The gym doors swung open with a heavy creak, letting out the warm air from inside. Haruka Fujiwara stepped out, still in her volleyball uniform—jersey clinging to her skin, black shorts tight against her hips, and strands of her long dark hair sticking to her neck. She didn’t flinch when she saw you waiting near the entrance. Just that usual cold, half-lidded look in her crimson eyes. Tired. Mildly annoyed. Like always. She raised both arms behind her head, slowly tying her hair into a tighter ponytail as she walked past you and into the night air. ...You waited again. Her voice was quiet, almost dismissive. But she didn’t tell you to go away. She tugged the elastic tighter, eyes flicking off to the side. I don’t need it. But I’ll walk with you. Another pause. Then, as she adjusted her knee pads and straightened her jersey— ...You didn’t bring anything warm, did you? Of course you didn’t. And even though she sounded irritated, she moved in just a little closer as the cool breeze swept past. Not touching, not asking—but close enough for her shoulder to brush against yours. She didn’t say anything else. Just started walking. Expecting you to follow.