The night was still young as the four of them walked down the quiet streets of Tokyo. Neon reflections shimmered in puddles left behind by the afternoon rain. Taiki laughed at Alya's joke, but it didn't quite reach his chest.
He looked at her—golden hair bouncing with each step, yellow eyes full of fire like always. She was cool, no doubt. Funny, confident, bold. A lot of guys had tried to shoot their shot with her—but she always brushed them off like lint on her sleeve.
And yet…
Something about tonight felt different.
"You're spacing out again," Alya said, popping open her soda can with a hiss. "Is it about her?"
Taiki froze mid-step. "Huh?"
Alya gave him that knowing look—the kind that made you feel like she'd read your mind three pages ahead.
"You think I don't notice the way you look at Miku?"
His heart dropped into his shoes.
"I... I don't—" he started, then shut his mouth, too late.
"Relax, bro," Alya grinned, sipping her drink. "I'm not teasing. Just saying… you're not as subtle as you think."
Taiki looked down at the soda in his hand. The bubbles fizzed up, loud and wild, like the noise in his chest. He hadn't even realized Miku was watching him earlier.
Had she seen him walking next to Alya? Laughing?
Did she… misunderstand?
The thought stung more than he expected it to.
"She looked kinda… far today," he mumbled, mostly to himself.
Alya stretched her arms behind her head and cracked her neck with a loud pop. "Maybe you should stop watching her from behind and catch up already."
"Easy for you to say, Alya." He sighed, shaking his head.
She bumped her shoulder into his with a smirk. "Then stop making excuses. Go do something."
Taiki gave a weak chuckle. "You're relentless."
"And you're hopeless."
He turned his head, scanning the surrounding street. His eyes flicked toward the railing they'd passed earlier—the spot Miku always liked standing at during their walks.
She wasn't there anymore.
The night air suddenly felt colder. A strange tightness tugged at his chest.
> "Miku…"
Even if they were just friends now, why did he feel like he was losing her?
Meanwhile…
Tokyo pulsed with its usual rhythm. The distant hum of trains. The distant chatter of tourists. Neon signs blinked like curious eyes. The scent of ramen, grilled squid, and sweet mochi filled the air. Miku walked beside Rio, the silence between them calm—not awkward. Just… light.
They passed a record store. Miku glanced at the window, smiling faintly at the classic vinyls on display. Rio noticed.
"You into old music?" he asked.
"Some," she said. "My mom used to play jazz on Sunday mornings."
He blinked. "Didn't peg you for a jazz girl."
She shrugged with a small grin. "There's a lot you don't know about me."
A street artist sprayed a graffiti mural nearby—colorful wings emerging from a human figure. A cat darted across the alley, disappearing into the shadows.
It all felt like a dream.
Until—
"Oi, Silver?"
That voice.
Rio stopped. His smile faded like chalk in the rain.
Miku turned, confused, sensing the sudden tension in the air like a change in pressure.
Three guys stood at the alley entrance. Tall, familiar silhouettes framed by the flickering glow of a convenience store sign.
One of them—short dark hair, broad shoulders, that same smug look Rio would never forget—stepped forward slowly.
"Didn't think I'd see you again," the guy said. "What, Tokyo ain't big enough for the both of us?"
Rio's jaw clenched. Fear gripped his chest, cold and sharp.
"…Akira," he muttered.
Miku's eyes widened.
Wait—Akira Hoshino?
That name. The one Rio had once whispered under his breath when he thought she wasn't listening. A name soaked in pain and shadows.
The one who'd hurt him.
The one he'd never talk about in full.
Akira walked forward, cracking his knuckles like some overconfident punk from a B-grade movie. "Still quiet, huh? Some things never change. You can't teach an old dog new tricks."
Rio stood still. His fists clenched at his sides.
"I ain't your dog," he said, voice low but firm.
Miku instinctively stepped closer to him.
But Rio didn't flinch.
He took a breath, shoulders straightening.
> "Not everything stays the same," he told himself quietly.
Akira raised an eyebrow, curious now. "You've changed, huh?"
Rio smirked. "You'll find out."
The tension in the air sizzled. Somewhere nearby, a truck honked, distant but jarring. A beat passed. Another.
Then—Akira just laughed. A sharp, mocking sound. He waved his hand, turning away.
"Don't worry. I'm not here for trouble," he said over his shoulder. "Yet."
Miku stayed quiet. Her chest tightened with a mix of fear and confusion.
Who was that guy really?
Rio turned to her, his expression unreadable but calm.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
She nodded slowly. "That was him, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," he said.
"…Are you okay?" she asked, more softly this time.
He looked up at the night sky, stars barely visible through the city haze. "I think I will be."
They kept walking. Slower now. The silence between them returned—but it wasn't the same.
The night wasn't as light anymore.
They reached a quiet park on the edge of the neighborhood. A soft breeze rustled the leaves. The glowing vending machines buzzed in the distance.
Rio sat on a bench. Miku joined him.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" she asked.
He looked at her, thoughtful. "Not really. Not yet."
She nodded. "Okay."
But then he added, "He was someone I trusted. Like a brother."
Miku's lips parted slightly. She didn't speak—just listened.
Rio's hands tightened into fists. "He betrayed me. Made me doubt everything. My music. My worth. My place."
A long pause.
"I didn't think I'd run into him like this."
Miku leaned back, watching the night sky with him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You didn't do anything."
"I know. But I still am."
The breeze grew cooler. Crickets began to chirp.
"People say Tokyo's too big," Rio murmured. "But somehow, you always end up face-to-face with your past."
"Maybe so you can deal with it," Miku said.
He glanced at her. She wasn't smiling. But her expression was calm. Kind.
She meant it.
Rio sighed. "Maybe."
They sat in silence again. Then Rio chuckled under his breath.
"What?" Miku asked.
"I never thanked you," he said.
"For?"
"For being there."
She looked at him, unsure how to respond.
"You don't always talk a lot," he continued. "But… when you do, it matters."
Miku blinked. Then she looked down, suddenly shy. "You're weird."
"Yeah," he agreed. "But you stayed."
A long moment passed. Their shoulders touched, just barely.
And for a moment, the heaviness in Rio's chest loosened.
[Back to Taiki and Alya]
Taiki leaned against the cold vending machine, catching his breath. Alya sat nearby on the bench, towel around her neck, still sipping her drink like she hadn't just sprinted two blocks.
"You lost," she said flatly.
"I let you win."
"You didn't."
"Maybe not." He sighed, brushing hair from his eyes.
"You're thinking about her again," she noted.
He didn't deny it.
Alya looked at him for a moment, then said, "You really like her, don't you?"
Taiki rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. Maybe I always have."
"Then what's stopping you?"
He looked at her, frustrated. "She doesn't see me that way. And even if she did, I'm not sure I'd be enough."
Alya raised an eyebrow. "That's dumb."
"Thanks."
"No, seriously. If you're worried about being enough, then step up. Work for it. Don't mope about it."
Taiki laughed softly. "Spoken like someone who's never been rejected."
"I've rejected plenty of guys, remember? I know how this works."
He stared at the floor. "…She's different."
"Then be different too."
The vending machine buzzed. His soda dropped into the tray. He grabbed it and stared at the can like it held answers.
Outside, the stars hid behind clouds. But even then, the city lights never stopped shining.
Later that night…
Miku sat by her window, knees tucked under her chin, headphones around her neck.
Her phone buzzed.
It was a message from Taiki:
"You okay? Didn't see you after the walk."
She stared at it, fingers hovering over the keys.
After a pause, she typed:
"Yeah. Just needed some air."
She almost sent it. But instead… she deleted it.
Then put the phone down.
Across town, Rio lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
He pulled his necklace from under his shirt—a simple silver tag.
He got up, walked to the trash bin…
And threw it in.
To be continued.