Remus hadn’t expected to feel so strange in his own home.
Well it wasn’t quite a home yet. It was a place. A building. An apartment. A decently sized one-bedroom with creaky floors and walls so thin he could hear his upstairs neighbor’s alarm go off at six every morning, followed by what sounded like a full sprint across the room. It was new, and newness always felt like something to be worn in, like a pair of stiff boots that would eventually soften. But for now, it didn’t fit quite right and was kind of hurting his feet.
The apartment smelled of damp cardboard and the bitter edge of over-brewed tea. Remus shuffled across the hardwood floor, socks catching on a splinter near the kitchen and squinted at the stack of boxes crowding the corner. Still unpacked after a week. He’d moved here for practical reasons. The university was close enough to walk to and the rent didn’t eat up his tight student budget. The dorms had started to feel suffocating like he couldn’t breathe there anymore. But even with those good reasons, the old third-floor walk-up in a worn red-brick building hadn’t settled into feeling like his yet. The walls were empty except for a single crooked nail someone had left behind and the big living room window shook a little when the wind picked up outside. That window was a beast but it let in soft gray light and gave him a view of the street below. A crooked line of lampposts, a bakery with a sign that flickered on and off, and a laundromat that buzzed quietly all night. His plants sat along the sill—a fern, a pothos, and a tough little succulent—each one a small win after carrying them up the creaky stairs on moving day.
Sleep had never come easy for Remus, and it was worse now. He’d always struggled with it, trying things like counting his breaths and little lambs. Reading until his eyes burned. Some nights, he even let the odd polka music drifting up from downstairs fill the quiet. It should’ve annoyed him but it didn’t. It was almost nice knowing someone else was awake in this old, noisy building. Lately though he’d started spending more time by the window. It began because he couldn’t sit still holding a warm mug of tea as he leaned there watching the street come alive in its own weird way. One night, he’d seen a fox dart between the trash bins. Another time, a guy in a bathrobe was yelling at trash like it had insulted him. Those moments felt like half-dreams, strange and blurry sometimes so wild he wasn’t sure he could trust his own eyes. But a few days in, he noticed something steady: a cat sitting on the windowsill across the street. Its fur was a soft mix of orange and cream, glowing a little in the light from the room behind it. The cat sat there like it had been waiting for him, eyes bright and tail curling slowly against the glass.
He didn’t plan on chatting with him. It just sort of happened. He’d been watering his plants, Fernanda was looking droopy again, leaves hanging low like she was putting on a show and he glanced up to see the cat watching. “You’re seeing this, yeah?” he mumbled, mostly to himself, tilting the watering can. “She’s hopeless without me.” The cat just stared calm and unbothered and he let out a quiet laugh. After that it stuck. He’d shuffle over with the can, socks catching on the rough floor and talk.
“Plantenstein’s holding up, though,” he said one night, brushing a leaf with his thumb.
“He’s a solid one. Not like Fernanda—she’s needy.” The cat’s head tipped a little, and Remus figured he was on the same page.
It became part of his routine. Wake up too early or fall asleep too late, tea in hand, watering can ready and a quiet, unspoken check-in with the cat across the street.
And if the world outside was particularly ridiculous that night the cat would be the only other witness.
Like last Wednesday when a man dressed as a knight wobbled down the street completely alone sword clanking against his hip. Or the time a group of teenagers set up an entire dining table in the middle of the road and sat there playing UNO until the cops showed up.
Remus had learned to take it all in stride lifting his mug slightly toward the cat in acknowledgment whenever things got especially absurd.
“Are we seeing this?” he’d murmur, barely audible through the glass, eyebrows raised.
The cat, without fail, would blink back slowly, unimpressed.
It was oddly comforting, more than Remus had expected. He wasn’t completely alone here. There was the polka guy downstairs, the sprinter upstairs, and the bakery owner who’d slip him an extra roll when he stopped by late and the sweet sweet cat across the street that honestly hated Remus’s guts based on the looks he has been giving the guy.
A week in, he still hadn’t seen the cat’s owner.
He supposed it made sense. He himself had been busy settling in dealing with a combination of coursework and adjusting to life outside a dorm. Whoever lived across from him probably had their own things to handle. It didn’t stop him from wondering, though. What kind of person had a cat like that? Or what kind of person that the cat had?
He didn’t dwell on it too much. Until the day he did see them.
It was a morning. Remus had shuffled to the window out of habit, watering can in hand—even though his mother always told him not to water the plants that early because “They need their sleep too Remus!” — hair a mess, sleep still clinging to his limbs. He glanced up, expecting the usual routine: plants, tea, a quick hello to his friend.
But instead of just the cat, there was someone else in the scenery toward the window.
A person.
A person who was singing to himself, completely and utterly unbothered, moving around his apartment.
Remus froze.
It wasn’t just the singing, which was vaguely off-key and totally in an unlogical hour but charming in a way that made his stomach flip unexpectedly. It was the whole picture—the wavy dark hair, the loose t-shirt slipping off one shoulder, the way he danced utterly unaware he had an audience.
And beautiful. So, so beautiful.
And, as if fate itself had decided to make things worse, the moment Remus registered all of this, the cat shifted slightly, revealing his face fully for the first time.
The person looked up.
For half a second, they just stared at each other.
Then, without hesitation, the stranger tilted his head, smiled, and waved.
Remus, still frozen, did absolutely nothing in response.
A beat passed. Their smile widened, amused, before they turned away, disappearing further into the apartment, their voice carrying faintly through the open window.
Remus, still gripping the watering can like it was a lifeline, exhaled sharply. He looked at the cat.
“…Well. That’s new.”
The cat, as always, just blinked at him, unimpressed.
It sat there on its perch, orange-and-cream fur catching the soft light, staring at Remus with those steady, unbothered eyes. One slow blink, then another—like it was saying, Okay man but get it together? Remus huffed, leaning against the window frame. “You could’ve warned me, you know,” he said under his breath, half-smiling despite himself. The cat didn’t react, just flicked its tail once and settled back into its loaf shape, like it had seen it all before.
Remus stayed there a minute longer, peering across the street. The neighbor was gone now. He wondered what they were doing—making coffee, maybe. Did they always start his days like that? Remus’s mornings were usually quieter, slower. This was… different. Not bad different.
He picked up the watering can again, tipping it over leaves, and tried to focus.
The water trickled out in a thin stream, soaking into the soil, but his mind kept drifting back to that smile, that wave.
…
Sirius clutched the paper bags closer to their body, kicking the front door behind them closed as they hummed under their breath.
A sense of home rushed over them, glancing around their little space and feeling the tension melt off their body.
They moved to the kitchen to place the bags on the kitchen table, making their way to the living room to greet his roomie.
It had been an unnaturally busy week for Sirius. They had to balance a running art project that he soon had to present as part of a proposal for a new art gallery near the studio, their beloved pottery classes, designated James time, and other trivial things such as sleep and full meals. So naturally, they had been away from home, for hours on end.
“On street watch again, are we?” They chuckled, passing by the window where his cat was lazily perched upon, reaching to give his little head a scratch.
He nuzzled against their palm minutely, flicked his tail just once, but remained otherwise unmoved.
The thing is, while Sirius had been out and about trying to navigate his twenties, his cat had developed the new habit of lounging by the window and watching attentively the world go by. They couldn’t blame him. Each nook and cranny of London was a movie scene, and his little curious eyes were heavily entertained while his human was away.
It was odd, having to adjust to changes they didn’t initiate, slightly missing the way they’d jump off the sofa, paws tapping softly against the hardwood floor as he’d follow Sirius around while they went through their usual ritual of unwinding.
Now, it was just Sirius’ sock feet padding around the apartment, humming to themselves as they changed into their pajamas, throwing their hair in a ponytail to prepare dinner.
But they weren’t fussed. Najoomi was set in his own ways.
A few months ago they had spent half the day looking for them in a state of panic, only to glance up in desperation, hesitantly admitting defeat that the cat had somehow escaped the apartment and gotten lost, only to see him lounging on top of the tall bookcase that held Sirius’ record collection, watching them quietly with an unimpressed flick of his tail. Sirius swore he looked smug, but James would always brush him off whenever they recalled the incident.
So yeah, they weren’t fussed. It would be just another adorable quirk of Najoomi that would inevitably fade out in a week, and he’d go back to blissfully munching on Sirius’ socks. Maybe even earlier than that, since dinner time was just around the corner and the smell of canned cat food was bound to lure him further into the apartment and away from his little corner of entertainment.
But dinner time came and went, along with their night routine and a full 9 hours of sleep until the next day. Sirius walked in the living room, eyes squinting against the soft hesitant light of morning to find the cat perched on the windowsill, the only sign of him having moved being the warmth on his little bed in the corner of the sofa, a sign for Sirius that he’d at some point climbed off the window to sleep, and had just decided to remain to his designated spot once he was satisfied with sleep, climbing right back up along with the sun.
With a frown, Sirius opened another can of cat food and poured into his little green bowl, waiting a beat to see if the smell would lure him away from the window.
Another beat passed.
Najoomi remained on the windowsill unmoved, save for a little twitch of his ear that he proceeded to scratch with his back paw, before returning to his previous position.
And then; nothing. Sirius huffed.
“Well, as long as you’re having fun.” Sirius snorted, giving his head a pet before moving along towards the kitchen to get started on breakfast before he inevitably had to catch up on cleaning the apartment and organising the rest of his projects before the exhibition next week. Sirius kept themselves busy most of the morning, Thee Sacred Souls’ latest record keeping them company as they attempted to rid the apartment of Najoomi’s hair, the aforementioned lounging lazily on his spot, that was now flooded by the rare rays of sun that braced London.
They were somewhere along the fourth song, and in the middle of belting out the chorus of ‘Overflowing’ , when, during a quite embarrassing pirouette (or rather vain attempt of), they caught a shadow from the window across the street.
They paused slightly, tilted their head in curiosity, Najoomi choosing that exact moment to tilt his little head as well, offering Sirius a clear view of the apartment across through the open window.
And oh.
Oh.
There was a person, the object of his beloved, menace of a cat’s affections, seemingly caught off guard as well, paused over various pots of plants and a watering can in hand.
For a beat neither moved.
Sirius took in their appearance, a loose t-shirt that was well-worn and loved, a mess of curls on their head, falling quite adorably over the stranger’s forehead, curling up over his ears and the nape of his neck. A slightly darker complexion, skin adorned with freckles. A slightly crooked nose and wandering kind eyes.
The embodiment of warmth. Absolutely beautiful .
Sirius smiled, lifting a hand in a friendly wave.
And then, as if Sirius had performed a spell, they watched as the stranger’s cheeks turned into the most adorable shade of pink, watering can tilted and still pouring water in the, now, well-watered pot.
Sirius felt their entire face break into a grin.
Adorable .
Then, in a rare display of sympathy, Sirius turned away, singing along to the song playing from the turntable in the corner, offering the stranger the opportunity to go on about his day, away from Sirius’ compelling grin.
As they turned away, music flooding the apartment along with their slightly off-key voice, all Sirius could think of was the grin tugging at their lips in memory of a sweet pair of eyes and an oh, so lovely blush.
Well then, that was new.
…
Remus stood by the window, the watering can cold in his grip. Fernanda, his most resilient plant, was slumped in defeat, her leaves curling at the edges like she’d given up overnight and honestly he got it. He poured water into the dry soil, watching it darken, and tried not to think about how he’d been awake since four, counting invisible cracks in the ceiling. Sleep felt like a foreign concept these days—too many thoughts, too much quiet.
Movement across the street caught his eye. Not just the cat this time—its owner was there, leaning against the window frame, eating cereal straight from the box. A few crumbs tumbled down their t-shirt which had a picture of a cat and the quote “Return of the Vampurr” and they brushed them off like they couldn’t care less. Remus exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. The neighbor looked so—beautiful. Maybe it was unhealthy to think like this about a person he just saw across the street but they were maybe one of the most beautiful person Remus had ever seen. He turned back to to his job, brushing his thumb along a wilting leaf.
The next day dragged. Remus sat at his wobbly kitchen table, a notebook open, pen tapping against a page of scribbled notes. He was supposed to be writing about Giovanni’s Room , but honestly? David was an idiot. Remus had spent half the book wanting to shake him. The man was in Paris, in love, living in a tiny room with a gorgeous Italian bartender who cooked for him, and somehow he still managed to ruin his own life. Impressive, in a way.
Remus tapped his pen against his notebook, scowling at the blank page. maybe he should just write that: David is an idiot. Discuss. Would his professor appreciate the honesty? Doubtful. He sighed and underlined a random quote to make himself feel productive.
The neighbor was there, pacing with a phone to their ear, gesturing like auditioning for a silent film. Their hair was up in two braids today, but half of the dark waves spilling out of loose elastics, one lopsided and slipping free. Remus got out of his chair, leaned against the frame, arms crossed, and watched the performance unfold. Mid-rant, the neighbor dropped onto the couch—at least, Remus assumed there was a couch, though from this angle it looked like they’d just collapsed into the abyss. The hand kept moving, gesturing wildly, and the cat hopped up beside them, pressing its head against their arm like it wanted in on the argument. Remus huffed a quiet laugh. Whatever the fight was about, the neighbor was fully committed.
The neighbor looked up suddenly, catching Remus’s eye, and waved—a quick, casual flick of the hand. A smile appeared on their face and it felt like the warmest thing Remus saw in days. He froze, then lifted a hand back, awkward. The neighbor’s smile became shy but still wide and unguarded, before turning back to the phone call. Remus exhaled.
The next morning, toothbrush in his mouth, he spotted the neighbor again. This time, they were wrestling with a pair of earbuds, balancing a coffee mug on the sill with the focus of a tightrope walker. One earbud slipped, dangling, and they lunged for it, nearly knocking over the mug. Remus choked on laughter, toothpaste dripping down his chin, as the neighbor emerged victorious, triumphant in the smallest possible way.
"Idiot," Remus muttered, wiping his mouth, but he was smiling.
Sometimes, they saw each other in passing. One of them coming home, the other already at the window, a fleeting glance exchanged before moving on. It wasn’t intentional, but it happened enough that Remus started to expect it.
On chilly october mornings, they had breakfast by their respective windows, the quiet companionship of someone else’s presence making the food taste better. Remus took small bites, watching the neighbor dunk biscuits into their tea, the cat curled around their feet. Not together, not apart. Just existing, almost with each other, through an open window.
Then came one evening, the air was sharp with the bite of oncoming winter. Remus was watering Plantenstein, shaking a few stubborn droplets from the spout, when he glanced up. Across the street, the neighbor was leaning out their window, breath fogging in the cold as they wiped at the glass with a rag. The cat was perched beside them, watching with the solemn intensity of someone witnessing a grand rescue. Probably because the fog had swallowed the street, stealing the cat’s usual view.
After a few determined swipes, the neighbor cleared a patch big enough to see through. They looked up, caught Remus’s eye, and for a second, they just grinned at each other. Then, with a flick of their finger, the neighbor traced a smiley face into the remaining fog. Remus bit the inside of his cheek, something warm and ridiculous curling in his chest. God, that was stupidly cute.
…
It went a little bit like this: Sirius jumping on every opportunity to greet the lovely stranger. Just a glimpse of him, living in his space, offering them a look inside this domesticity, and Sirius could do nothing but acknowledge it with a wave.
Most of the time it was teasing, a brief thing accompanied by a sharp grin, relishing in the beautiful shade of pink that would take over his face as he mustered his own little smile, making Sirius’ stomach tighten.
He would often catch him in the kitchen, pouring over a book or stacks of papers, hand playing with the loose curls falling over his forehead, and absentmindedly taking a sip of whatever was in his cup nearby. Other times, and most frequently, he would be mending to the various pots of plants.
It was endearing, in a way. Watching the man whose name they did not know, care for something so tenderly.
Sirius was pretty sure it wasn’t just the plants, but something in the way he carried himself: a sort of gentle presence, careful but incredibly warm .
One afternoon, Sirius was passing by the window and paused, smiling softly at the sight of him tending to the yellow flowers that Sirius couldn’t recognize. Through the open window, Sirius could hear faint humming, which was soon interrupted. Then, the stranger proceeded to sneeze, his face forming into an adorable frown as if he had been surprised by the action.
Sirius had laughed then, unable to contain the delight swelling in his chest at how incredibly sweet he looked at that moment.
The stranger lifted his head, and realising he had been caught, could do nothing more than give Sirius one of his wonderful little smiles. Sirius had felt his heart rate picking up rapidly at the sight of it.
Adorable idiot.
Najoomi had taken a liking to the stranger, occupying his place by the window first thing in the morning, oftentimes when Sirius was being loud, throwing the man a look that said ‘See what I have to put up with?’
And it was all okay, because the stranger would often, unbeknownst to him, be caught talking to the cat. Sirius wasn’t able to listen to what exactly was being said, but the soft lull of his voice being carried over by the gentle breeze was enough to make an intense warmth pool in their stomach.
But soon the laughter faded, the cheeky grins and waves melting into something softer. Their little meetings turned into some sort of quiet companionship, and they both took turns hanging out by their respective windows, a small invitation that the other had not once denied.
In the mornings, Sirius would greet him, quietly, a small sacred thin g.
"Hatha hoa noor sabahi."
They didn’t intend for the stranger to listen, this one was just for Sirius, a small confession and a sweet greeting to convey, somehow, how much their little co-existing meant.
The space between their homes was almost non-existent, the pools of warm light spilling from the windows and pooling in between, creating a small bridge into their separate domesticity.
Sirius would put on records, a different one every day, and sit by the window, almost like saying: ‘Listen to this one as well, it’s a good one.’
And the stranger would. Sometimes he would have a book with him, other times Sirius would catch him bopping his head as he re-filled his watering can. Some other times, he would just sit there, silently keeping Sirius company.
Another time, Sirius had been singing, like usual, and had almost tripped on Najoomi as he took one of his now rare trips to the kitchen. The cat had glared, but Sirius’ grimace had quickly turned into a smile at the sound of a breathy laughter from across the street. They lifted their head, seeing the stranger by the window, the unguarded delight on his face making something in their chest swell, swell, swell.
At nights, when Sirius couldn’t sleep, he would wrap a thin blanket around their shoulders and move to the windowsill, taking a seat with crossed legs and Najoomi on their feet. The stranger would always be there, the soft glow of a lamp by his side and a sweet smile.
Even at nights, the intimacy was shared through an open window, despite the early spring’s breeze being still present. The sun would hesitate more to give way to the moon’s glow, but it was nothing a thick pair of socks and the company of a sweet smile with kind eyes couldn’t fix. It was worth enduring for the feeling of company, the glimpse into each other’s life turning into something shared.
It was perfect, a careful routine, filled with unexpected moments and something soft and unspoken blooming as the sound of music and warm light brought them closer.
Until one morning the nicely veiled routine was broken.
…
The morning felt off from the start. Remus woke to the usual thud of the upstairs neighbor tearing across the room. He went to the bathroom, washed his face and looked into the void for five minutes straight. Then grabbed the watering can, shuffled over in his socks and poured some into Plantenstein’s pot, watching the dirt soak it up. His eyes slid up to the window across the street, same as always. But today it was nothing. No cat, no orange fur catching the light. Just an empty sill staring back at him. He frowned, leaning in a bit, thinking maybe she was curled up out of sight. Nope. His stomach gave a little twist, not a big deal, just a quiet nudge. “Taking a break, huh?” he mumbled.
He tried to let it go. Cats wandered off sometimes, slept in weird spots, got tired of sitting somewhere all the time and judging the same old guy. He told himself that while he sat through a lecture, doodling in his notebook – a doodle of a dog that you draw by first writing 62 61- barely hearing the professor ramble. Back home, he made tea, let it go cold, and kept sneaking looks out the window. Still empty. That night, the neighbor’s light was on, but the sill stayed bare. He saw the neighbor once, moving fast across the room, no wave, no grin. Remus sat by the window with a book he didn’t read, blanket pulled tight, and stared at the blank glass. It was dumb to feel this way over a cat he didn’t even know and he was probably fine. But he’d been there every day since the first day Remus saw him, a little piece of this new place he’d started to lean on, and now the street felt wrong.
Sleep was a mess that night. Same old story, only worse. He flopped on the couch, his own sweatshirt tangled around him, staring at the ceiling. He thought about losing things not the huge stuff that breaks you but the small stuff that sneaks away. A pen that rolls under the bed, a friend who stops texting, a routine that falls apart. He’d always been okay with letting go, folding it up inside and moving on. But this hit different. He wondered if he’d messed it up somehow, gotten too used to the cat being there. Maybe that’s how it went with him. Things slipped off when he wasn’t looking.
The next day was worse. He woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept, the sky outside a thick, gray slab. He checked the window again. Still nothing. The street went on like always but it all felt flat. He dragged through a class, tapping his pen too loud based on the looks the girl next to him gave, his head somewhere else. At home, he paced the kitchen after making dinner. He started thinking maybe something was really wrong. Vet stuff, or worse. He pictured the neighbor dealing with it, that easy grin gone, and it made his chest ache.
That night, for more than an hour he camped by the window, blanket around his shoulders, the glass cold against his cheek. The neighbor’s light glowed, but the sill was dead. The neighbor paced once, phone to his ear, looking off, and Remus’s stomach sank. He pressed his forehead to the glass, breath fogging it up, and whispered, “Come on, you little monster. Don’t leave me hanging. Just a sign to let me know you are okay.” He thought about going to the neighbor’s door and demand an explanation or a hug.
The third morning came slow, gray and heavy. But when he went to the window to check —it felt awfully like the times he went to check if it snowed over night when he was a kid —and there she was. The cat, back on the sill, fur soft and bright, looking better than ever, like she was showing off. His breath caught, and then he was grinning, a big, goofy grin that made his face ache. He almost —totally— bounced on his toes, hands smacking the glass. “Hey, love!” he yelled, too loud, voice cracking. Then in a second opened the window wholly. “Where’ve you been? Scaring me half to death, you little thing—look at you!”
He waved at her, arms flapping like a kid, bouncing higher, the relief hitting him like a wave. The cat blinked back, calm as anything, and he laughed, loud and messy, filling the room. “Thought you’d bailed on me,” he said, talking to him and himself all at once. “But you look okay. Just—Maybe don’t do that again, okay?”
A shadow moved, and he stopped, mid-wave. The neighbor stepped up, leaning on their frame, grinning that lopsided grin that always got under Remus’s skin. Their eyes met, and Remus felt it all—messy hair, old sweatshirt, caught acting like a fool. The neighbor tilted their head, smile growing, and waved, slow and easy. Remus waved back, awkward but honest, his face going warm.
“Hi,” They said, voice carrying over, low and sweet.
“Hi,” Remus said, throat dry. He swallowed, fumbling for words, and pointed at the cat. “Sorry, I was—uh, I was worried about him. Actually you know what- I don’t even know if it is a him sorry for... Just, he’s been gone two days, and I thought something happened.”
Their smile turned softer and softer, eyes lighting up. “’He is okay. Vet stuff—two days of checkups and shots. Hated every minute, didn’t you?” They scratched his head, and he leaned into it, looking smug. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”
Remus laughed, short and relieved, rubbing his neck. “No, it’s—I’m just glad he’s back. He’s kind of a big deal around here.” He cringed inside— a big deal? —but the neighbor nodded, like it made total sense.
“He’s got that about him,” they said, still petting him. “I’m Sirius, by the way.”
“Remus,” he said, the name feeling rusty. “Nice to, uh, say hi for real.”
Sirius smiled and it crossed the street like a hand reaching out.
”Uff ma ajmalah.” They muttered under their breath then, the softness with which it was uttered catching Remus off guard. Before he had time register the language, or even question it,Sirius spoke again: “Yeah, about time.”
“Right,” Remus said, smiling, his face still hot. He leaned on the frame, feeling the last two days—the worry, the quiet—settle into something else. He’d spent so long watching, waiting, letting stuff drift off, but this felt like it stuck.
“He’s a fighter,” Sirius said, and his smile went soft, smitten in a way that caught Remus off guard. “And likes you very much. Keeps staring over here like you’re the new show.”
Remus snorted, arms crossing. “Lucky me. I figured he was just planning to get rid of me.”
“Nah, that’s his style,” Sirius said, smiling the same soft again, and Remus felt it pull him in, light and real. “You’re good if he sticks around for you.”
“I will be good,” Remus said, and they laughed, the sound tying them together across the gap. Sirius waved once more, their smile becoming more and more shy by each second, a little nod, and stepped back. Remus waved too, still smiling as he turned to the plants. “He’s back,” he said to Fernanda, almost whispering. When he took one last look the cat blinked at him, and he thought about losing things—how it showed you what you’d miss. Sirius’s laugh lingered, and he wondered what it’d be like to keep this. Maybe keep Sirius.
"Then, when night comes
We will carve our own secret
I place a bookmark on the night that will become memorable, and open it up without anyone knowing
Even if that day comes again someday
Let’s not rush
As we’re facing each other, lets take a step back
I know the heart that blossoms and falls, and the returning season too
In spite of it all, my love has the same dream
I will fully blossom for a while before I fall, once again, forever."