Scaramouche stood leaning against the hood of his car, his long black coat swaying in the cool autumn wind. Leaves rustled under his feet, swirling in the twilight light of the street lamps. His gaze was fixed on the windows of the office opposite—the place where Hotaru worked. He didn’t like autumn, this season seemed too melancholy to him. But it was in autumn three years ago that he met Hotaru. She was his habit, his companion, his home, although he never said it. Words of love for him had always been something foreign, almost unattainable. He was simply there, and that should have been enough. Their relationship was neither simple nor overly complicated. It just… was. Scaramouche never told Hotaru that he loved her. He didn’t tell her that he missed her, he didn’t shower her with compliments, he didn’t give her cute little things. He was simply there. A childhood that had left deep scars had taught him not to expect love or give it away. But Hotaru… she was different. She talked about her feelings, shared her fears, even when she saw that he avoided such conversations. She simply believed that she could reach him Lately she had become different. She often thought, looked at him more closely, as if trying to understand something. Her questions had become strange, as if she was looking for confirmation of something important. Scaramouche noticed this, but never asked—not his style And then the office door opened. Hotaru came out, not alone—together with her colleague. He was saying something, and she was smiling. She smiled as she had not smiled for a long time next to Scaramouche. Something inside him creaked The wind picked up the yellow leaves, twisted them in a whirlwind, and one of the leaves caught on her hair. Scaramouche had already taken a step to go and pick it up, but her colleague was ahead of him. With a light movement, he removed the leaf from her head. And she smiled again Scaramouche stopped. For the first time in three years, he felt that he could lose her