She leaned a little closer, her voice gentle and curious.
"So… why are you so free today?" she asked. "Back at campus, you always look so cool and detached. Like you're floating three centimeters off the ground or something. Totally different from this BBQ version of you."
Adrian's mouth twitched. "I set the autorun in the lab. I don't think I changed that much."
Mira tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips, "Uh-huh. So you're saying grilling fish and running complex experiments are basically the same thing?"
He shifted his gaze to her, the height difference making it easy to see the amused glint in his eyes. "Yeah. Both need high concentration."
Mira burst into a soft laugh. "Oh, really? So… do you grin like that while watching chemical reactions too? Don't say yes—that's creepy."
He chuckled. "I do… when something finally works after days of failing. Might even laugh like a mad scientist sometimes."
Mira looked mock horrified. "So the rumors are true."
They both laughed, the kind of laugh that starts soft but lingers, curling into the night air. She didn't let go of his arm. If anything, she held it tighter, half for balance, half because… it felt nice. Familiar, in a strange, comforting way.
She yawned a little, blinking up at the stars. "Still can't believe I got tipsy from just one stupid citrus cup…"
"Half a cup," Adrian teased gently.
She huffed. "You're not helping."
"You're walking fine though."
"Because I've got a walking tree to lean on," she said with a grin, leaning against his arm a little more. "Very rare species. Supports unstable lifeforms and judges quietly."
Adrian glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting—quiet, but unmistakably entertained.
As they followed the quiet path, Mira suddenly tugged gently on Adrian's arm, halting him.
"Wait," she said, her voice soft, almost breathless.
They had just passed a tall maple tree, its wide canopy swaying gently in the breeze. The leaves had already shift, earlier than the others— rich hues of gold and red catching the silvery glow of the moon that now stood directly above it. The night air carried the earthy scent of drying leaves, mingling with the crispness only early autumn could bring.
"Wow," Mira whispered, raising her hand to point at the tree. "Look at that… how beautiful."
She closed her eyes for a moment, the corners of her lips lifting in a small smile as she tilted her head toward the breeze. Her hand still held his arm lightly, her cheek flushed, whether from sake or the night air, he couldn't tell.
Adrian looked at the tree. Then at her.
The silence between them was soft, not awkward — like the rustle of leaves above, or the faint hum of wind brushing the fields. In that pause, it felt like the walk stretched endlessly, time slowing around the quiet reverence she gave to the moment.
"She's drunk on the moon," he thought, amused — but strangely affected too.
And yet he didn't say anything, just stood beside her, letting the stillness settle around them.
Mira slowly opened her eyes, the warmth of the breeze still on her cheeks — and caught Adrian's gaze lingering on her.
She blinked, her breath hitching slightly at the intensity, then quickly covered the fluster with a crooked grin.
"What's with that suspicious look?" she teased, swaying just a little closer, still clinging to his arm. "Did you fall for tipsy Mira already?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately. His grin tugged at the corners of his lips again — that same amused, quiet kind of smile he wore at the BBQ when he watched her laughing with the others. Now, up close, it was clear he couldn't decide which version of her was more disarming — the composed and fierce Mira from campus, or the one now slightly off-balance under the moonlight.
"Are you trying to seduce me?" he said, half a laugh in his voice. "Are you really drunk?"
Mira huffed, eyes narrowing just slightly but her cheeks growing warmer. "Of course I'm not drunk," she said, though her slightly wobbly posture betrayed her. "And I'm not seducing you. I obviously have my own charm."
Adrian laughed quietly, "I won't argue with that."
They stood under the tree for another brief second, eyes catching, the leaves rustling above like a quiet applause — before Mira gave his arm a playful tug.
"Come on, Mr. Grilling Genius," she said, voice lighter. "Let's finish this forever-long walk before I pass out and you'll have to carry me."
Adrian smirked, "I'm already mentally preparing."
As they walked on, the dim glow of a vending machine appeared ahead, humming softly under the trees. Just beside it sat a small wooden bench — slightly worn, but dry and inviting.
Adrian glanced at Mira, noticing the way her eyelids had grown heavier, her steps just a touch slower. "Want to take a break?" he asked. "Maybe something warm to drink?"
Mira blinked, then nodded with a sleepy smile. "That sounds... nice."
They settled onto the bench. Adrian let her sit first, then slipped a few coins into the machine. A moment later, he returned with a small bottle of hot honey tea, its warmth radiating even through the plastic. He cracked the lid open and handed it to her. Mira took it with both hands, the bottle warming her fingers as much as her chest.
"Thanks," she murmured, swaying slightly as she sat, then leaning her head gently onto his shoulder. The night breeze rustled through the leaves again, brushing past them like a lullaby.
Adrian tilted his head slightly, glancing down at her. "By the way... is there any chance you're also low on caffeine tolerance?"
Mira blinked, then nodded. "Yeah… how do you know?"
"They're kind of related," Adrian said with a small shrug.
"Oh? In what way?" she asked, half-curious, half-drowsy.
He smirked. "Want a crash course on your gene and nervous system right now?"
Mira turned her face slightly, eyes half-lidded and voice soft. "Just file me an email, Professor. I'll read it... after I remember how to use words again." She took another small sip of the tea, sighing.
They sat quietly on the bench, the soft hum of the vending machine behind them, and the rustling leaves overhead. Mira sipped her honey tea, head resting lightly on Adrian's shoulder, her breath steady, her cheeks still faintly warm.
After a few minutes, she felt a subtle shift—Adrian turning slightly toward her. She looked up, and their eyes met. His gaze lingered, unblinking, quietly focused on her face. His hand lifted slowly, reaching toward her cheek.
For a breathless second, Mira froze. The night seemed to still around them. Then his fingers brushed her cheek lightly.
"W-What... are you doing?" she asked, surprised, her voice soft with genuine confusion.
Adrian couldn't hide his grin. "A mosquito was kissing your cheek. Just thought I'd help you out. Or should I have let it finish its date?"
She stared at him for a second, then touched her cheek where he had. "Oh no... it probably had a sip of my citrus-sake-infused blood. Can it still fly?"
Adrian chuckled, eyes crinkling. "Not my fault your cheek's delicious."
Mira pouted, gently rubbing her cheek. "Is there any medicine or miracle remedy to stop it from turning into a volcano by tomorrow?"
"Yeah, plenty. But absolutely none of them are out here."
She groaned. "Great."
He glanced at the vending machine, stood up, and without a word, bought another bottle—this time, a chilled one. Handing it to her, he said, "Here. Emergency volcano suppressant."
Mira blinked, then laughed softly. "You're serious?"
He gave a small shrug. "Better than letting your cheek erupt."
She took the bottle, felt the cool condensation against her fingers, then gently pressed it to her cheek where the mosquito had just bitten. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as the chill spread across her skin. "Mmm… okay, that actually feels amazing."
Then she asked, "Does it actually work?"
Adrian smirked. "Depends on your luck."
❧
From a distance, under the faint moonlight, Ren—quiet and reserved, a member of the same Rare Plant Club—was out for a late-night jog. His steps slowed as he spotted two familiar silhouettes sitting side by side on a bench, the girl resting her head on the boy's shoulder.
He squinted slightly. Mira… and Adrian?
He faltered, lips parting slightly in realization.
"…Oh. So that's it."
A pause, a faint exhale. Then he turned, choosing another path through the quiet night, his pace steady.
What a beautiful night.
❧
Back on the path to the dorm, the quiet night wrapped around them again. Mira looked up to the sky, the cool bottle still in her hand, then softly began to sing:
"Ue o muite, arukou... namida ga kobore nai you ni..."
("I look up as I walk... so that the tears won't fall.", Sukiyaki by Kyu Sakamoto.)
Her voice was gentle, just above a whisper, blending with the rustling leaves overhead.
Adrian turned his head slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. "So you do sing Japanese songs when you're drunk?"
"I'm not drunk," Mira replied without looking at him. "And the song fits. Don't you think?"
He chuckled. "An otaku, then?"
She glanced at him, smirking. "More like a wibu."
Adrian glanced over, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Should I be concerned you're moments away from calling me senpai?"
Mira scoffed. "Please. You don't have the right energy for that."
"Cold. Calculating. Unavailable?" he offered.
"Exactly. You'd be the villain who monologues in perfect keigo (formal Japanese) and dies tragically in episode ten."
Adrian gave a quiet hum. "At least I get a theme song."
"Only if you wear the cloak."
His tone stayed mild, but his glance carried that glitter of dry amusement. "So this is your type."
"Tragic men with questionable morals? Unfortunately, yes."
He didn't laugh—but he didn't deny it either.
They walked side by side, Mira no longer holding onto his arm.
They continued walking, their strides falling into an easy rhythm. Every now and then, their hands brushed lightly. Neither pulled away. The touch wasn't intentional—but it lingered, quiet and charged.
At last, they reached the dormitory. Mira gave a soft exhale when she saw the familiar building. Adrian pressed the elevator button, and the two stepped inside together.
As the elevator hummed to life, Mira leaned slightly against the wall. "Thanks for the walk," she said, voice quieter now, the drowsiness settling back in. "It was… nice."
He glanced at her, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets. "Thanks to you, I'm adopted now. And I got BBQ. Pretty good deal."
She smiled, almost shyly.
Adrian's eyes dropped briefly to her cheek. The mosquito bite had puffed into a small red bump. He didn't mention it—just let the corner of his mouth curl into a sly smile.
The elevator dinged.
Fifth floor.
They stepped out together, walking down the hall. When they reached their rooms—right across from each other—Mira turned to unlock hers.
She looked at him, amused. "Thanks. And good night."
"Good night," he echoed, and with a small wave, turned toward his door.
Both disappeared inside.
Mira flopped face-down onto her bed with a muffled groan. Her limbs were heavy, her head light. Should I just sleep like this...? But then she wrinkled her nose. No… I smell like grilled fish. Shower. Teeth. Now.
Another groan.
Autumn night or not—she was absolutely done.
Adrian closed his door behind him with a soft click.
His mind wandered, unhurried, replaying the evening in fragments: the sparkle of firelight on her face, the warmth of her leaning on his shoulder, her laughter light and swaying like leaves in the breeze. Her breath, warm against his arm, still lingered in sensation, as though memory alone could preserve heat.
It wasn't anything special, he thought. No grand fireworks, no sharp twists of fate.
Just a walk under the early autumn sky. A bench, a bottle of honey tea. A girl with tired eyes singing an old Japanese tune.
And yet—
For a day that began like any other…
It ended quietly golden.
❧
When the first part of a story has said all it needs to say, it leaves behind a hush.
In a world where knowledge wore crowns and questions carried weight, there met a girl who led with her heart and a boy who trusted only in logic. They argued like opposites meant to collide—her warmth against his silence, her instinct against his order. And yet, across pages of work, circles of debate, and the restless pulse of curiosity, they kept returning to the same place: side by side.
By the end, there was no victory, no surrender—only the soft sound of laughter shared on the walk back to the dorms, the scent of charcoal still clinging to their sleeves, and the full moon above, quiet and round, watching over early autumn.
They were not yet companions, and certainly not something as fragile or easy as romance.
But they were no longer standing on separate sides.
And just beyond that peaceful night, the next part of the story stirred—waiting, watching, ready to change everything.