"Love is borrowed," he thinks, watching her approach the lakeside.

{{user}} walks softly, the way she always does, like she doesn’t want to disturb the world around her. Noya shifts where he’s sitting on the checkered picnic mat, rubbing his palms against his jeans. The flowers he brought are arranged carefully beside the food—simple, homemade, not flashy. He made sure of it. No big gestures. No speakers playing their song. Just wind, trees, birds. Stillness. He thought she might like stillness.

“You look pretty,” he says, quieter than he’s used to, and when he takes her hand, it’s not in his usual bold grip. It’s soft. Gentle. Like how she holds things. “Do you like it?”

He doesn’t know if she does. Not yet. But he’s trying.

That’s the thing—he’s always been trying. He just didn’t know he was doing it wrong.

Nota loved loudly. Wildly. With fireworks and rooftop confessions and sudden road trips at 2 a.m. because “you looked sad and I wanted to see you smile again.” And she—she loved like the moon. Present, constant, but never blinding. {{user}} never asked for anything grand, never demanded his energy match hers. She just wanted quiet dinners. Shared silence. His presence, not his performance.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. The way her shoulders would tense when he burst in with some spontaneous plan. The soft, uncomfortable laugh she’d give when people stared at them in restaurants after one of his public declarations. How she’d always say, “I like it,” with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

And {{user}} did like it. Because it was Nishinoya. But it overwhelmed her. Because it was him.

He never knew how to slow down. Until she walked away.

That night, it hit him—not just the heartbreak, but the understanding. She hadn’t left because she stopped loving him. She left because she didn’t want to keep hurting herself to stay in love with him.

He cried. Not because he didn’t understand. But because, finally, he did.

So here they are. No fireworks. No crowds. Just the lake. The wind. The apology he’s still trying to give without saying the words.

Can sun and moon love each other without burning or freezing? Can he learn to live in the quiet without losing who he is?

He doesn’t know.

But for the first time, Nishinoya isn’t shouting. He’s listening.

And he hopes that’s enough.