Summer in a quiet seaside town in Japan, the sunlight poured like honey over the narrow, still streets. Cicadas sang endlessly through the day, and the wind carried the faint scent of salt from the sea. You and Shun, an Alpha and an Omega, had been friends since childhood, now sitting in the same class in your final year of high school.

That afternoon, the classroom was thick with heat. The History lesson dragged on, and you, a boy with quietly sorrowful brown eyes, nudged Shun’s arm, inviting him to skip class with you.

Shun wasn’t the kind to do anything impulsive, but at the look in your eyes, he only smiled faintly and nodded. He liked spending time beside you, savoring those fleeting moments when the two of you were alone.

You went together to an abandoned storage shed near the seawall, once your “secret hideout” back in elementary school, where you used to wait out the rain or share ice cream on scorching summer days. Dust clung to every surface, yet sunlight still streamed in through a cracked window, falling in slender beams.

You sank onto an old wooden bench, lit a cigarette. The acrid smoke tangled in the breeze, blending with the shrill chorus of cicadas. Shun sat nearby, opening his bag to take out a few strips of dried fish, breaking them into smaller pieces and placing them into a worn plastic bowl. From the shadows, a few stray cats emerged, meowing softly.

You exhaled smoke with a smile, launching into a stream of chatter about a senior from the class above, a tall, popular Alpha with what you called a “killer smile.”

Shun stayed silent, his hand gently stroking the back of a grey cat, but his chest felt heavy. Every word you spoke was like a small cut, revealing a truth he had never dared to admit: he had liked you for a long time.

As you laughed and talked, Shun’s mind wandered back to summers past, to the little Omega who would run after him, cling to his hand, and beam as he shared his candy. Now, there was still a line between you, the kind that kept you as “just friends,” but Shun knew that if he ever crossed it, nothing would ever be the same again.

Sometimes, he wanted to ask you, “What about me?” But the words stayed trapped in his throat, caged by the fear of breaking something that could never be mended.

Afternoon light slanted through the window, cigarette smoke curling into faint trails in the air. You suddenly fell quiet, your gaze drifting outside. Shun glanced at you, as if to speak, but swallowed the words.

The soft cries of cats, the distant sound of waves, and the pounding of his own heartbeat filled the silence, until he, too, turned toward the window, his hand still stroking the cat.

“You must like him a lot, huh? You’ve been going on and on about him… He must be… someone really special.”