The air smelled of salt and charcoal. Yoshino stood on the terrace of a beach house in Shimoda, turning marinated meat over a grill while the late-afternoon sunlight scattered across the ocean. Fat hissed against the hot coals, and a breeze carried the scent of the sea through her hair. Behind her, wide glass doors opened into a beautiful white house overlooking the coastline. Beyond the terrace, a stretch of green lawn sloped toward pale sand and the blue waters of the Pacific. A few beach towels hung over the railing, and brightly colored toys lay scattered across the grass. Children’s laughter drew her attention toward the beach. Two small figures chased each other across the lawn, their bare feet kicking up the occasional patch of sand. Yoshino watched them with a smile, although she couldn’t quite make out their faces. Whenever she tried to focus on their features, they moved farther away or turned their heads, leaving her with little more than the impression of familiar voices and energetic movements. One of the children suddenly stopped and waved at her. “Mommy! We’re so hungry!”

The other hurried after them, calling out, “Dad’s right behind us! We can’t wait to eat!”

Yoshino laughed and reached for a plate beside the grill. “You two are going to have to wait another minute. The meat’s almost done.”

“But we’re starving!”

“You’re always starving,” she replied, shaking her head affectionately.

She looked beyond them toward the shoreline, where a man was walking up from the beach. The sun hung directly behind him, obscuring his face and casting his features into shadow. Yoshino raised a hand to shield her eyes, but she could distinguish little beyond his broad shoulders and the relaxed way he approached the house. She tried to recognize him, searching for a familiar detail in his posture or clothing, yet his identity remained just beyond her grasp.

Strangely, she wasn’t concerned. The children clearly knew him, and she understood that he belonged there with them. She returned her attention to the grill, smiling as their impatient voices grew louder.

“Well, come eat—”

“Yoshino.”

She paused, the tongs suspended above the grill. The voice hadn’t come from the beach.

“Yoshino.”

The children’s laughter faded. The ocean, the terrace, and the bright afternoon sky dissolved before she could turn around.

“Yoshino.”

Her eyes opened.

Yoshino inhaled sharply and lifted her head from the pillow. She blinked several times, struggling to recognize the ceiling above her. The bedroom curtains were drawn, allowing only a little daylight to enter, and her partially unpacked suitcase stood beside the wall. Several belongings she’d removed earlier remained scattered across the dresser. She was back in Osaka, lying in her own bed, and the beach house in Shimoda had been nothing more than a dream.

Crouched beside her was Shouma, watching her with his usual composed expression.

“I was trying to wake you up slowly,” he explained, resting one forearm against his knee, “but you started talking about food, and now I’m hungry.”

Yoshino stared at him, still disoriented.

“We can’t eat downstairs until you wake up,” he added.

“Shouma, wait—what?”

She pushed herself upright and immediately winced as a dull ache spread across her forehead. “Damn it.” Pressing a hand against her temple, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the headboard. “I didn’t realize how badly not sleeping enough was going to mess me up. My head is killing me.”

“You barely slept, didn’t you?”

“Not really. Kirishima and I stayed awake the entire night before I left Tokyo, and I couldn’t sleep properly on the train either.” She rubbed her eyes, remembering how frequently she’d woken during the journey despite being exhausted. “Apparently my body’s finally decided it’s had enough.”

Shouma glanced at her tired expression. “You should’ve slept on the train.”

“I tried, genius. That’s what I just told you.” Yoshino sighed and glanced toward the bedroom door, where the distant sound of conversation drifted up from downstairs. “Anyway, I need to eat. Maybe that’s why I was dreaming about food.”

“Probably.” Shouma reached toward the nightstand and held out a glass of water with a packet of headache medicine. “Here.”

Yoshino looked at the items, then at him. “You already brought me medicine?”

“Yeah.”

A tired smile spread across her face as she accepted them. “Thank you, Shouma. You always have my back, and I’m really grateful for that.”

“It’s just medicine.”

“I know, but still.” She swallowed the tablets and took a long drink of water before handing him the glass. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” He returned the glass to the nightstand, apparently satisfied that the matter required no further discussion.

Yoshino pushed her hair away from her face and glanced toward her suitcase. “So, does this thing downstairs require me to dress up, or can I just throw on something comfortable and—”

She stopped when she finally took a proper look at him.

Shouma wore a crisp white dress shirt tucked into tailored black slacks, with an untied bow tie hanging loosely around his collar. A brown leather watch with silver accents rested against his wrist, and his usual piercings and black hair kept the outfit from appearing overly formal. Yoshino had seen him dressed for important occasions before, but she couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked quite so polished.

“Wow.”

Shouma glanced down at himself. “What?”

“You look great.”

“Oh.” He looked back at her. “Thanks.”

Yoshino smiled. “What’s with the outfit? You look like you’re about to attend somebody’s wedding.”

“Renji told me I had to wear it.”

“Of course he did.”

“Said I didn’t have a choice.”

She laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s probably the only way Gramps can get you to wear something he picks out.”

“Pretty much.”

Yoshino tilted her head, examining him with open approval. The white shirt suited his broad shoulders, and the black slacks gave him a more mature appearance than his usual casual clothes. “You’re a good-looking guy, Shouma. I think Gramps sees you as an extension of himself, whether you like it or not.”

Shouma raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He likes looking good, and he expects the people around him to look good, too. Especially when he’s hosting something.” She gestured toward his shirt. “Besides, you clean up nicely. You should dress like this more often.”

“Don’t start.”

“What? I’m complimenting you!”

“I know.”

“Then accept the compliment.”

“….”

Yoshino chuckled and pushed the covers aside, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her headache persisted, but the prospect of food and a shower was enough to motivate her to stand. She stretched her arms above her head before looking toward the closet.

“Okay. What the hell am I supposed to wear, then?”

Shouma pointed toward the closet. “In there.”

She followed his gesture. “You already know what I’m supposed to wear?”

“Tsubaki.”

Yoshino sighed. “Of course.”

She crossed the room and opened the closet doors, stopping when she noticed an ivory dress hanging separately from her other clothes. Its structured bodice fitted closely through the waist before falling into an elegant mid-calf skirt, while the high neckline gave it a refined silhouette. Elaborate floral and bird motifs covered the pale fabric in deep crimson, emerald green, blue, and gold, with the pattern growing richer toward the hem. The design was extravagant without appearing excessive, combining traditional decorative elements with a modern cut.

Yoshino reached out and touched the fabric before carefully removing the dress from its hanger. “Wow. This is gorgeous.”

She held it against herself, examining the way the skirt fell, then noticed the designer’s tag. Her eyebrows rose.

“And fucking expensive.”

From his position beside the bed, Shouma glanced toward her. “Yup.”

“Yeah, this was definitely Tsubaki’s doing.”

“Yup.”

Yoshino turned toward him. “You could at least pretend to be surprised.”

“Why?”

“Because normal people don’t casually put something like this in somebody’s closet without mentioning it!”

“Tsubaki does.”

Yoshino opened her mouth to argue, then reconsidered. “Okay, fair point.”

She examined the dress once more before returning it carefully to the hanger. She appreciated beautiful clothes and certainly wasn’t opposed to expensive things, but Tsubaki’s habit of spending enormous amounts of money without warning never ceased to amaze her. Judging by the activity downstairs, Yoshino suspected the dress was only one small part of whatever elaborate celebration had been arranged for her return.

“Well, now I definitely need a shower.” She closed the closet and turned toward Shouma. “Do you mind if I take a quick one?”

“I don’t. Want me to tell Tsubaki you’ll need another thirty minutes?”

“No, it’ll take ten minutes max.”

Shouma looked at her. “Ten?”

“Yes, ten. Five minutes to shower, five minutes to dress and do my hair.” She counted on her fingers before giving him a confident nod. “Easy.”

He remained silent, although his expression suggested considerable doubt.

Yoshino pointed at him. “I can do it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

“My face always looks like this.”

She considered his answer before nodding. “Fair.”

Yoshino gathered a few things from her suitcase and started toward the bathroom. Halfway there, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Oh, Shouma?”

“Hm?”

“Just chill here for a bit, okay?”

He looked at her, waiting.

“I don’t want to walk downstairs by myself, okay?”

Shouma understood. Renji and Tsubaki had organized a welcome-home gathering, and Yoshino would undoubtedly spend the evening greeting relatives, answering questions, and enduring more attention than she wanted. Having him beside her would make the first few minutes easier.

“Okay.”

“Thanks.” She smiled and continued toward the bathroom. “And don’t disappear.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

The bathroom door closed behind her, and a moment later, Shouma heard the water begin running. He stood, retrieved his phone, and settled into the blue upholstered chair near the corner of her bedroom. Several messages were waiting for him, none particularly urgent, and he scrolled through them while listening to Yoshino move around in the adjoining room.

Her request hadn’t surprised him. Yoshino had always been comfortable around him, whether she was changing clothes behind a screen, or asking him to wait outside a dressing room. She trusted him to respect her privacy, and he had never given her reason to reconsider.

Shouma wasn’t oblivious to her appearance, nor had he ever been entirely indifferent to her. He’d been attracted to Yoshino for years, although he’d learned to keep those feelings from interfering with their friendship. She had never asked him to interpret her affection romantically, and he refused to make her uncomfortable simply because he occasionally wished their relationship were different. If she wanted him to wait while she showered, he would wait. There was no reason to turn an ordinary request into anything complicated.

He also enjoyed being the person she turned to without hesitation. Yoshino rarely needed anyone to take care of her, but she accepted his help without the defensiveness she sometimes displayed toward others. He knew her habits well enough to recognize when she was tired, irritated, or pretending she wasn’t hungry, and she had no difficulty telling him when he was being an idiot. They could argue over dinner, sit together without speaking, or spend an entire afternoon doing separate things in the same room.

He’d missed those afternoons.

During her time in Tokyo, Shouma had continued with his usual responsibilities, but he occasionally caught himself reaching for his phone to tell her about something before remembering that she wasn’t nearby. He missed her complaints about his eating habits, her sudden appearances when he was trying to work, and the way she could turn a simple conversation into an argument merely because she enjoyed disagreeing with him. Most of all, he missed having her around without needing to arrange it beforehand. He glanced toward the bathroom door when he heard a drawer open, followed by the sound of something being placed on the counter.

Shouma checked the time on his phone and smiled faintly. Knowing Yoshino, she’d probably take fifteen. Twenty minutes if she became distracted. He had nowhere else he needed to be.

Downstairs, Renji and Tsubaki had prepared an elaborate welcome-home celebration. There would be food, relatives, members of the gumi, and enough questions about Tokyo to exhaust Yoshino before the evening was over. Shouma could already imagine her smiling through the greetings, answering the same questions repeatedly, and eventually searching the room for an opportunity to escape. She would probably come looking for him.

He slipped his phone into his pocket and leaned back in the chair, resting one ankle over his opposite knee. The water continued running behind the bathroom door, accompanied by the occasional sound of Yoshino moving around.

For now, the people downstairs could wait. Yoshino would have plenty of time to greet everyone, and he would be beside her when she did.

Until then, he was content to sit in her room and listen to her getting ready, just as he had countless times before she left for Tokyo.