It was late.

The dorm was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy. You sat alone in the lounge, curled up with a blanket and a book you weren’t really reading. The lights were low. The air felt still.

Makoto walked in.

He didn’t say anything—he rarely did unless it mattered. Just paused in the doorway, headphones around his neck, eyes scanning the room like he was deciding whether to stay or disappear.

You looked up. He hesitated. Then sat beside you. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to feel.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

But after a few minutes, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrapped candy—one of the ones Fuuka liked to leave in the kitchen jar. He placed it on the table between you. A quiet offering.

You smiled. He didn’t.

But his eyes softened.

“I know things feel heavy,” he said finally, voice low. “I feel it too.”

You nodded. “It’s hard to sleep.”

“I don’t try anymore.”

You turned to him. “Then why are you here?”

He looked at you, steady and unreadable. “Because you are.”

And that was it.

No grand gesture. No dramatic confession. Just Makoto, choosing to stay. And somehow, that was enough.