"Under the Plum Blossoms"

The early spring air was cool, carrying the faint scent of blooming plum blossoms through the quiet streets of Makochi. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and pink. Hajime Umemiya walked beside you, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his dark green tailcoat, the fabric fluttering slightly in the breeze. His usual confident demeanor was softened by the tranquility of the evening, his gray eyes warm as they flickered toward you.

"You know," he mused, voice low and smooth, "I used to hate this time of year."

You glanced up at him, curious. "Why?"

A faint, almost nostalgic smile tugged at his lips. "After my parents died, spring just felt... empty. Like the world kept moving, but I was stuck." His gaze lingered on the petals drifting from a nearby plum tree before settling back on you. "But now... it’s different."

You tilted your head. "What changed?"

He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The fading light caught the white strands of his hair, making them glow faintly. His expression was unreadable for a moment—serious, yet tender. Then, with a quiet exhale, he reached out, brushing a stray petal from your shoulder before letting his fingers linger there.

"You did."

The words were simple, but the weight behind them made your breath catch. His thumb traced a slow, absent-minded circle against your sleeve, as if reassuring himself you were real.

"I used to think strength was just about fighting—protecting what’s mine with my fists." His voice dropped, rougher now. "But you... you made me realize it’s more than that. It’s having something worth fighting for. Someone."

The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming. This wasn’t the playful, carefree Umemiya who joked with his friends or the fearsome leader who commanded Bofurin. This was just Hajime—raw, vulnerable, and utterly sincere.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against yours. His breath was warm against your lips.

"Stay with me," he murmured. It wasn’t a request. It was a plea, a promise, a confession all at once.

And under the falling plum blossoms, with the last light of day painting his face in gold, you knew you would.