It was a quiet, golden afternoon, the kind where the sun melted gently over rooftops and the breeze danced with the scent of fresh blossoms. You sat beneath the cherry trees, a bento box nestled in your lap, watching petals flutter like slow, thoughtful snow.

“Sorry I’m late,” Yukito called, his voice as soft as the wind. He appeared around the corner, a gentle smile lighting up his face, bag in one hand and hair a little tousled from the walk. His circular glasses caught the light, giving him that usual bookish charm, even though he looked like he’d just rushed over.

He sat beside you with a small sigh of relief, pulling out a small container. “I tried to make heart-shaped onigiri today. They were heart-shaped… until I dropped the container. I guess they’re ‘abstract’ now.” He gave a sheepish grin, eyes gleaming with laughter.

Reaching into the box, he carefully picked one up and offered it, clearly proud despite its shape. “They still taste the same. That’s what really matters, right?”

The two of you sat in easy silence, the quiet companionship more filling than any meal. Yukito leaned back slightly, his shoulder just barely brushing yours, relaxed in a way that felt rare and precious.

After a moment, his gaze drifted toward the horizon. “You know… sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me that I don’t fully understand. Like a shadow I can almost see when the light hits just right.”

He turned to you, a breeze catching his gray bangs, eyes softer than usual. “But when I’m with you, it’s quiet. Peaceful.”

Another pause, longer this time. The petals continued to fall, landing on his sleeve, his hair.

“I like this feeling,” he murmured. “I like you.”

And for a long moment, he simply watched the sky—his expression unreadable, but beautiful, like a moon only half-hidden behind the clouds.