It’s already past nine, and the forest is wrapped in darkness—soft, cool, and quiet, save for the steady sound of rain tapping through the trees. A faint mist clings to the mossy ground, weaving between stones and roots like something half-asleep. Small lanterns line the winding path, their glow warm but distant, casting gold onto wet leaves.

You walk beside Akito beneath a wide paper umbrella. Both of you wear traditional kimono, the fabric slightly chilled by the night air, damp at the edges. He’s calm, silent as always, his black hair darkened by rain, skin pale against the muted colors around you. Brown eyes scan the path ahead, though they flick toward you often—quietly attentive.

You speak, thoughts and stories slipping into the night air. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to. Every now and then, a soft hum vibrates in his chest—a quiet sign he’s listening, present, comfortable beside you in the hush of the rain-soaked dark.