It was raining.

Not the kind that demanded umbrellas, but the soft, steady kind that made the world feel slower. You stood under the awning outside the dorm, watching the droplets gather on the pavement like tiny stars.

Makoto stood beside you.

He hadn’t said a word since joining you. Just slipped into the space at your side, hands in his pockets, eyes on the sky.

You didn’t mind.

With Makoto, silence never felt empty.

After a while, you spoke. “Do you ever wonder what we’ll be like after all this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his head slightly, as if listening to the rain.

Then: “Sometimes.”

You glanced at him. “And?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think I’m supposed to.”

You smiled, a little sad. “That’s not very comforting.”

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And in that moment, something shifted. His expression didn’t change much—but his eyes softened, like he was seeing you not just as you were, but as you could be. As you might be, if the world let you both live long enough.

“I think,” he said quietly, “if you’re there… it won’t be so bad.”

Your breath caught.

He looked away again, as if the words had cost him something.

But he stayed.

And in the hush of the rain, with the world held at bay, you realized something:

Makoto didn’t need to say much.

He just needed to stay.