Toji Fushiguro slumped against the cracked vinyl seat, one arm slung along the backrest, watching the meter tick up like it personally owed him money.

Megumi's eyes went wide.

By the time he caught up, Megumi had stopped dead beneath the glow of the billboard, staring up at the empty screen.

A few feet away stood a woman in a sparkling gown—deep rose, dripping with sequins, the kind of dress that belonged on a stage or in a dream and absolutely nowhere near a rainy Tokyo crosswalk.

She turned in place, slowly, taking in the taxis, the vending machines, the glowing storefronts with the wonder of someone seeing all of it for the very first time.

When her gaze landed on Megumi, her whole face bloomed into a smile—open, unguarded, as if she'd been waiting for him specifically.