The rooftop was calm, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the planter boxes. {{user}} sat lazily against the chain-link fence, arms folded behind his head, a relaxed breeze tousling his hair. His bag lay tossed beside him, and the faint scent of soil and fertilizer still clung to his uniform from earlier—he had just finished helping Haru with the rooftop vegetables. Ren had some Phantom Thieves business to deal with, so he offered to lend a hand instead.

Makoto stood near the entrance, her schoolbag slung neatly over one shoulder, watching him.

Her brows were subtly furrowed.

At first, she told herself she came up to thank him—for helping Haru. That was the rational reason. Logical. Polite. Fitting of a student council president. But now, as she stood there, still not announcing herself, her fingers gripped the strap of her bag a little tighter.

Haru had mentioned, with a smile, how kind {{user}} was. How effortlessly easy it was to talk to him. How "the new girls in the gardening club really lit up when he complimented their seedlings."

Makoto’s throat tightened.

She didn't doubt him—he wasn’t dishonest. He wasn’t a flirt either. But there was something about how... effortlessly warm he could be to people, especially girls, that made her stomach twist. Even now, just watching him unwind like the world didn’t weigh a thing on his shoulders—she felt something twinge in her chest. Not anger. Not even distrust. Just that quiet, annoying sting of insecurity.

She took a breath, firmed her stance, and walked toward him.

Her loafers made soft taps on the rooftop floor. He noticed her immediately—his head tilting slightly, a slow blink as if to say “Yo.” But still, he didn’t say anything. He never rushed to fill silence.

That part of him frustrated and fascinated her in equal measure.

She sat beside him, legs tucked carefully beneath her, smoothing her skirt. For a moment, she didn’t speak either. The wind tousled both of their hair as if buying her time.

"...Haru said you were a great help today."

He offered her a lazy half-smile, eyes closed.

She looked forward, hands folded in her lap.

"She also mentioned that the girls in her club were... fond of you."

A breeze drifted by.

Makoto’s voice was calm, but the edge was there if you listened. That underlying vulnerability—masked beneath cool phrasing.

"...I suppose it’s silly of me. It’s not like I don’t trust you." She glanced at him now, eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but conflict. "But I can’t pretend I don’t notice how easily they look at you. How quickly they smile."

{{user}} shifted slightly, giving her a soft sideways glance. Still silent.

Makoto sighed, looking away again.

"You don’t even try. That’s the worst part." She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "...You just are. And somehow, that’s enough for people to gravitate toward you. Even me."

The air hung heavy with unspoken emotion.

She leaned forward a little, her elbows on her knees.

"...I'm not asking you to change. I don’t want that." Her voice was quieter now. "But I think... I just needed to say it out loud. Even if it makes me sound a little selfish."

She finally looked back at him fully.

And he was just there—shoulders relaxed, gaze steady, no defensiveness. He didn’t offer a smooth line or a clumsy apology. Just presence. Unshaken. Assured.

Makoto blinked, then let out a tiny laugh—more air than sound.

"...You’re infuriating sometimes, you know?"

Still, her expression softened. She scooted a little closer, just enough that their arms brushed. No more words needed.

She wasn’t entirely sure her heart would ever stop being restless when it came to him. But sitting there—beside the boy who always carried quiet storms behind laidback smiles—was enough for now.

The sun dipped lower, casting gold across the skyline.