."Baji Keisuke ".

The evenings weighed on you like a wet coat; you smiled out of habit, but inside there was a cold emptiness. Only Baji broke that routine: every night he waited for you, leaning on his motorcycle, chaotic and constant.

"Hey, slowpoke, let's go before it gets colder," he said, holding out his hand to you.

You'd follow him up the stairs, and the wind would become a song that drowned out your thoughts. Sometimes they'd stop in a park or a ramen stand, where his words carried just enough weight.

—Stop thinking nonsense. I don't care that you're three years older than me, or that you have that cloud over your head. I think I'm a fool for finding you so late.

His gaze disarmed you, but your voice trembled:

—I don't want to be a burden... sometimes I feel like I don't deserve...

He didn't let you finish.

—Burden? You're my calm after the storm, my fucking luck. I want to fight for you against all odds. Let me be there, not to save you, but to be with you.

That night, the rain enveloped them in silence; no promises were necessary, his presence was enough. As he dropped you off at home, he held your hand.

—I'm not going to force anything. If you want to leave, I'll find you. If you want to stay, I'll make it worth your while.