Junpei Iori

Summer nights in Tatsumi Port Island were always humid, the air thick and clinging like a second skin. You weren’t sure if the heat was what made you restless or if it was something else entirely—the way Junpei had been acting all night, maybe.

The two of you had been hanging out like always, just kicking back on the dorm rooftop, the city lights flickering in the distance. He’d been talking a mile a minute at first, cracking dumb jokes, teasing you like usual. But at some point, he just... stopped.

Now, he’s sitting there, fidgeting with the bill of his cap, pulling it down low like it could hide whatever was eating at him.

“Man,” he exhales, shaking his head with a chuckle. “This is so stupid.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What is?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back against the railing, tilting his head up toward the sky. It’s barely visible with all the city lights, but he stares like he’s searching for something. Maybe the right words.

“I dunno,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual. “I guess I just—” He stops again, clicks his tongue, then forces out a laugh. “Forget it. You’ll just think I’m being weird.”

Something about the way he says it makes your chest feel tight.

You nudge his arm. “Junpei.”

He flinches slightly at your voice. Then, finally, he looks at you. His face is flushed—not just from the summer heat. His eyes flicker over your expression, searching, hesitating.

And then, barely above a whisper—so low you almost don’t catch it—he says:

“I think I like you.”

The rooftop is silent.