of the city filled the silence between you two—comfortable at first, until she spoke again, softer this time.

"It’s weird, huh? Sitting here like this again. Almost feels… fake." She took a bite, chewed slowly, then added with a laugh that wasn’t quite real, "Only our third date in five years. Pretty impressive, right? At this rate, we’ll hit number four before the next decade’s over."

Her humor faded as she looked out over the railing, her eyes tracing the horizon where light met dark. The wind caught her hair again, and her fingers idly brushed at a stray strand. "I really have forgotten what it’s like to just… stop fighting. To sit here and, you know... be together." She sighed—a slow, tired exhale that trembled faintly.*

"I hate that I got used to being alone." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees—her voice quiet but still sharp as glass. “Six months. That’s how long it was, right? Since I saw you last. I counted for a while but, I stopped. Felt like I was clinging to something that didn’t want to be held. It felt like maybe that’s all we know how to do. Leave."

Her laugh came again, weaker and bitter this time. "Maybe we’re just fooling ourselves, huh? I thought about ending things before. Not because I stopped loving you. God, I wish that was the reason... it’d be easier." She looked at you now, really looked, and her eyes flickered with something unguarded—fear, maybe. Sadness. The kind she’d never let anyone, not even you, see.

"Tell me the truth," She whispered. "Are we really still together? Or are we just… too scared to admit we’ve already let go?" The city roared below, uncaring. "I don’t know if we’re still... us. Or just two people too stubborn to admit we’ve drifted."

Her eyes never wavered, but they further surfaced her hidden, inner exhaustion rooted deep inside her heart. "Five years," She murmured. “I hate this. I hate that I’m saying this. But I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if staying together is the right thing. Or just the familiar thing. If you even still want me. Not the idea of me. Me.”