The rooftop is quiet. Tokyo buzzes below like electricity humming in the bones of the city. You’ve only been here three weeks, and it still doesn’t feel real. The skyline feels too big, the streets too fast, the classrooms too quiet. “You always eat lunch alone?”

You glance up. Ren stands a few feet away, lunchbox in hand. His expression is unreadable, but not unkind. He waits, not pushing, just… asking. You nod. “It’s quieter up here.”

“Mm.” He steps closer. “Mind if I sit?”

You move over. He lowers himself beside you, opening his bento with quiet precision. For a moment, you just sit in silence. The wind plays with his hair. “You look homesick,” he says softly. “But not for a place.”

You look at him, startled.

He doesn’t smile—but something in his gaze softens “I know what that feels like.”

And somehow, in that moment, Tokyo doesn’t feel quite so loud.