The streets were quiet.
The kind of quiet where even footsteps felt too loud, like they might wake up the trees. The sun had dipped completely below the horizon, leaving behind a pale navy sky with a soft gradient that faded into streetlamp orange. Moths circled lazily around flickering lights, and the occasional breeze rattled a loose signpost.
The three of them—Ryota, Junpei, and Sota—walked side by side along the narrow sidewalk, hands in pockets, plastic convenience store bags swinging at their sides.
Sota had a lollipop in his mouth, the wrapper still crumpled in his hand.
"Why are we walking again?" Junpei asked, shifting the weight of his bag. "We literally could've stayed at my place."
Ryota looked up at the sky. "Because walking makes us feel like we're doing something even when we're not."
Sota nodded like that made complete sense. "It's like progress without responsibility."
Junpei frowned. "That's the most Ryota logic I've ever heard."
"Thank you," Ryota said, taking it as a compliment.
They passed a vending machine glowing like a small city in the dark. Sota slowed down to inspect the drinks.
"You ever notice these machines always have at least one drink that no one ever buys?" he asked.
Junpei pointed. "That one. Cucumber-flavored soda."
Ryota leaned in. "That's not real."
"It is," Junpei said. "Sells like five cans a year. Someone out there likes it."
Sota pressed his face to the glass. "I think it's just bait. Like, if you buy it, a trapdoor opens and you fall into an underground flavor lab."
"I want to meet the person who drinks it regularly," Ryota said.
"I want to arrest them," Junpei muttered.
Sota bought a grape soda instead and kept walking.
The night was warm but not too warm—summer's leftovers hanging on even though the calendar said fall. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and then decided that was enough.
"Hey," Ryota said suddenly. "You ever think we're going to look back at this and miss it?"
Junpei raised an eyebrow. "What, walking around with sticky soda hands at 8 PM?"
"Yeah."
Sota didn't respond right away. He let the lollipop rest between his teeth and looked straight ahead. "Maybe. But we'll only miss it if it stops."
They walked in silence for a bit after that.
Not the awkward kind—more like a shared quiet, the kind that only happens when no one feels the need to fill the space. Their shoes scuffed the pavement. A car passed on the opposite side of the street, its headlights briefly turning them into silhouettes.
Ryota stepped over a crack in the sidewalk. "Remember that one time in middle school when Sota fell into a bush trying to impress someone?"
Sota didn't flinch. "Her name was Erika. And I tripped on a sprinkler."
"You launched yourself," Junpei said, finally smiling. "It was like you got sniped by gravity."
"She laughed," Sota said.
"She laughed at you," Ryota corrected.
"Still counts," Sota replied, completely unfazed.
They turned the corner near a row of houses with gardens that all kind of looked the same. One had wind chimes that sang quietly in the wind. Another had a garden gnome holding a sign that said "GO AWAY," which Ryota saluted as they passed.
Junpei looked up. "Stars are out."
They all paused for a second and looked up, like it was a rule you had to follow if someone pointed it out. The stars weren't dramatic—just enough of them to remind you they existed.
Sota put his hands behind his head. "Sometimes I forget they're always there."
"Stars?"
"Yeah. They don't really care what we're doing, huh?"
"Not unless you're trying to kick a soccer ball into one," Junpei said without looking at Ryota.
"That was one time," Ryota groaned.
"You made a whole speech about it," Sota added.
"I get passionate."
"You also missed the ball."
Ryota stopped walking. "You know what? I'm walking ahead now. I don't need this slander."
He walked exactly five steps ahead and then stopped, waiting for them to catch up.
"You're very dramatic for someone who eats cereal without milk," Junpei said casually.
Sota looked horrified. "Wait, you do that?"
Ryota shrugged. "It's crunchy and convenient."
"It's dry sadness in a bowl," Sota said.
Junpei shook his head. "You're one of the weirdest people I've ever met."
Ryota turned around, walking backwards. "And yet you keep hanging out with me."
"We're trapped in this friendship," Junpei muttered.
The air cooled a little as they neared the end of the street, where the convenience store from earlier sat glowing like a final checkpoint. None of them said anything, but they slowed down at the same time, like they weren't quite ready for the walk to end.
Ryota looked up at the lamppost, watching a moth bump into it over and over again.
"Sometimes I feel like that moth," he said. "Just flying in circles around something pointless."
"You're not a moth," Sota said. "You're more like a raccoon with bad ideas."
Ryota nodded. "Fair."
They stood in front of the store for a second, like they were waiting for someone to suggest something. A new destination. Another detour.
But no one did.
Sota stretched. "Alright. I guess I'll head back."
"Same," Junpei said.
Ryota looked at them. "Same… but also, anyone wanna get another soda?"
Junpei stared at him. "You literally just said you feel like a moth."
"Yeah," Ryota said. "And now I'm spiraling into a second soda."
Sota laughed. "One day your stomach's going to fight back."
"Then it's a worthy battle."
They went inside together, the door's chime ringing gently behind them.