Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izumi stepped onto the bus like she did every morning, a small, familiar ritual that marked the start of her day. She nodded at the driver, who gave her a barely-there smile—a small acknowledgment that she had come to appreciate. The bus was never full this early, just a handful of people scattered among the seats, absorbed in the quiet solitude that only dawn could offer.

There was something peaceful about this daily ride, just watching the city unfold before her like a quiet, sleepy backdrop. But over time, it wasn’t only the scenery she found herself watching. No, what truly drew her in was the company of strangers she shared this space with—the quiet regulars who boarded at predictable stops, their faces and routines becoming as familiar to her as the turns of the bus route.

Izumi started noticing little details: the man with the deep frown lines who always fell asleep three stops in, the woman who read the same mystery novel every morning, the teenager who nervously clutched her backpack. These strangers, who had become almost like characters in her life, a silent cast in her own little mind theater.

One face stood out among them all. A young man who seemed to sit alone by choice, not out of shyness but as if he genuinely enjoyed the solitude. He had a way of brightening the space around him without saying a word—a quiet but unmistakable energy. She had caught his name once, overheard in a quick farewell exchanged with a friend. Sakuya Sakuma.

Since then, Izumi had begun looking for him every morning, always curious if he’d be there. She couldn’t explain why, but there was something captivating about his presence. Perhaps it was his expression, a blend of optimism and calm that seemed almost out of place on a city bus at this early hour. Whatever it was, it made her wonder. 

Today, Sakuya was seated near the front again, a book open on his lap as he leaned toward the window. He seemed completely absorbed, not in the text itself but in something beyond it, his gaze following the scenery outside with a thoughtful expression.

Izumi studied him from a few seats back, trying to pin down what it was about him that felt so different from the others. Sakuya was young—probably in his late teens, judging by his worn backpack and the school jacket he wore. But unlike most of the other students she saw, who were half-awake or glued to their phones, Sakuya’s attention was always somewhere else, like he was seeing the world in colors that only he could detect.

There was a warmth to his face, that seemed to radiate even in the dim, atmosphere of the bus. Today, he had a small, contented smile as he stared out the window, the book in his hands completely forgotten. Izumi wondered what he was thinking, if he was crafting his own stories out of the passing scenery or simply soaking in the world around him.

From time to time, he would look down at the book and run his finger along the lines, his lips moving ever so slightly as if he were rehearsing a role in his mind. Maybe he was an actor, she thought. He had that quality about him—a presence, a liveliness that wasn’t always easy to find in someone his age. Or maybe he was just a dreamer. Either way, Izumi felt a sense of admiration for him, this young stranger whose simple presence made the bus feel just a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.

Sakuya’s kindness stood out, too. On more than one occasion, she’d seen him give up his seat for an elderly passenger or help someone with heavy bags without a second thought. He wasn’t loud or showy about it, just quietly attentive, quick to notice and quick to act. It was a quality that struck her as rare, especially in someone so young. He didn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he seemed willing to help others carry theirs.

The bus came to a stop, and a group of schoolchildren clambered aboard, chattering and shuffling down the aisle. One girl stumbled, dropping her bag, and in an instant, Sakuya was out of his seat, picking it up and handing it back to her with a reassuring smile. The girl mumbled a thank you, cheeks red with embarrassment, and Sakuya just nodded, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Izumi found herself smiling, her heart warmed by the quiet, simple interaction. There was something about Sakuya’s presence that made her want to believe in good things—in kindness, in small gestures that could make someone’s day just a little bit better. And she wondered, as she watched him settle back into his seat, what his dreams were. Did he even know, or was he still searching, like so many others his age?

As the bus creaked to a halt at the next stop, Izumi glanced up instinctively. Just as she expected, the familiar figure of Masumi Usui boarded, his steps measured, eyes scanning the seats in a habitual sweep. Unlike Sakuya’s bright, open demeanor, Masumi exuded an air of quiet intensity. He moved with purpose, as if there was something specific he was here for—though Izumi had never quite figured out what that was.

Masumi’s gaze briefly flickered in her direction as he chose a seat near her, at the back, a solitary one that allowed him to lean against the bus window, his eyes turned outward but his focus seemingly elsewhere. There was something about him that was… enigmatic. Even from a distance, Masumi held a presence, an aura of thoughtfulness that made him seem far older than he likely was.

She knew his name from an overheard conversation a few weeks ago, when Masumi had spoken quietly into his phone as the bus continued his way. “Usui Masumi,” he had said, as if correcting someone on the other end. It had been a fleeting moment, but somehow, the name had lingered with her. 

Izumi shifted slightly in her seat, continuing to watch him. Masumi didn’t carry a book or a device, and he never seemed to be distracted by his phone like so many other young passengers, though he was always wearing his headphones, moving his feet at the rhythm of the beats as he looked out the window. She wondered what he saw beyond the world outside, if the scenery drifting by sparked memories or dreams, or if his gaze was simply a way to mask a restless mind. 

Occasionally, Masumi would glance around the bus, his eyes pausing on her for a second longer than seemed necessary, as if he knew she’d been watching him. His gaze was sharp, intense, and yet not intrusive—it was more as if he were trying to solve a puzzle, each glance a small attempt to decode something he sensed but couldn’t quite place.

Izumi found herself a little amused by the quiet curiosity he seemed to have toward her. She would never let on, of course, but it was interesting to think that he might wonder about her as much as she wondered about him. There was something refreshing, maybe even sweet, in the way he carried himself, his seriousness so unusual in someone so young.

He wore Sakuya's uniform too, on the weekdays, so she wondered if the two of them were classmates, or were in the same year.

Once, a few days ago, Masumi had actually spoken to her. She hadn’t expected it—had been deep in thought herself, watching the world pass by when his quiet voice startled her back to reality.

“Are you… alright?” he had asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The question had come out of nowhere, and it had taken her a moment to understand that he was asking her, genuinely curious. Izumi had managed a nod, a small smile, and Masumi had simply returned to looking out the window, as if satisfied with her answer. It was such a simple exchange, yet it had stayed with her, as if he’d seen something in her that no one else had noticed. 

Masumi’s gaze wandered back to her, and she found herself meeting his eyes for the briefest of moments. There was a softness there, a quiet intensity that spoke of both longing and hesitation. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was waiting for something—or perhaps someone—to finally break the solitude that surrounded him.

What was his story? Izumi often asked herself this as she watched him, intrigued by the glimpses she’d caught of his thoughtful, often melancholy expressions. She imagined Masumi as someone who had been through more than he let on, carrying experiences that made him cautious of people. His detachment wasn’t coldness; it felt more like self-preservation, as if he’d learned to guard his heart closely.

Izumi wondered if he had dreams he kept to himself, hidden beneath that quiet exterior. She sometimes liked to imagine that he might be an artist—a painter, perhaps, who poured his emotions onto a canvas, revealing in color and shape the feelings he rarely showed in words. Or maybe he was a musician, playing softly in the solitude of his room, each note an echo of his inner world.

Or perhaps, she mused, he was simply a young man still figuring out where he belonged in the world, waiting for something—or someone—that would finally draw him out.

The bus trundled on, and Masumi leaned his head back against the seat, his eyes half-closed as if lost in thought. In that moment, he looked almost vulnerable, as if the mask of quiet intensity had slipped just enough to reveal a glimpse of the boy beneath it.

Izumi looked away, giving him his privacy, but her thoughts lingered on him. There was a part of her that hoped he would find what he was searching for, whatever it might be. She wanted to see him one day step onto this bus with that same intensity in his eyes, but this time filled with purpose, with something that made him shine.

As they neared his stop, Masumi straightened, his gaze sharpening once more. He rose, giving her a brief nod as he made his way to the door. Izumi returned it with a small smile, watching as he stepped off the bus.

The bus groaned to a stop near the corner of a lively neighborhood, and Izumi’s eyes flicked toward the front as a young man stepped aboard, his hair slightly mussed as if he’d only just woken up. He was carrying a bulky shoulder bag, crammed with what looked like notebooks and loose sheets of paper sticking out at odd angles. 

The guy looked exhausted, as he often did at this hour. Izumi had noticed him before, with his slightly rumpled appearance and the way he would immediately sink into a seat with a resigned sigh, as if bracing himself for another long day. She could tell he was the kind of person who tried his best, even when his efforts left him looking a little weary. Yet there was something endearing about that, something that made her want to understand him better.

True to form, he slid into a seat near her and instantly reached for his notebook, flipping it open to a page filled with scribbled handwriting. He balanced his pen awkwardly as the bus jolted forward, his expression concentrated, lips moving faintly as he worked through whatever thoughts were consuming him. 

From her own seat, Izumi watched with a mix of curiosity and admiration. She had always been drawn to people who worked quietly, pouring their energy into something they truly cared about, even if it came at the cost of sleep and comfort. And he looked like he cared deeply about whatever he was writing. She wondered what kind of words filled those pages, what stories or ideas kept him up late into the night.

Over time, she had pieced together little clues about him. She’d once overheard him talking to a friend at the bus stop, mentioning “another draft” and “revisions,” words that hinted at his passion. She suspected he was a writer, someone who dreamed of putting his stories out into the world, even if they only existed on paper for now. She imagined him scribbling in dim light, working through scene after scene, his thoughts spilling onto the page as he crafted worlds and characters of his own.

Today, he seemed particularly focused, his pen moving in quick, frustrated strokes. His brow was furrowed, and every so often he would let out a quiet sigh, erasing something and rewriting it with intense concentration. Izumi smiled to herself, recognizing the determination of someone who wouldn’t let a single line rest until it felt just right.

But it wasn’t just his dedication that intrigued her—it was the way he seemed to care about the details, to wrestle with them until they made sense. She found herself wondering what kind of stories he wrote. Were they romances? Tragedies? Adventures with heroes and far-off lands? Or maybe they were simple, everyday tales, about people trying to find their way, just as he seemed to be doing himself.

There was something sweet about his determination, a kind of vulnerability in how much he seemed to care. She had seen it in the way he talked to others—quietly and with a certain honesty, as though he wanted to make sure they knew he was listening. It was rare for someone his age to carry themselves with that kind of earnestness, and Izumi found herself admiring him for it.

Just then, the bus hit a bump, and his pen jerked, leaving a dark line across the page. He muttered something under his breath, looking down at the ruined line with visible frustration. Without thinking, he dug into his bag, rifling through papers in search of a clean sheet. Izumi caught a glimpse of some of his notes as he shuffled them—a few character names, fragmented dialogue, quick sketches of settings he must have envisioned. For a moment, she felt like she was peeking into his world, catching a fleeting glimpse of the stories he carried with him.

As he resumed writing, Izumi couldn’t help but wonder what drove him. Did he have a goal, an endgame? Maybe he wanted to publish a book, or maybe he was just writing for himself, because he needed a place to put all the ideas and feelings that seemed to spill out of him. Whatever his reason, it was clear that he was deeply invested, and there was something inspiring about that commitment.

She found herself hoping he would succeed, whatever “success” looked like for him. She wanted to see him finish his stories, to get that last line down on paper and feel that sense of accomplishment, that quiet pride that came from completing something meaningful.

The bus neared his stop, and the boy began to gather his things, tucking the loose pages back into his bag with careful hands. For all his tiredness, there was a look of quiet resolve on his face, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes, as though even the act of struggling with his writing had been worth it.

As he rose, he looked around and caught Izumi’s eye for the briefest of moments. She offered him a small, encouraging smile, and he blinked in surprise before returning it, a little shyly. He looked as if he hadn’t expected anyone to notice him, let alone acknowledge his work, and the thought made her heart ache a little. She wanted him to know that his dedication didn’t go unseen, that someone noticed the quiet passion he poured into those pages.

He gave her a quick nod as he stepped off the bus, his bag slung over one shoulder, his gaze already drifting back to his notebook as he walked away. Izumi watched him until he disappeared around the corner, a part of her wondering if she’d ever get to read one of his stories someday, if the words he so carefully crafted might one day make their way into the world.

The next stop was close to the market, and Izumi barely had to look up to know who was boarding—she could hear their voices before she even saw them. Two men, distinct and full of energy, stepped onto the bus together, their expressions bright and animated as they continued a spirited conversation. Citron and his companion, Guy, which she has heard the name of thanks to the overexcited foreign from time to time.

Citron, as always, wore an unmistakably vibrant outfit—a long coat with intricate patterns, paired with scarves in clashing colors that somehow suited his personality perfectly. He radiated warmth and openness, smiling at everyone he passed, offering friendly waves to people who didn’t even know him. There was something magnetic about him, a kindness and curiosity that made him feel like a friend to everyone around him, whether they wanted one or not.

Guy, by contrast, was quieter, his expression serious but not unfriendly. He was tall, with a calm presence that balanced out Citron’s liveliness. Where Citron was bright and expressive, Guy was steady and observant, his gaze always focused, as if he was carefully taking in every detail around him.

The two sat down across from each other, immediately resuming their conversation. Izumi couldn’t help but listen in, charmed by the lively rhythm of their voices, the back-and-forth that seemed to play out like an unplanned performance every morning.

Citron was talking animatedly, hands moving as he recounted some story with dramatic flair. “And then,” he said, eyes wide with delight, “I told them, ‘Why not put the pineapple on the pizza? It’s like a tiny sun bringing happiness to your plate!’” He laughed, clearly pleased with his own reasoning, as though the concept of pineapple on pizza was some grand, philosophical insight.

Guy, listening with a tolerant smile, shook his head slightly. “Citronia,” he replied, his tone gently skeptical, “I think most people prefer their pizza without the sun on top.” He gave a small smile, humor sparkling in his eyes even as he delivered his response in his typical, understated way.

Citron gasped, feigning a look of absolute betrayal. “Guy, you cannot possibly mean that!” he protested, but there was a sparkle of mischief in his expression. “You must learn to embrace the wonders of the world! Pineapple is a gateway to a brighter life.”

Guy simply chuckled, his smile widening just a bit, and Izumi found herself smiling as well. There was something so endearing about their friendship, the way they balanced each other’s personalities so effortlessly... Sometimes, they talked in a foreign language she couldn't understand, but it was still interesting listening to them.

Citron brought the warmth, the flair, the unbridled enthusiasm, while Guy grounded him.

Izumi had often wondered what had brought them together—two people so different, yet so clearly connected by a bond that went beyond mere friendship... She had a feeling that they’d been through a lot together, though neither of them seemed the type to share their story openly. Sometimes, in the quiet moments, she would see them fall into a companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts yet perfectly comfortable with the other’s presence.

This morning, as the bus rolled along, Citron seemed more animated than usual, talking excitedly about a new recipe he’d read about—a fusion of flavors from his homeland and local cuisine, as he put it. Guy listened patiently, nodding as Citron explained the spices and ingredients in passionate detail.

“And then, I shall add the final touch!” Citron declared, throwing his arms up dramatically. “A sprinkle of magic!”

“Is the ‘magic’ some sort of seasoning?” Guy asked, his tone teasing but curious.

Citron grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Ah, Guy, so dense... It is a seasoning of the heart! You cannot measure it, but you can always feel it!”

Guy simply shook his head, his expression softening. “If anyone can add magic to a meal, it’s probably you,” he admitted quietly, and there was a warmth in his voice that seemed to catch even Citron by surprise.

Izumi watched them, her own heart warmed by the moment.

As the bus passed through a quieter part of town, Citron’s gaze drifted toward the window, a rare moment of silence settling over him. Izumi noticed the way his expression softened, a far-off look crossing his face, as if he were thinking of someone—or somewhere—he missed.

Guy must have noticed as well, because he reached out, gently tapping Citron’s arm. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Citron blinked, the far-off look vanishing as he turned to Guy, a reassuring smile slipping back into place. “Oh, always, my friend!” he replied, though Izumi detected a hint of something deeper, a glimmer of melancholy that quickly faded.

Guy nodded, his expression remaining steady. He didn’t press, but his presence alone seemed to offer Citron comfort, a silent promise that whatever he carried, he didn’t have to carry it alone.

As they continued their playful banter, the bus neared their stop, and both men began gathering their things. Citron gave her a friendly wave as he passed, grinning as he often did, as if sharing some unspoken joke with the world.

“Have a magical day!” he called out cheerfully to no one in particular, his voice carrying through the bus as he stepped off.

Guy followed, his gaze meeting Izumi’s briefly as he nodded in quiet acknowledgement. There was a kindness in his eyes that made her feel as if she’d been offered a small piece of understanding, a quiet reminder that she wasn’t just another face in the crowd to them.

Nearing the neighborhoods with most students coming in, Izumi prepared herself for two of her favorite groups of youngsters arriving. 

The bus eased to a stop at a bustling corner, and Izumi looked up, already expecting the quartet of familiar faces that climbed aboard. As usual, they filed on with the comfortable, unhurried confidence of regulars, each wearing a different school uniform that set them apart. The first to board was Muku Sakisaka, dressed in a neat blazer and tie, his manner gentle and polite as he exchanged a shy smile with the driver. His eyes scanned the bus quickly, then softened when he spotted an empty row.

Behind him bounded Kumon Hyodo, brimming with excitement and energy that spilled over in every movement. Izumi had learned Kumon’s name early on—he had a habit of cheerfully calling out to his friends by name, his voice echoing through the bus as he pointed out things that had caught his interest. He wore a uniform emblazoned with his school’s logo, his tie loosened just slightly, a sign of his usual hurry.

Next came Juza, Kumon’s older brother. He was unmistakable, not only for his quiet, serious presence but for his striking features and the worn jacket that set him apart from the others. Juza kept to himself, his gaze lowered as he scanned for a seat, though Izumi knew that he always kept a watchful eye on his younger brother. The last of the group, Banri Settsu, climbed aboard with his usual easy swagger, hands in his pockets as he followed the others. Banri, she noticed, wore the same school uniform as Sakuya and Masumi—though he didn’t always seem interested in getting off at their stop. More than once, he simply stayed on the bus, settling in for the ride with an expression that suggested he was just here for the company.

Izumi knew all their names now, thanks to a conversation they’d struck up with her once. One morning, the four of them had ended up sitting in the row beside her, Kumon’s usual enthusiasm leading to a flurry of introductions. Kumon, true to form, had practically shouted, “Oh, hey! I’m Kumon, and this is my brother Juza!” pointing first to himself, then to his older sibling. Then Muku had chimed in softly, introducing himself with a shy smile, and Banri had nodded, offering his name with a laid-back grin as if to say, Well, you’re probably gonna remember me anyway .

The four of them always rode together, their personalities contrasting but somehow fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Today, Muku and Kumon took the seats two rows in front of her, while Juza and Banri settled in the row directly next to them. Kumon leaned over to Muku, animatedly showing him something on his phone, likely a sports clip or a new move he was itching to try. Muku smiled, nodding along as Kumon’s excitement bubbled over.

Juza glanced over at his younger brother, a faint hint of amusement in his expression. Izumi had always been struck by Juza’s quiet protectiveness—he didn’t say much, and his demeanor was often serious, but it was clear to anyone watching that he cared deeply for both Kumon and Muku.

Banri slouched next to Juza, his arm draped over the back of the seat with the ease of someone who felt entirely at home wherever he went. He was as different from Juza as night and day—bold where Juza was reserved, outspoken where Juza was stoic. Yet the two seemed to gravitate toward one another in a way Izumi found intriguing. There was a playful tension between them, like two rivals who would rather put up with each other’s company than be anywhere else.

At that moment, Banri nudged Juza with a sly grin. “Hey, tough guy,” he murmured in a teasing tone, “what’s got you brooding this morning? Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about that math test.”

Juza gave him a withering look but didn’t move away. “Shut up,” he muttered, his tone low but without any real bite. Banri chuckled, clearly pleased with himself, and leaned in a bit closer, as though daring Juza to say something more.

Izumi had noticed this subtle dance between them before—the playful teasing, the glances that lingered just a second longer than necessary. Banri was relentless in his ribbing, always ready with a comment that bordered on flirtation, though his words were often masked as lighthearted banter. Juza’s responses were often brief, grumbled replies that seemed to carry their own kind of warmth, even if his face remained impassive. He tolerated Banri’s teasing, perhaps even enjoyed it in his own quiet way, a small smile occasionally betraying him when he thought no one was looking.

Muku turned to glance at Juza and Banri, his soft smile widening as he watched their back-and-forth. “Ju-chan, you know Banri’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” he said gently, a note of affection in his voice.

“Yeah, listen to the kid,” Banri shot back, grinning as he reached over and gave Juza’s shoulder a light shove.

Juza merely rolled his eyes but didn’t push Banri away. Izumi could see how, beneath the teasing, Banri’s presence had a grounding effect on Juza, softening the edges of his seriousness in a way that no one else seemed able to do.

“Brother’s just like that,” Kumon chimed in, not even looking up from his phone as he made the comment. “He acts tough, but he’s a total softie!” He said it in the matter-of-fact way that only a little brother could, and Muku chuckled, nodding in agreement.

Banri shot a quick grin over to Izumi, as though sharing the joke with her too, and she couldn’t help but smile back. There was a kind of warmth in this group dynamic, a genuine fondness that she found heartwarming to witness each day. She was sure they each had their own struggles and worries, but here, on these bus rides, they could relax, leaning into their friendship like a comfortable old sweater.

Now, the other group of teenagers she always was excited to see had sat in the last row of seats, once the bus had stopped during the others' conversation—A trio of familiar voices, each with their distinct tone and energy. She hasn't learned their surnames, just names from the way they talked to each other each morning.

The three of them settled into their usual spots. Yuki took the window seat, leaning back with his usual air of nonchalance. Taichi practically squeezed himself into the middle, trying to lean close enough to talk without getting on Yuki’s nerves. And Azami, with his ever-present scowl and cool, collected look, took the other seat, trying to act disinterested in his friends’ antics but always ending up involved anyway.

The conversation kicked off as soon as they sat down.

“Azami, what is that, your whole cologne collection again?” Yuki’s voice rang out with an exaggerated groan. “You know, the scent is so strong it practically fills the bus. Are you trying to suffocate someone, or what?”

Azami crossed his arms, his cheeks tinged faintly pink. “Unlike you two, I actually care about smelling decent,” he muttered defensively. “Maybe some people actually appreciate a bit of effort.”

Taichi chuckled, nudging him playfully. “Hey, Yuki’s just saying it because he cares. And besides,” he added with a conspiratorial grin, “who are you trying to smell nice for, anyway?”

Izumi noticed Azami’s face got redder, and she couldn’t help but lean in a bit, trying to catch more of their conversation. She’d always thought Azami had a certain coolness about him, but this little hint of flustered embarrassment made him seem almost… vulnerable, in an endearing way.

Azami shifted uncomfortably, looking out the window to avoid his friends’ gazes. “It’s no one. Seriously, drop it,” he grumbled.

But Yuki wasn’t letting it go. “Oh, come on, Azami,” he drawled with a knowing smirk. “You’re always sneaking looks at someone on this bus. Just admit you’ve got a crush.”

Azami’s eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. “I don’t… I mean, it’s not… You’re just making things up.”

Taichi’s face lit up with excitement. “Wait, really? Azami, who is it? Someone here on the bus?”

Azami sighed, looking as if he wished he could just melt into the seat. “I told you, it’s nothing,” he muttered, but after a moment, his gaze flicked toward the front of the bus, and Izumi noticed. A little thrill ran through her—she loved seeing these little connections unfold.

Azami’s gaze lingered on a seat near the front, just where Kumon was chatting animatedly with Muku. Izumi smiled to herself, instantly realizing who Azami had his eye on.

“You keep looking at that guy up there,” Yuki said, following Azami’s gaze and raising an eyebrow. “Let me guess—he’s the reason for the cologne?”

Azami shot him a glare. “Shut up,” he mumbled, crossing his arms and turning back toward his friends, though it was clear he’d been caught.

Taichi grinned, practically bouncing in his seat. “This is perfect! You should just go up and talk to him, Azami. C’mon, how hard can it be?”

Azami shot him a withering look. “Oh yeah, because it’s so easy to just walk up to someone and start a conversation when you barely know them,” he muttered. “Besides… he’s always with his friend. It’s not like I’d get a chance anyway.”

Yuki shrugged, giving Azami an appraising look. “For all your tough talk, you’re a real wimp when it comes to this stuff, huh?”

“Hey, I don’t see you going up to anyone either, Mr. Ice Prince,” Azami shot back, trying to deflect, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him.

Taichi nudged Azami again, softer this time. “You know, it doesn’t have to be that hard. You just… be yourself. Or maybe you could say something when he’s by himself,” he suggested earnestly, though a mischievous grin crept back onto his face. “Or, I could ‘accidentally’ bump you into him next time! That could work, right, Yuki?”

Yuki rolled his eyes, looking between them with a faint, amused smirk. “You two are hopeless. Just go talk to him, Azami. If you’re serious about impressing him, maybe you should spend less time with the cologne and more time, I don’t know… practicing how to hold an actual conversation.”

Azami’s face grew redder, and he buried it in his hands. “I swear, you two are the worst,” he mumbled. But Izumi could see the faintest hint of a smile under his frustration, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself, gushing over the way his friends both teased and encouraged him. They were relentless, sure, but the way they had Azami’s back was undeniably sweet.

Taichi chuckled and slung an arm around Azami’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed! We’re just helping out. Besides, if you never say anything, how’s he supposed to notice you, right?”

Izumi felt a flutter of excitement, thinking about the shy glances Azami had been sending Kumon’s way, and the obvious eagerness in Taichi’s voice whenever he looked at Yuki. It was like watching a little romantic comedy unfold in real-time, and she loved every second of it. She could see Taichi’s own crush was just as obvious, and it was clear to her that Yuki, for all his cool exterior, had a quiet fondness for Taichi, too.

Taichi laughed softly, still oblivious to how transparent his own feelings were. “See, I’ll even help you practice! Pretend I’m that guy you like, and I’ll give you pointers!” He straightened up, putting on an exaggerated impression of Kumon’s cheerful voice. “Oh, hey there, Azami! What’s up?”

Azami gave him a deadpan look, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “You’re an idiot, Taichi.”

Taichi grinned, unbothered. “Hey, I’m serious! I mean, if you’re going to keep wearing all that cologne, you might as well put it to use, right?”

Azami looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he turned back to the window, his usual stoic expression softened with a trace of shyness. “Maybe,” he muttered, barely audible.

Izumi felt her heart warm, watching the three of them banter, push each other’s buttons, and encourage each other in their own way.

As the bus approached her stop, she couldn’t resist taking one last look at them, mentally cheering on Azami in his silent admiration for Kumon, and Taichi in his equally obvious crush on Yuki.

Muku and Kumon too gathered their things, their goodbyes a mix of playful shouts and waves. Banri lingered, however, stretching out casually and making no move to leave. He stayed where he was, his gaze drifting lazily out the window, content to stay a while longer in the company of his friends.

As Juza rose to join the others, he paused, glancing down at Banri with a look that held a thousand unspoken words. There was something soft in Juza’s gaze, a brief flicker of appreciation that didn’t go unnoticed by Izumi.

“See ya, Settsu,” Juza muttered, his voice low but carrying a hint of warmth.

Banri’s mouth twitched in a smirk. “Yeah, don’t miss me too much,” he shot back, though the words were softened by the look in his eyes.

Juza shook his head, a faint smile ghosting across his face as he headed off with his brother and Muku, leaving Banri alone in his seat. As the doors closed, Banri leaned back, a small, satisfied grin lingering as he watched the scenery pass by, seemingly content with his decision to remain on the bus a little longer.

The downtown and business district was also pretty… Full of interesting people that got on the bus from time to time. 

Among them, two men—a married couple, Izumi had figured out early on—held a special place in her observations. 

From the beginning, Izumi had noticed the matching rings they each wore on their left hands. The rings weren’t flashy, but they stood out enough, catching the light as they boarded each morning. And for Izumi, this small detail only added to her fondness for the duo.

The first of the pair—the more serious one—always wore his suit as if it were armor, each line perfectly pressed, his tie arranged with absolute precision and round glasses high on his nose. His posture stayed straight and controlled, his gaze calm and focused. Beside him was his partner, an easygoing man whose suit never looked quite as tidy, as though he’d been caught mid-adventure and swept onto the bus at the last minute. He had a way of looking effortlessly relaxed, with a playful spark that seemed to soften his husband’s more serious demeanor.

Today, like every day, they took their seats just a few rows ahead of her. She watched as the lively one leaned closer to his husband, tapping him on the shoulder with the familiarity of someone who knew every inch of the other’s life.

“Guess what?” he said, nudging him with a grin. “The new KniRoun cafe is opening this weekend. And we have reservations.”

The more formal man sighed in a way that suggested he was used to this exact conversation. “Another Knights of the Round event?” he asked, giving his husband a long-suffering look. “How many of these do we have to go to?”

“Oh, come on,” his husband replied, unfazed. “It’s the anniversary launch. They’re even recreating the throne room, and there’ll be rare in-game merchandise! This isn’t just any event. I’d go alone, but it wouldn’t be the same.”

The serious man closed his eyes for a moment, as if silently weighing his options. He’d clearly been through this before. “You know, I thought I was safe from all this…once we got married,” he replied dryly, but his husband only laughed, unconcerned.

“Oh, you love it,” he teased. “Don’t even try to deny it. Besides, who was it that spent three hours helping me farm armor last month?”

Izumi held back a laugh, imagining this formal, collected man reluctantly helping his husband in a game about mythical knights and endless battles. It was hard to picture him in such a setting—yet from their conversation, it was clear he’d done it, likely more than once.

“Three hours I’ll never get back,” he said with a resigned sigh. “And now you want me to dress up and pretend to be some…some knight?”

The livelier man’s face lit up even more. “Exactly! I mean, as always, you have to at least wear Gawing's merch, but just wait until you see the costumes they have lined up! We’re going all in, even if you’re ‘too mature’ to admit you’ll enjoy it.”

His husband didn’t respond at first, looking ahead as if this conversation was as inevitable as the sunrise. But there was a small, barely-there smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, just enough to hint at a quiet acceptance.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice softened. “Fine. But I’m not putting on anything ridiculous this time. The last event was embarrassing enough.”

“You mean epic,” his husband corrected, giving him a playful nudge. “And if you don’t wear merch or a costume, you’ll miss out on the true KniRoun experience!”

“Somehow, I’ll survive,” he replied, his expression stern but his eyes holding a flicker of fondness.

Izumi watched them with quiet fascination. She loved how their banter spoke of so many little inside jokes wrapped in their everyday life together. She wondered how many of these “epic” events they’d been to, with the more serious man enduring his partner’s boundless enthusiasm every time. Despite his reservations, he seemed just as dedicated to these events as his husband was, and it warmed her heart to see that kind of support.

As the bus neared their stop, the playful one leaned close to his husband. “I already have your cosplay ready, by the way. And don’t worry—I made sure it’s not *that* ridiculous this time.”

The serious man sighed but made no attempt to protest, as if he knew resistance was futile. Together, they rose and walked to the bus doors, still mid-conversation. His husband gave him a reassuring pat on the back, an unspoken “thank you for putting up with me,” as they stepped out into the morning.

But her attention was lost once she looked at the new pair arriving, and a voice—loud and theatrical—floated through the air even before its owner fully stepped inside.

"Ah, another beautiful day to inspire the soul!" The words were spoken by a man with a wild energy, his voice filled with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for actors on a grand stage. He was tall and impeccably dressed in an outfit that seemed as meticulously planned as his every grand gesture, giving him an air of confident eccentricity. His tousled hair and striking red scarf made him hard to miss. Without a second glance, he strode down the aisle as if it were his personal runway, reciting poetry with the flair of someone who expected an audience.

Trailing behind him, however, was someone who seemed to embody the opposite—a quiet, almost ghostly young man who drifted along with him in silence. His oversized, long coat looked a size too big, and his hair fell gently over his eyes, which were as sleepy as his pace. He cradled a bag of marshmallows in his hands, occasionally fishing one out to pop into his mouth with a practiced indifference. Unlike his boisterous partner, he hardly seemed to care about the commotion his friend caused.

The bus was more crowded now, forcing passengers to jostle for free spots. The lively poet scanned the rows until he spotted an empty seat. With a sweep of his arm that was as grand as one of his verses, he motioned to his quieter companion.

“Sit here, Hisoka!” he declared, as if offering the throne of a kingdom. His companion, slightly bemused but unfazed, eased into the seat without protest. He settled in, his coat draping over his shoulders like a blanket, and reached into his pocket, pulling out another marshmallow.

Meanwhile, the poet remained standing beside him, one hand gripping the rail as he adjusted his scarf with a theatrical flourish, clearly undeterred by the lack of a seat. As the bus lurched forward, he turned his gaze toward the window, the morning light catching in his expressive eyes. Inspiration, it seemed, had already struck.

“Ah, the city at dawn!” he proclaimed, gesturing toward the skyline beyond the glass. “It’s a symphony of steel and stone, a monument to humanity’s persistence! Behold how the light creeps over the towers, how the streets awaken beneath the gentle embrace of morning…”

Izumi stifled a smile, watching as he launched into his usual poetic monologue. She’d heard his verses many times before, delivered with conviction as if each word were a revelation meant to captivate all who could hear. 

His friend—Hisoka, she reminded herself—sat quietly, looking ahead with a soft focus, his eyes half-lidded as he slowly chewed. He didn’t interrupt, nor did he appear bothered by his friend’s theatrics. Instead, he offered his quiet companionship. Occasionally, the poet would glance down, as if seeking Hisoka’s silent approval, but Hisoka would simply pop another marshmallow into his mouth, unfazed and content, his demeanor as steady as ever.

Izumi recalled the many times she’d almost caught the poet’s name. Once, in the middle of a particularly vivid verse about stars and the constellations, he had turned toward Hisoka, addressing him with what seemed to be a heartfelt flourish. But at that exact moment, someone’s phone blared right beside her, drowning out the name. She’d sighed, watching as the quiet man merely nodded in response, his expression inscrutable, while his friend continued his recital as if no interruption had occurred.

Today, the poet seemed more inspired than usual, and his voice grew louder as he described the beauty of the cityscape. “See how the buildings stand, like noble giants! And how we, mere mortals, drift below them, in awe of their majesty…” He gestured grandly, as if his words alone could capture the essence of the bustling city. Passengers around them cast amused glances, but Hisoka remained the picture of calm, chewing marshmallow after marshmallow.

Izumi couldn’t help but find their dynamic endearing. Despite his own nature, Hisoka was the poet’s perfect audience—someone who offered him a steady anchor, simply by being present. It made her wonder if the poet’s words ever resonated with Hisoka or if he simply appreciated the routine. Whatever the case, they seemed as natural together as sunlight and shadow, each complementing the other in a way that felt effortless.

As the bus approached their stop, the poet finished his recital with a grand flourish, as if concluding for an invisible audience. “And so, another day dawns upon this city of dreams!” He held his head high, a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he surveyed the world outside.

Hisoka, expression unchanged, tossed back the last marshmallow and rose slowly, adjusting his coat as he did. With a final, satisfied sigh, the poet reached for the door, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting applause from the passengers behind them.

The two men filed out together, the poet’s voice carrying through the morning air as he continued sharing his thoughts, while Hisoka trailed beside him, quiet and steady, hands now tucked back into his coat pockets.

Izumi barely had time to get her phone out before a familiar face appeared beside her, sliding into the empty spot with the ease of routine. Misumi Ikaruga had sat next to her every morning since she’d started taking this route. He had a habit of greeting her with a slight bounce in his step, as if the ground itself couldn’t quite contain his enthusiasm.

“Morning, Izumi!” Misumi greeted, flashing her a grin that seemed to catch the light. Dressed casually in a slightly oversized hoodie and jeans, he had the air of someone who was just a bit out of step with the world around him—but in the best way possible.

“Good morning, Misumi,” Izumi replied, smiling back. “Find any triangles today?”

His eyes lit up. “I saw three on my way here! A perfect trio, right outside the bakery near the stop,” he said, as if this discovery were the highlight of his week. “Triangles are everywhere, Izumi, you just gotta look close enough!” His fingers moved into the shape of a triangle as he spoke, adding emphasis to his point.

Misumi was a bit of an enigma to her. He had a whimsical, almost dreamy way of speaking, often focusing on things that others might overlook. But underneath his playful demeanor, she sensed a depth that others might miss. On days when he was quieter, she sometimes caught a glimpse of a sadness he hid beneath his smiles and lighthearted banter. And maybe that was why she found herself particularly fond of him; his happiness, though genuine, seemed hard-won.

“Did you sleep well last night?” she asked, noticing the slight shadows beneath his eyes. Misumi often had a restless energy, but today it seemed a bit more subdued.

He gave a small, almost sheepish nod. “I did. But, you know... sometimes sleep feels lonely, I… Thought about grandpa and Madoka a lot” he admitted, his gaze drifting to the floor. He quickly brightened up, though, and looked back at her with a grin. “But that’s why I look for triangles! They remind me that I’m never really alone. There’s always something connecting us, right?”

Izumi felt a pang in her heart, hearing the subtle loneliness in his words. Despite his cheerful spirit, Misumi had confided in her once or twice about his story. She admired his resilience; he found joy in the smallest things, even when life had given him every reason to feel isolated. She often texted him after particularly quiet rides, just to check in and ask if he was doing ok.

Before she could respond, the bus lurched to a stop, and a tall figure stepped aboard, immediately drawing her attention. The young man who entered was hard to miss, standing with a presence that seemed to radiate warmth. 

Kazunari Miyoshi, Izumi recognized him from previous rides, but never in this part of the city, usually close to the university area. She remembered one time she had seen him talking with Tsuzuru at a bus stop. Really, the world was filled with connections.

The guy was like a beam of sunlight, filling any space he entered with energy and positivity. Today was no different; he walked into the bus with an easy, welcoming smile and a wave at anyone who glanced his way.

“Misumi!” Kazunari called out as he spotted his friend, flashing him a peace sign. “Yo, dude! Long time no see—like, a whole day!” His voice was light and musical.

“Kazunari!” Misumi replied, his face lighting up. “There was a triangle outside the bakery today!” He pointed excitedly out the window, even though they’d already passed the bakery several stops back.

Kazunari laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Seriously, dude? I love that for you! Triangles everywhere, huh?” He held up his fingers to make a triangle back at Misumi, who beamed as if they’d just shared some profound secret.

“Hey, Izumi,” Kazunari said, turning to her with a bright smile. “You’re Misumi’s bus buddy, right? Nice to finally meet you officially!” He extended his hand in an exaggeratedly formal manner, which made her laugh as she shook it.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Kazunari,” she replied, instantly warmed by his friendliness. “Misumi talks about you sometimes—says you’re pretty much the best triangle-finder out there.”

“Ahh, my rep precedes me!” Kazunari said with a laugh, holding his hands behind his head. “Well, I do my best to live up to it. Misumi here taught me everything I know about the beauty of a good triangle.”

The bus jolted again as it hit a patch of uneven pavement, and Kazunari gripped the pole to steady himself, adjusting his stance with practiced ease. He continued chatting animatedly with Misumi, throwing in wild hand gestures and mimicking silly voices that had Misumi chuckling and even Izumi stifling a laugh. Their conversation was loud and energetic, like two kids in a classroom, oblivious to the world around them.

But then, Kazunari’s tone softened, and he turned to Misumi with a sincere smile. “You doing okay, though, dude?” he asked, voice just a bit quieter. “You seemed kinda down last time we talked.”

Misumi shrugged, a hint of that earlier wistfulness returning to his expression. “Just... sometimes it feels like there aren’t enough triangles, you know?” he said, his voice gentle, as if speaking only to Kazunari. “But I’m okay.”

Kazunari gave him a playful nudge, grinning. “Well, don’t you worry! I’ll be your honorary triangle, alright? And if you need more, just let me know. I got your back, anytime. I'll draw something for you later, and send you photos.”

The bus neared their destination, and Kazunari flashed a grin at her before waving a cheerful goodbye. “See ya, Izumi! And Misumi—let’s hunt for more triangles soon, yeah?”

“Absolutely!” Misumi replied, eyes shining. He gave Izumi a quick, shy smile before standing to join Kazunari as they exited.

There was people missing from today's ride though. 

Some mornings, if she was lucky enough, she would be granted by the presence of Tenma Sumeragi who was always hard to ignore—not only because he carried himself with the kind of presence you’d expect from a young celebrity, but because he was, in fact, a celebrity.

She recognized him the first time almost immediately from a series of popular dramas and films she had seen advertised around town, his face often splashed across posters with that familiar, self-assured expression.

Tenma was usually dressed sharply, though not ostentatiously—just enough to show he cared about appearances, even on a regular morning commute. Unlike the other regulars, Tenma rarely made eye contact with anyone. He moved purposefully down the aisle, his head held high, scanning the bus for a seat with practiced precision.

Izumi guessed his stances were a habit he’d developed over years of being in the public eye, a way of keeping his guard up against both admirers and critics alike. It must have been exhausting, she thought, always having to look like you had it all together.

Tenma, almost always, settled into a seat by the window, his gaze fixed firmly ahead as he slipped in a pair of headphones. He leaned back with an expression that bordered on frustration, his brows knitted slightly as he watched the city pass by outside. To the untrained eye, he might have even looked calm, but Izumi could tell there was tension beneath the surface.

She had watched Tenma enough times to pick up on his habits. Some mornings he seemed relaxed, his expression softened as he allowed himself a brief moment of rest, his eyes almost wistful as he stared out at the world beyond the window. But on other days—like today—he looked intense, as if something were weighing on him, a silent pressure he was carrying alone.

Izumi couldn’t help but wonder about the nature of that pressure, even if the guy wasn't on today's ride. Tenma was young, barely out of his teens, yet he already seemed to carry the weight of someone far older. She suspected it came with the territory—fame was a difficult burden for anyone, let alone someone his age, someone still figuring out who he was while constantly being told who he should be. 

Izumi thought back to the stories she’d heard about him, about his reputation for being something of a perfectionist. People often described him as difficult or demanding, but she sensed that his intensity wasn’t about being difficult; it was about striving for something greater, something that felt just out of reach. He wanted to be excellent, to prove to himself and everyone around him that he deserved the success he’d worked so hard to achieve.

But she wondered if he ever let himself simply enjoy it. There was a difference between striving for perfection and allowing oneself to experience joy, and she sensed that Tenma sometimes struggled to bridge that gap.

Once, she had seen him practicing lines under his breath, barely moving his lips as he stared out the window. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Izumi had noticed the slight furrow of his brow, the way he seemed to be reviewing each word carefully, as if he were preparing for a role far more important than any he’d taken on before.

She wanted to see him allow himself to enjoy the moments of his life that weren’t scripted, the unguarded moments when he didn’t have to be “Tenma Sumeragi, star actor,” but simply Tenma, a young man with dreams and struggles like anyone else.

As the bus rolled on, Izumi found herself hoping that he would, one day, let himself off the hook—even if just a little… Maybe today was a busy day for him, so that's why he couldn't get on the bus. 

Then, there was the other pair missing from the ride, and Izumi glanced around, her gaze naturally drifting to the empty seats that Tsumugi Tsukioka and Tasuku Takato usually occupied. 

Tsumugi and Tasuku were the kind of friends that balanced each other effortlessly. Tsumugi, with his soft eyes and calm demeanor, had a quiet energy that made you feel like time itself had slowed down around him. He had a gentle fascination for plants, often showing up with little potted cuttings or stray leaves tucked carefully in his bag. Izumi had seen him reading about gardening on his phone during the ride or absentmindedly studying the trees lining the streets, his expression relaxed and contemplative. 

Tasuku, on the other hand, had a more intense presence—focused and always energized, like a sprinter ready for the starting signal. He’d sometimes board the bus wearing athletic gear, with that unmistakable afterglow of an early morning run. He radiated determination and had a posture that hinted at self-discipline and confidence. Yet with Tsumugi beside him, Tasuku seemed softer somehow. 

Izumi remembered the first time Tsumugi had struck up a conversation with her. It was early one morning while waiting at the bus stop, and he’d casually mentioned something about a script she was revising for one of her friends. As they shared a love for theater, his eyes lit up as he talked about a play he was interested in seeing. Tasuku had stood beside him, quietly listening, only chiming in with a few nods and murmurs, yet clearly as passionate as Tsumugi. 

Izumi often saw them sitting in comfortable silence, each occupied with their own thoughts or quietly pointing out something outside the window. Tsumugi would sometimes lean over to share something quietly, and Tasuku would listen, his expression softening as he took in his friend’s words. 

As her gaze wandered again, it landed on two figures who had, in some way, become anchors in her morning routine too. She didn’t know their names or anything about their lives, but she recognized them nonetheless, two distinct presences whose unspoken energy seemed to balance the crowd of the bus.

One of them—whom she thought of as "the gentle one"—sat across from her near the aisle. He was a tall young man with broad shoulders, his face open and warm in a way that made her feel at ease. This morning, as always, he was engrossed with his camera. She’d noticed this about him—the care he seemed to put into his belongings, the way he held his camera with gentle reverence.

He had a habit of looking out for others, too, just as Sakuya. Once, she’d seen him offer his seat to an elderly woman when the bus was particularly full. Another time, he had helped a young mother with her stroller, lifting it with surprising ease. He never asked for thanks; he simply moved through these gestures with a quiet, understated kindness. 

Sometimes he’d smile looking at photos on his camera, other times his brows would furrow as if he were truly remembering the moments of it. Izumi couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he led outside of this bus, what stories he carried that might make him feel so deeply.

Her gaze then drifted to the back of the bus, where the other man sat, pressed against the window as though seeking solace in the view outside. He was always immaculate, his long hair smooth and shining, framing a face that was strikingly refined. Everything about him seemed carefully composed, from his quiet demeanor to the faint air of mystery that surrounded him. She thought of him as "the enigmatic one," a person who seemed to float above the mundane.

Where the gentle youngster brought warmth and comfort, this man exuded an elegance that felt almost otherworldly. He had a presence that was somehow both ethereal and untouchable, as though he belonged to a different world entirely. She imagined him living a life filled with art and music, lost in a world of soft colors and delicate emotions, too complex for her to fully grasp.

She often saw him with a leather-bound journal in hand, though she’d never once seen him write in it. Instead, he would open its pages and stare down. Some days, he would trace his fingers over the pages, his movements slow and contemplative, as if feeling the weight of memories hidden between the lines.

There was a sadness to him, a quiet melancholy that made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t explain. It was as if he carried something fragile within him, something that couldn’t be shared. Yet, despite the wall he seemed to keep around himself, he never made others feel unwelcome. 

She imagined him as someone who found beauty in small moments, in quiet solitude, and perhaps even in loss. His aura suggested a person who had come to terms with life’s fleeting nature, someone who moved through the world with grace and acceptance. She felt an odd urge to reach out to him, to let him know that whatever pain he might carry, he wasn’t alone.

Izumi felt the familiar jolt as the bus came to a stop and, out of habit, glanced up the door. There he was, boarding with his usual brisk, purposeful stride… That man, probably close to her age, and really, totally her style.

She always saw him two stops before she had to get off the bus, and he always carried himself with a sense of calm authority that was hard to ignore, even in the mundanity of the morning commute. Broad-shouldered and sharply dressed in a well-fitted blazer, he seemed more like a businessman commuting to a high-stakes meeting than a regular passenger on a city bus. His presence commanded respect, and it sent a small thrill through Izumi every time she saw him. It was an odd sort of excitement that left her a bit breathless, as if his very nearness had the power to keep her rooted in place.

The man walked down the aisle and, to her delight, settled into his usual seat near her, only a row away, close enough for her to catch glimpses of his strong profile. She noticed the way he held himself, always poised and formal, his eyes sharp beneath the frame of his glasses as he glanced out the window with a thoughtful expression. She couldn’t deny it any longer—she had a crush on him. A subtle but persistent crush that had grown with each bus ride, and today, it felt even harder to ignore.

What was it about him that drew her in? It was more than his looks, though she found him undeniably attractive. It was his calm demeanor, his quiet confidence, the air of someone who knew who he was and what he wanted from life. There was a steadiness to him that made her feel safe, even from a distance.

Today, as she stole small glances at him, she found herself imagining what it might be like to talk to him, to bridge the silent gap between them. She pictured it in her mind—maybe not this week, but next. Maybe she’d finally get the courage to strike up a conversation, ask him about the book he sometimes read on the bus or mention the route they both shared. Or maybe, just maybe, she’d be brave enough to ask him for coffee, or, if she was lucky, the guy also liked curry.

The thought of asking him on a date sent her heart racing, and she turned her gaze away, feeling her cheeks warm with an uncharacteristic shyness.

What she didn’t realize was that the man, too, was aware of her. She was a familiar presence to him now, her quiet grace something he’d come to look forward to every morning. He found himself intrigued by the way she carried herself, noticing the subtle expressions on her face as she looked out the window or read something on her phone. He’d caught her gaze a few times, though she always looked away quickly, leaving him to wonder what thoughts occupied her mind.

There were days when he considered striking up a conversation, but something always held him back. Perhaps it was the unspoken nature of their connection, the quiet understanding they shared without the need for words.

The bus continued its journey, passing through familiar streets. Izumi tried to focus on the scenery outside, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. Each time the bus jolted over a bump or took a sharp turn, her mind spun with the possibility of what could be. What would it feel like to know him beyond the confines of this bus, to see him in a different light, maybe even outside of his structured, formal self?

As they neared her stop, Izumi glanced at him one last time, hoping for the courage to say something, anything that might break the silence between them. But instead, she simply gathered her things, mentally promising herself that next week she would find the nerve.

But as she stood to disembark, Sakyo looked up, and their eyes met—really met. For the first time, she noticed a warmth in his gaze, a look that went beyond casual acknowledgment. It was as though he were seeing her fully, not just as another passenger but as someone who mattered to him in some quiet, significant way.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying a depth she hadn’t anticipated. There was a faint smile on his face, one that softened his typically serious expression.

“Good morning,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt the words catch in her throat, a mix of nerves and excitement making it hard to speak. But she managed a smile, one that seemed to encourage him, even if just a little.

As the bus came to a stop and she prepared to step off, Sakyo spoke again, his tone casual yet somehow full of meaning. “Maybe next week,” he said, almost as if he were reading her thoughts, “we’ll run into each other again.”

Izumi looked back at him, surprised, but he only gave her a slight nod, his expression unreadable yet somehow reassuring. There was something in his eyes—a hint of interest, of possibility, that made her heart skip a beat.

As she stepped off the bus, she felt a thrill of anticipation she hadn’t expected. The connection they’d shared in silence for so long had finally been acknowledged, even if just in passing. And as she walked away, her mind raced with thoughts of next week, of the small step they’d taken toward each other and the potential that lay within it.

For the first time, she felt certain that her morning routine would never be quite the same again, although she hoped the stories of all the other guys could bloom in front of her in each of these bus rides.

Maybe fate would make them meet outside of it someday.