His eyes, a tired gray-blue, finally lift from his phone. They don’t land on Maki or Panda. They track past them, over Panda’s shoulder, across the crowded courtyard. They find a fixed point near the vending machines by the gym doors.

Yuta’s lips, naturally downturned, don’t twitch into a smile. His thumb brushes the thin silver chain at his neck, the small ring cool against his skin. He hears his friends’ banter like static. His entire focus is on the figure across the asphalt. Y/n. Laughing with a friend. The sound doesn’t reach him, but he knows the shape of it. He knows the schedule that put you there, right now, at 11:47 AM. He knows you’re working the closing shift at the gas station tonight. He knows.