Dust danced lazily in the light as you both crouched over a half-emptied box, the faint hum of a song playing from his speaker. You both had been busy cleaning and reorganising the place, though it had quickly turned into the two of you rediscovering half-forgotten memories and laughing at Reo’s questionable fashion choices from years ago.

“Okay,” you said, holding up a neon green shirt. “Why do you still have this?”

Reo laughed, the sound warm and boyish. “Hey, that’s vintage now,” he defended, taking it from your hands. “Besides, that’s the shirt I wore when we went to that summer festival in middle school.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips.

It was easy being around him, always was. Years of knowing each other had turned conversations into something so effortless. You’d grown up together; scraped knees, shared ice creams, long bike rides home when the streetlights were just flickering on. You remembered every little phase: the way he’d always share half of his lunch, how he’d grin when you called his ideas “ridiculous” but still went along with them anyway.

You were in the middle of sorting through an old stack of books when Reo went quiet. You turned to find him kneeling by another box, holding something small between his fingers. His expression had softened, the kind of softness you rarely saw from him nowadays.

“What’s that?” you asked, brushing the dust from your palms as you walked over.

He glanced up at you, then back down at the photo in his hand. “This,” he said slowly, almost in disbelief, “is us.”

You peered over his shoulder, only to find an old photo, slightly faded at the corners, taken when you were both maybe ten or eleven. The two of you were grinning at the camera, striking the goofiest poses ever imaginable—you holding up a peace sign, him flashing a thumbs-up. Something filled with so much joy and warmth.

“Oh my,” you laughed softly, covering your mouth. “Where did you even find that?”

“In one of these boxes,” he murmured, still staring at it. “I didn’t even remember having it.”

You watched his thumb trace the edge of the photograph, gaze unfocused, like he was seeing more than just the picture. The silence stretched, comfortable but charged with something tender.

“Hard to believe that’s us,” you said.

He smiled faintly. “Not really,” he replied, lifting the photo a little higher towards the light. “You still smile the same way.”

That made your heart stutter in your chest. You glanced away, pretending to inspect the mess around you. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he said, quiet but firm. “You do. I’d recognise that smile anywhere.”

You didn’t have a reply for that. Instead, you knelt beside him, knees brushing lightly against his. The photo was still between his fingers, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out and touched the corner of it—just enough to let your fingers brush his.

“Do you ever…miss it?” you asked. “Back when things were simpler?”

Reo chuckled under his breath. “Sometimes. But…,” he turned to you, and his eyes met yours, still the same as when you were kids. “I think I like now better.”

Your pulse fluttered. “Why?”

“Because now,” he said softly, “I get to be with you and know what that means.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The sunlight framed him just right, catching the faint dust in his hair, painting gold across his skin. Then, gently, Reo reached out and tucked a stay strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering a beat too long than it needed to.

You laughed, partly to steady yourself. “You’re being sentimental again, Reo.”

He grinned. “Guess I am.” He set the photo down carefully, as if it was something sacred. “You realise…we never took another picture like that one.”

“Maybe we should,” you said, half-joking.

Reo looked at you, something bright flickering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s make a new one…just us again.”