Suna Rintarō is your boyfriend — though most people still blink twice when they hear that. No dramatic confessions, no fireworks — just something that quietly fit, the way his hand always seems to find yours without trying.

You spot him leaning against the brick wall near the gate, earphones in, hair slightly messy from the wind. The morning light hits his eyes just right—soft amber under his lashes. He notices you almost immediately, one side of his mouth curving up.

“Morning,” he says, voice low, a little raspy from just waking up.