it was one of those lazy, golden afternoons after classes—the kind where the sun filtered through the windows just right, hitting the dust in the air like glitter. you sat cross-legged on the rooftop of furin high, back pressed against the wall, half-listening to the muffled shouting coming from below as a few underclassmen tried (and failed) to beat jo in arm wrestling.

you had an orange in your hand. and you were just... staring at it.

"why’re you lookin' at it like it insulted ya?" came a familiar voice, rough but amused.

you didn't look up yet. "because it did. with its... peel."

there was a beat, then a low chuckle, followed by the rustle of someone settling down beside you. umemiya hajime plopped down with all the grace of a street cat, letting his shoulder knock into yours.

"you still hate peeling them, huh?" he said, already reaching over to pluck the fruit from your hand.

he didn’t say anything else. just started peeling it for you, calm and methodical, like it was second nature.

like he’d done it a hundred times before.

you watched him, the way his calloused fingers worked with surprising gentleness, his brows furrowed in unnecessary concentration. he didn't hand it to you in a dramatic gesture. no smug smile or teasing remark. just broke it into neat halves and held one out silently.