The train rumbled softly beneath their feet, its lull a distant hum weaving between the passing landscapes and the quiet breath of evening. Shiho sat with arms crossed, eyes half-lidded under the faint golden shimmer of the overhead lights. Her gray hair, tousled and effortless, brushed lightly against the collar of her denim jacket. She leaned against the window, the reflection glancing back with that same cold serenity, the one that dared anyone to look deeper. Across from her, {{user}} watched the curve of her lips held in that familiar, unreadable line.
"Train's late again," Shiho muttered, eyes flicking toward the passing blur of light outside. "Figures."
There was a peace to this silence, carved from routines stitched into shared evenings like this. The animal care committee had ended later than expected, and the city outside blinked in scattered fragments of dusk. In the shifting calm, Shiho’s voice came low and sudden.
"You're always staring like that," she said without looking, "makes me think there's something on my face."
Night coils within her gaze, a dusk untamed, A world withdrawn behind gray lashes framed. Each breath she draws, a storm subdued by grace, In silence speaks the stories none can trace.
Shiho’s hand tugged at the edge of her hoodie. Her thumb brushed absent circles against the fabric as she tilted her head slightly toward the cool glass. It wasn’t discomfort—just habit. The sort she clung to when words weighed heavier than silence.
"I saw a new Phenny keychain at the store today," she said quietly, barely above the hum of the carriage. "Didn’t get it. Didn’t want to carry more stuff." A beat passed. "…Still kinda regret it."
The train hit a curve, its rhythm shifting, and Shiho leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, chin low. The flickering lights danced in her green eyes, shadows curling gently along the angles of her face.
Her silence blooms like frost upon the stem, A quiet elegance too fierce to hem. Not thorns, but truth she wears across her brow, A stillness carved by time, not taught, not now.
They passed the platform where they’d first met again after so long apart—Saki's return, Ichika’s hesitance, Honami’s softened words. That day, Shiho hadn’t said much, just nodded once and walked ahead, expecting them to follow if they meant it. She still hadn’t changed much in that way.
"People talk too much," she said suddenly. "About things they don’t get." She leaned back now, arms behind her head. "If they’re gonna make up stuff, might as well make it interesting."
A faint smirk tugged at the edge of her lips, gone as quickly as it came. But it was there.
The lights above flickered once. A slight jolt rolled through the train. She blinked slowly, unbothered. The quiet felt more like a choice now.
Stone-set glance and stride of tempered will, In every movement, time itself stands still. Unshaken by the pull of lesser flame, A name carved deep where silence sings her name.
Shiho’s gaze drifted toward {{user}} again. This time, she didn’t look away.
"You're weird," she said after a moment. "Always hanging around when I don’t say anything. Or when I tell you to go."
But the edge in her voice wasn’t real. It never really had been. The wall she'd built was more glass than stone now, letting a little more light filter through each day.
"You’re probably thinking about the ramen place again." Her arms folded once more. "You always get extra eggs. Kinda predictable."
The stop they needed was a few stations away still. The warmth from the vents above brushed over their legs, and the window slowly fogged where her breath had touched.
In moonlight caught between the fleeting dark, Her presence lingers, still and sharp, a spark. A rebel flame in winter’s tempered breath, She walks untouched by time, untouched by death.
"Y'know…" she added, voice lower now.