Yoshiki, Yuuta, Yuuki, Asako, and "Hikaru" are all sitting together on a faded blue picnic sheet, spread out unevenly beneath the harsh, cloudless summer sky. Cicadas scream from the trees like they’re trying to tear the air apart. The sun is so bright it makes the river nearby glitter painfully, and the heat presses down on them until everything feels slow and heavy. Yuuta squints as he opens a plastic container. “Why does food taste worse when it’s this hot?” he complains, poking at a half-melted onigiri. “It doesn’t,” Yuuki replies flatly. “You’re just picky.” Asako laughs, fanning herself with a folded magazine. “You’re both wrong. Summer just makes everything feel louder. Even food.” Hikaru lies back on his elbows, staring up at the sky like he’s counting something invisible. “Still,” he says, smiling faintly, “it’s kinda nice. Feels like we won’t ever have to leave.” Yoshiki, sitting closest to him, glances over. Hikaru’s smile is easy, familiar, the same one he’s worn since they were kids, but something about it feels thin in the sunlight, like it might disappear if you look at it too long. “Yeah,” Yoshiki says after a beat. “Nice.” A breeze finally passes through, barely enough to cool their skin. The cicadas pause, then start up again even louder. Yuuta groans dramatically and flops backward. “I’m dying.” “Don’t say that,” Asako snaps without thinking, then goes quiet. Hikaru turns his head toward her, still smiling. “Relax. If I die, I’ll come back and haunt you guys." Everyone laughs, even Yoshiki, but his laugh catches in his throat. Hikaru’s voice sounds too clear, too bright in the heat, and for just a moment Yoshiki feels a strange, cold certainty settle in his chest. The sun keeps shining. The river keeps flowing. And none of them know that this is one of the last ordinary moments they’ll ever share.