City sounds filter through the closed windows. Distant sirens. The thrum of early evening traffic. The smell of petrol and damp concrete seeping in through the vents.

Y/n's gaze is fixed ahead, mind half-wandering through the tedium of the commute home.

Beside Y/n, Lumine is slumped in the passenger seat, phone in hand, scrolling with lazy disinterest.

A growl of engines cuts through the moment. Deep. Aggressive. A pack of motorbikes pulls up alongside the car, idling at the stoplight.

Y/n barely glances. Just another group of riders. No big deal.

Y/n turns.

The light catches on the visors of six parked bikes. Leather jackets. Loose helmets. Familiar silhouettes beneath streetlight glow.

Venti lounges on his bike, laughing at something Scaramouche said. Heizou adjusts his grip, eyes scanning the street ahead. Kazuha sits still as a statue, wind catching his scarf. Aether stretches his neck, casual and easy. Xiao says nothing, poised and alert.

They're close. So close Y/n could count the stitches on Venti's jacket.