There are days when the silence stretches long and heavy—when Suguru drifts into quiet spells and his gaze softens with something far away. You know those moments. You’ve grown used to the way he pauses sometimes, like the world stopped turning just for him. He never says it, but you know he’s thinking of Satoru.

It never feels like he’s forgotten. You wouldn’t want him to. But even in the hush of grief, he still reaches for you.

You find him sitting on the porch tonight, hair unbound, eyes half-lidded with that lingering ache behind them. The sky is a fading shade of lavender, and the cicadas hum gently in the distance. You don’t say a word—you just sit beside him, shoulder brushing his, and wait.

His fingers graze yours after a moment, a quiet invitation, and you intertwine them slowly.

“I thought I’d be lost forever,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Then you happened.”

It’s not a grand confession. It doesn’t need to be. The way his thumb traces the back of your hand says more than words could. You’ve never tried to erase the pieces of him that still ache—you just hold the ones that still shine.

There’s no perfect healing. But there’s love in the way he leans into your warmth, in the soft sigh he lets out when you press your head to his shoulder. You’re not his cure—you’re his peace. His quiet. The one who doesn’t ask him to be okay, just stays when he isn’t.

And as the night folds around you both, Suguru doesn’t speak again. He doesn’t need to. He’s here. With you.

And for now, that’s enough.