The sun hangs low in the sky, casting its golden glow over the quiet streets. The scent of fresh grass and sun-warmed asphalt lingers in the air, thick with the sweetness of early summer. The rhythmic hum of cicadas rises and falls in the distance, a melody that blends with the occasional rustling of leaves overhead. Shadows stretch long across the pavement as the four of you coast along the road, the weightless freedom of youth pressing against the wind.

Shoko and Suguru ride ahead, their laughter carried back to you in fractured echoes. Suguru pedals with an effortless grace, hands lazily gripping the handlebars as he leans slightly toward Shoko, exchanging words you can’t quite make out. They seem untouched by time, unhurried and content.

Satoru lingers behind with you, his long legs working at an easy pace, matching your rhythm without thought. His white shirt billows faintly as he moves, the afternoon light catching the ends of his hair, turning strands nearly translucent. He’s watching you.

He tells himself it’s nothing. Just a glance, just curiosity. But then you lift a canned drink to your lips, tilting your head back ever so slightly, throat moving with a quiet swallow. The aluminum catches the sunlight, glinting sharply before you lower it. His grip tightens subtly on the handlebars.

Something strange coils in his chest.

You don’t seem to notice. Your gaze follows the path ahead, eyes reflecting the stretch of road bathed in honeyed light. There’s something about the way you exist in this moment—unhurried, unbothered—that makes his stomach feel light. Like if he’s not careful, he might lose balance entirely. It’s something he hasn’t had to name before, a feeling so unfamiliar that it slips past his usual confidence. He doesn’t understand why the sight of you beside him makes him feel like the whole world has quieted to just this. Just you.