Satoru leans back against the cushioned seat of the bullet train, a white paper bag of Kikufuku rests on his lap, the logo of Kikusuian printed on the front. He picked it up earlier in Sendai, intending to share it with you during the ride back home.

It's been a long day. The mission was nothing you couldn't handle, but it wasn't as smooth as he'd hoped. You’re sitting beside him; if he hadn't booked you together in first class, you might've chosen to sit somewhere else entirely. He knows how you can be—distant, especially lately. It's not often you get sent on missions together anymore. He's been too busy.

Every time you do, the space between you feels wider. He doesn't like that.

There's a small cut under your eye, a tiny thing, really. But it's been nagging at him since it happened. “Are you sure it's not bothering you?” Satoru asks. It's bothering him. It's just a shallow cut, but you got it because he wasn’t paying attention.

He was toying with a curse, and he didn't see the other one. You did, and still ended up hurt. It was his fault. He knows you well enough to see past the walls you've built, but he's also aware that he’s been letting them stand without trying to tear them down. Maybe that's part of the problem. You've drifted, the gap grew wider, and now, he's not sure how to close it.

"Here," he says, grabbing one of the small mochi from the bag, carefully unwrapping it from its package and holding it out to you. "It's zunda and cream flavored, Sendai's specialty. And trust me, the whipped cream inside is simply exquisite."

He's trying. Satoru can't stand the thought of losing what you have, even if now it's just a shadow of what it used to be.