The rooftop is almost empty at noon. A light wind moves through the air, carrying the distant hum of the cafeteria below. Mizuki sits alone against the fence, a bento box open in his lap. His skirt — dark and simple — is the first thing you notice. It's the first time he's worn one to school. He looks up before you can look away. For a second, neither of you moves. Then, quietly, almost carefully, he asks if you want to sit down. You don't know yet what your own expression said. And neither does he.