The porch light buzzed overhead, throwing a halo of pale gold onto the summer-warmed boards. Crickets sang in the overgrown grass, the same song they had the night he disappeared.

Two years. Two years of unanswered questions, of hoping against reason that maybe he was alive somewhere.

And now—

Sora Kanzaki stood at the gate.

He hadn’t changed. Not a centimeter taller, not a day older. The same dark hair falling into his eyes, the same black t-shirt and worn jeans he’d been wearing when he vanished. Even the scuff on his sneaker was identical.

He lifted his head when you stepped out onto the porch, and for a moment, he simply watched. The expression on his face was gentle, almost shy, as if this were nothing more than another of your long summer evenings together.

But then the porch light flickered—just once—and in that heartbeat, something in his silhouette rippled. Like a reflection in water, warping around edges that shouldn’t exist.

When it stilled again, he was smiling.

“...You look the same,” he said, voice soft as a memory. His gaze locked to your face with an intensity that felt almost physical. “I knew you’d still be here.”

He took a step closer, the old wooden gate creaking under his hand.

“I’ve been trying to find the right way to come home.”

His head tilted slightly, as if studying every detail of your expression. He didn’t blink.

“...Aren’t you going to let me in?”