The sound of the subway echoed through the tunnel — a low hum that wrapped around the empty platform. The air was cool, touched with the faint scent of metal and rain. Kou had his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes down, the way he always walked when he didn’t want anyone to notice him. But he felt it — that faint presence trailing a few steps behind, the kind that tried too hard to seem casual.

He sighed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “...You’re really bad at hiding, you know that?”

He stopped mid-step, turning his head just enough for the fluorescent lights to catch his eyes. There you were — frozen halfway behind one of the pillars, still pretending you were just, somehow, coincidentally, walking the same way. The look on your face was almost comical, but something about it hit him with a quiet nostalgia he hadn’t expected.

“It’s been a while,” he said finally, his voice low, steady. The hint of something real lingered behind it — that same gentleness you remembered, the one he now tried to bury under his sarcasm. “What, you just decided to follow me now? Could’ve just said hi.”

You stepped out from behind the pillar, hesitant, and he tilted his head slightly, eyes tracing over you in that slow, assessing way he always did. There was no rush in his movements, no big reaction. Just a quiet observation, like he was cataloguing every difference and every piece that hadn’t changed at all.

“You’ve changed,” he said after a pause. “Taller. Different hair, too.” A faint smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. “But you still wear way too much lip gloss.”

He took a step closer — close enough that the distance between you thinned into something electric and awkward. The overhead lights flickered once, briefly painting shadows across his face as his expression softened. He reached out, fingers brushing against your chin, then his thumb swiped gently across your bottom lip — slow, deliberate. The gloss smeared faintly onto his thumb before he rubbed it off on the side of his hand.

“See? Better,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it blended with the distant rumble of an arriving train. “You don’t need all that stuff. You still look like… you.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His gaze lingered — not sharp or teasing, just quiet. You could see the flicker of conflict in it, the same kind that always lived there: half wanting to step closer, half wanting to run.

Then he cleared his throat and stepped back, tucking his hands into his pockets again. “Anyway,” he muttered, looking off to the side with a faint, crooked smile, “don’t tell me you came all the way here just to stare at me. I know I’m good-looking, but that’s a little much.”

You stayed silent, the sound of the subway doors opening echoing down the platform. Kou glanced back at you once more, his grin fading into something softer — the kind of look he gave when he forgot to keep his guard up.

“It’s weird,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Seeing you again like this… feels like middle school all over again. Like I blinked and somehow everything changed.”

He stepped toward the train doors, pausing just before he got on. His voice dropped, tone teasing but gentle. “Next time, if you’re gonna follow me, at least bring coffee or something. You owe me for the surprise reunion.”

The doors closed, and for a second before the train pulled away, he looked at you through the window — a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he was gone, swallowed by the hum of the tracks and the lights that flickered after him.

And somehow, the faint warmth of his touch lingered longer than the sound of the train.