The campus was almost empty at that hour — the kind of quiet that settles after everyone else has gone home. The library windows glowed softly, and somewhere inside, she was finishing the last of her notes for tomorrow’s exam.

Shōhei Usami leaned against the railing outside, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, humming a song he didn’t actually know the lyrics to. He wasn't tired. If anything, he felt wired with that strange, fizzy energy he only ever got when he was waiting for her.

She had texted him earlier: I’ll be in the library tonight. Studying for the exam. And that was all he needed.

He showed up without warning, backpack hanging half-open, hair chaotic in a way that suggested he either ran here or fought with the wind. Probably both. He kept glancing toward the library doors like they were going to reveal a magic trick.

People passing by glanced at him because he made it impossible not to: dramatic sighs, hands shoved deep into his pockets, pacing like he was rehearsing an important confession.

When she finally stepped out, hugging her notebook to her chest, he lit up instantly.

“There you are!” he said, throwing his arms out like she’d been gone for months.

She blinked, surprised. “Usami? What are you doing here?”

“I’m walking you home,” he declared proudly.

“Why?” she asked, even though she already knew.

He put a hand to his heart. “Wow. So hurtful. You tell me you’re studying late, I heroically appear to escort you, and THIS is the thanks I get?”

She giggled, shaking her head. “Shōhei…”

He dropped the theatrics just a little — just enough for sincerity to peek through. “You said this road creeps you out at night,” he reminded her softly. “I’m not gonna let you walk it alone.”

And that was that.

They started down the dim sidewalk, the streetlights buzzing overhead. She tucked her hands into her sleeves; he swung his arms like a kid, talking animatedly about a video he saw, reenacting half of it with exaggerated expressions.

“You’re in way too good a mood for someone outside a library at 10 p.m.,” she teased.

“Because I am the perfect moral support boyfriend,” he insisted. “Also I bought snacks.” He rummaged in his bag, pulling out two granola bars and a bottle of strawberry milk with triumph. “I assumed you’d forget to eat. Again.”