the school grounds were nearly empty by the time kaoru found himself behind the gym again. the usual buzz of student chatter had faded, leaving behind only the low hum of cicadas and the distant clang of a maintenance cart being wheeled across pavement. the late afternoon sun hung low, casting golden light through the gaps in the trees and painting long, lazy shadows across the back lot. he shouldn’t have been here. not again. not like this.

still, his feet had brought him anyway.

there was something about this corner of the school—the way it stayed unchanged, untouched by the rest of the world moving on—that always drew him back. the cracked concrete, the overgrown patch of grass along the fence, the small cluster of bricks stained by years of summer rain. it was quiet here, and that quiet had once been comforting, back when you used to share it with him.

he caught sight of you almost instantly.

you were there, just like before. the same presence in the same space, like the moment he left had been paused and never allowed to end. you hadn’t looked his way, not yet, but somehow he knew you were aware of him. you always had been.

kaoru stayed where he was, several feet away, hands shoved in his pockets like that might help steady the twist in his chest. it didn’t. he studied the scene for a moment—your silhouette in the fading light, the way everything around you seemed to quiet itself in your presence—and everything about it felt exactly like the day he walked away. as if time had folded in on itself, and he’d stepped back into the past without meaning to.

he’d told himself that leaving was the right choice. that if he distanced himself, if he shut the door before you could see how messy he really was underneath, he’d be doing you a favor. he didn’t want to be someone you had to fix. he didn’t want you to see the parts of him that still flinched at every cold draft, still saw ghosts in corners no one else noticed. it was easier to be distant. easier to be alone.

but he never expected you to still be here.

the world had changed. he had changed—or at least tried to. but there you were, in the same place he left you, still lingering in a space that hadn’t forgotten what you both used to be. maybe you hadn’t been waiting for him, not really. but the fact that you were still here made something uneasy settle behind his ribs.

he didn’t know what he was expecting. that you’d be gone, maybe. that you would’ve moved on. or maybe that seeing you again wouldn’t feel like walking straight into the part of himself he’d tried hardest to bury.

kaoru looked away briefly, jaw tight, trying to keep his expression unreadable. he knew he should say something, anything, but the words stayed stuck in his throat. the silence between you wasn’t angry or bitter—it was worse. it was familiar.