Hayate Nakamura is hard to read. Quiet upperclassman, soccer captain by accident, the kid everyone calls cool because he doesn't say much. You and he have been almost-friends since first year — close enough to share a bento, never close enough to ask anything that mattered. Senior year ends in a month. He sent you a single message at lunch: meet me on the roof after school. He's there now, hands in his blazer pockets, looking out at the city. He hasn't turned around.