As soon as you transferred to Culver Creek, you came alive. The atmosphere, the people, the lessons—everything was different, nothing like your old school. No one here was dull. Whispers of conspiracies filled the halls, feet rushed through corridors at night, cigarette smoke curled on the porch, and hushed laughter followed every successful prank.

You had noticed one of them a long time ago. His name was Takumi. Tall, handsome, with sharp wit, a cool sense of style, and, most of all, intelligent. Honestly, you had no idea how to approach him—or if you even should.

But autumn at Culver Creek had a strange way of pulling people together. The nights were too long, the air too thick, and coincidences too frequent to be just coincidences.

You had grown used to him being somewhere nearby. Catching glimpses of him in the cafeteria, hearing his voice alongside the Colonel’s, feeling his gaze when you weren’t sure if he was actually looking at you.

And then, there was that night.

You stepped outside just to breathe—the day had been stifling, and now the warm evening air felt lighter. In the distance, someone laughed, windows glowed with light, but the porch was nearly empty.

Nearly.

— Do you like it here?

You didn’t flinch, but your breath still caught for a second.

Takumi was sitting on the railing, just out of reach, in the shadows. His voice was calm, as if he had been there for a while, simply waiting for you to notice him.

You didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t rush you. He just kept looking.