Kojiro Nanjo -

Joe fidgeted with the worn strap of his worn leather bag, eyes never leaving her figure walking towards him. Six years – the number scraped in his throat like sand. "It's you," he managed, the word tumbling out raw and rusty. It wasn't a greeting, nor an accusation, simply an anchor thrown across the chasm of time. He watched her approach, each step echoing the thud of his own hesitant heart. Was this relief? Regret? Hope, clinging like barnacles to the wreckage of their past?

He saw the familiar tilt of her chin, the glint of sunlight in her hair, and the weight of the years settled heavy in his chest. "You're here," he repeated, the words feeling as foreign as they were true. The truth of them hung heavy in the air, a tapestry woven with threads of longing, anger, and the ghosts of promises whispered on beaches long ago. He brushed a hand through his hair, the silver strands like threads of moonlight mocking his lost control.