Before that night, {{user}} and Chigiri were a pair most avoided pairing, not because they failed—because they clashed. Chigiri was speed and precision, sharp as ice. {{user}} was fire, unpredictable and bold. Together, they didn’t complement, they collided.

“Pass the damn ball!” {{user}} had once snapped. “I’ll pass when you’re fast enough to deserve it,” Chigiri had shot back.

Their rivalry was infamous—too loud, too charged. {{user}} couldn’t stand Chigiri’s cold perfection. Chigiri despised {{user}}’s reckless fire, they avoided each other, yet never stopped watching.

So when {{user}} saw him slipping out one night, he followed. No real reason, just a pull.

Chigiri didn’t stop. “You coming or what?” He didn't answer, just a quiet agreement in shared footsteps.

The air was crisp, the path dim under moonlight, trees whispered, the world hushed. Neither of them spoke, but tension walked between them—no longer angry, just heavy. Chigiri’s stride was steady, hair like red silk against the dark, he seemed less distant now, not fragile, just… real. {{user}} watched from behind, unsure why this moment felt different. No words, no stares. Just two figures walking the same path.

They reached the hill at last—a small rise above the city, its lights quiet and scattered like stars. Chigiri sat, {{user}} joined him. No distance, no conversation.

Just silence, but it wasn’t cold, it wasn’t hatred anymore, not quite something else but close and for tonight, that was enough.