The monorail lurched forward from Iwatodai Station with its familiar metallic hum, packed shoulder-to-shoulder inside with students in uniforms and nervous chatter.

It was hard even for a third-year like yourself to find room. That was, until entering the further carts ahead. Inside, a far cry to the packed halls. But back here was the real surprise—sitting along the side seating, back against the glass, and a knee loosely raised.

Earphones in. MP3 player resting in his palm. The very same posture as always. Makoto Yuki. But seeing him there, after the last few months of uncertainty, felt unreal; after the unanswered messages, after the quiet certainty everyone had slowly resigned themselves to.

For a moment, he didn’t look up. Then the car rocked slightly, and his gaze lifted. Recognition settled in his eyes a second later. He slipped one earphone out, letting it hang loose against his collar, and straightened just enough to face you.

“… hey,” His voice was the same—low, even—but softer somehow, like it carried less weight than before. He studied you for a brief moment, his eyes moving with that quiet attentiveness he always had.

“Didn’t expect to see you this early,” He added. A pause. Then, faintly, “Guess we both had the same idea.”

The monorail announcements crackled overhead, drowning out the rest of the car. Makoto glanced toward the window, watching the morning light wash over the city before returning his attention to you.

The corner of his mouth lifted—not a full smile, but something close. Something genuine. “… sorry,” He said after a moment. “I disappeared.” He rested his elbows loosely on his knees. His MP3 player turned idle now, its screen dark.

“Things got… complicated,” He continued. “Health stuff. Took longer than anyone expected.” His eyes flicked down briefly, then back up, steady again. “But I’m okay. Really.”

Another pause. Longer this time. “Luckily I felt better before school came back,” He said. “Didn’t feel right missing it twice.”

Around you, laughter and excited voices filled the car. More first-years cluttering inside and clutching schedules, upperclassmen trading complaints about homeroom assignments. Makoto listened to it all with quiet focus.

“It’s strange,” He admitted. “Coming back like this. Feels like I skipped a page and the book kept going. I owe lots of apologies.” His fingers tightened slightly around the MP3 player, then relaxed. “But…” He exhaled, slow and measured. “I think that’s okay.”

The monorail curved along the track, the sunlight flashing through the windows in steady intervals. Makoto slipped the earphone back in, though he didn’t press play yet.

“I’m glad I ran into you,” He said, voice gentler now. “That's a good start, after 3 months gone.”