“Where the Sun Stays Soft”
The waves whisper, distant but constant, as Nanami adjusts the cushion behind his back. He’s lying on a woven recliner on his own damn balcony, feet bare, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A paperback rests on his chest, one hand lazily curled over it.
Inside, the kettle clicks off.
Haibara yells through the screen door. “Green tea or coffee?”
“Coffee,” Nanami calls back. “You’re not going to lecture me about caffeine again?”
“Too tired,” Haibara replies. “Too hot. Also, it’s your birthday weekend.”
Nanami smiles. Just barely. But it counts.
The apartment smells like toasted bread and ocean air. The table is already set.
Shoko arrives first, carrying a bottle of something expensive. Utahime’s right behind her, in a sundress and sunglasses.
“Don’t worry,” Shoko says, dropping into a chair, “we made Ijichi bring the snacks.”
“He said he’s coming with Gojo and Geto,” Utahime adds. “Which means they’re definitely going to be late.”
“Of course they are.” Nanami sips his coffee. “And Yuji?”
“Trying to teach Megumi how to tan without getting heatstroke. It’s not going well.”
Gojo arrives thirty minutes later, wearing a sun hat and one of those tourist shirts with sea turtles on it.
Geto’s holding the cake. He’s in all black, because he refuses to change, but he’s smiling like a man in a good marriage.
“Happy birthday, Kento!” Geto greets, handing him the cake box.
“Another year older,” Gojo sing-songs, “but still grumpy.”
“I’m at peace,” Nanami replies, flat.
“Hot,” Haibara mutters. “That’s hot.”
Nanami doesn’t dignify that with a response.
The table fills quickly.
Yuji’s loud. Megumi’s quiet, but smiling. They sit close, constantly bumping elbows.
Utahime and Shoko lean on each other, giggling over an inside joke.
Gojo and Geto feed each other fruit slices like they’re on their honeymoon.
Ijichi shows up with chips and a beer and no clipboard. He wears a short-sleeved linen shirt and has a tan. Nanami stares at him.
“What?” Ijichi asks. “I can grow. I contain multitudes.”
Haibara chokes on his drink.
Later, they all spread out across the beach, lazy with sun and food.
Nanami stays back on the patio. Not isolated—just... watching.
Shoko’s braiding Utahime’s hair.
Yuji’s building a sand shrine to Nanami.
Gojo’s forcing Megumi to join a game of frisbee.
Geto’s yelling “Don’t throw it at the cat!”
Haibara joins him with two more drinks.
“You look happy,” he says.
Nanami considers it. “I am.”
Haibara bumps his shoulder. “You deserve this.”
Nanami leans back. The sun is low and golden. The wind lifts the hem of his shirt.
“I do,” he agrees. “We all do.”
That night, under lanterns and stars, someone sings karaoke off-key. Someone else dances barefoot on the sand.
Nanami doesn’t join in.
He sits at the edge of the circle, one hand around a cold glass, and lets the sound of life fill the quiet he used to carry in his chest.
He’s not fighting anymore.
He’s not surviving.
He’s living.
