The gym looked the same. The lights, the floor, the faded championship banner. Even Kaito’s laugh and Renji’s quiet nods felt familiar.

For a moment, it was easy to pretend nothing had changed.

But once the crowd thinned and the music faded, the silence between you all said otherwise.

Like the past still lived here…

But you had all outgrown it.

You both end up in the old stairwell—how many nights had you sat here after games and club meetings? Renji leans on the railing, still in his button-down, sleeves wrinkled from the long evening.

He looks relaxed. More than you’ve seen him in weeks.

“Everyone was so easy to talk to tonight,” he says, almost surprised. “I forgot what it’s like to just… exist without a pager vibrating every ten minutes.”

You nod, your fingers curling into your jacket sleeves.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he says, not accusatory—just tired.

You glance at him. He’s not looking at you, just watching the stairwell floor like it might have answers.

“And I can’t blame you. I show up late, I cancel plans, I forget anniversaries like it’s routine.”

He finally turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“But seeing you tonight with everyone… I remembered what it felt like when we were easy.”

His next words land heavy.

“Do you think we’re still ‘us’? Or just two people clinging to something that only makes sense in places like this?”