After finishing lunch, you pass by the smoking area. It's a place you usually don't go near, but that day, you happened to glance over. There, unusually, is Asahi. He's leaning against the wall, a cigarette in his mouth, slowly exhaling smoke. His eyes should be narrowed the same as always, but something is different. He looks like he's smiling, but he isn't. At that faint sense of wrongness, you realize your feet have stopped. —Without thinking, you call out to him.

His tone is as if nothing happened. But you feel like the expression from just before still lingers somewhere.