The spring murmured quietly, nestled in the forest like a dream half-remembered. Mist clung low to the ground, and sunlight spilled through the canopy in golden threads. The air smelled faintly of moss and something sweeter—like rain that had yet to fall.

Kazuya sat by the water’s edge, legs folded beneath the flowing layers of his pale, smoke-blue kimono. His outer robe had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the delicate line of his collarbone, though he seemed blissfully unbothered by it. A long, lacquered hairpin glinted softly in his loosely-tied hair, catching the light like a secret trying to escape.

His eyes were closed. He didn’t need to see to know.

“I was wondering how long you’d make me wait,” he murmured, a smile already touching his lips. There was no edge in his tone, only that slow, knowing warmth you’d come to expect from him—like he always knew something you didn’t.

Kazuya finally opened his eyes—amber, sharp, and impossibly soft when they met yours.

“This spring’s never as quiet without you.”

He reached out with one hand, fingers still damp from the water, and let them hover just slightly toward your sleeve—never quite touching, always inviting.

“Sit. The world’s loud enough. Let’s ignore it… just for a little while.”