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The bell above the door chimed as the four of them stepped into the café, a soft refuge from the chilly drizzle outside. Mutsuki immediately inhaled the scent of coffee and sugar like it was the best thing in the world.
“Man, this place smells amazing,” Mutsuki said, pushing his hood back and grinning. “Why don’t we ever go to cafés like this, Tachibana-san?”
Sakuya glanced at him with that patient, ever-so-slightly exasperated look. “Because the last time we went somewhere with sugar and caffeine, you ordered five desserts and couldn’t sit still for an hour.”
Mutsuki turned on his best innocent smile. “I’ve grown since then.”
Sakuya raised an eyebrow. “You’re still the same.”
Kouta laughed as he shook off his umbrella. “You two sound exactly like I imagined.”
“Which is?” Mutsuki asked, bouncing on his heels as they lined up at the counter.
Kouta tilted his head thoughtfully. “Like a high schooler dating his teacher.”
Mutsuki nearly choked on air. “H-Hey! I’m an adult now!”
Kaito, who had been trailing behind in quiet disinterest, made a low sound — not quite a laugh, but close. “Some of us mature slower than others,” he muttered.
Mutsuki shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. Kaito’s straight-faced delivery was too hard to stay mad at. Sakuya’s subtle hand on his shoulder steadied him before he could bark back something embarrassing.
The table they picked was tucked in the corner by the big window, rain streaking down the glass in steady lines. Kouta ordered something warm and sweet; Kaito had chosen a delicate fruit tart and black coffee. Mutsuki, of course, had gotten an iced latte and a slice of chocolate cake the size of his head. Sakuya nursed a simple black coffee, stirring it once and setting the spoon down precisely.
“Seriously,” Kouta said between sips, “it’s kind of surreal. I’ve fought monsters, gods, and… well, him—” he jerked a thumb at Kaito “—but sitting in a café with everyone feels weirder.”
Kaito didn’t look up from his tart. “You should raise your standards for ‘weird.’”
Kouta pouted at him. “I mean it in a good way.”
Mutsuki leaned forward, eyes bright. “I get it. It’s like… you’re used to living in a world where something big is always happening. So when it’s quiet, it feels almost too quiet.”
Sakuya studied him, amused at how much more articulate he’d become over the years. “Not a bad observation, Mutsuki.”
The younger Rider grinned, flushed with pride at the praise. He reached over to sneak a piece of cake onto Sakuya’s plate. “For balance.”
Sakuya sighed, but didn’t move it back. That, to Mutsuki, was as good as a kiss in public.
“Do you remember the last time you got us all together like this?” Kouta asked suddenly, looking around the table.
“We’ve never all been in the same place like this before,” Sakuya corrected gently. “But I think you mean when we met during that mess with… the dimensional cracks.”
Mutsuki shuddered at the memory. “Yeah, let’s not talk about the part where I almost got turned into bug food.”
“Again,” Kaito said dryly.
“Hey!” Mutsuki jabbed his fork toward him.
Kouta covered a laugh behind his hand. “You two actually get along better than I thought.”
Kaito set down his fork, meeting Kouta’s amused gaze with his usual intensity. “He’s tolerable. Mostly.”
“That’s high praise coming from you,” Kouta said brightly. He leaned against Kaito’s shoulder without hesitation, the casual intimacy of someone who knew how much weight Kaito carried and how much lighter it became when he allowed it.
Kaito didn’t push him away. In fact, his posture softened almost imperceptibly — a shift only someone who knew him well would notice. Sakuya caught it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He understood the type; stoic, proud, carrying too much, until someone stubborn enough stayed beside them.
“You two are disgustingly domestic,” Mutsuki said, gesturing with his fork at Kouta and Kaito.
Kouta’s cheeks flushed. “W-What? We’re just—”
“—close,” Kaito finished for him, blunt as ever. He reached over and ruffled Kouta’s hair, earning a muffled protest and a face scrunched up like an indignant puppy.
Sakuya’s shoulder shook with quiet laughter. “I never thought I’d see Kumon Kaito act this way.”
Kaito shot him a withering look. “People change.”
“Some of us grow up,” Mutsuki added cheekily. Sakuya flicked the back of his head before Kaito could respond.
Outside, the rain thickened, drumming softly against the windows. The light inside the café was warm, gold-tinged, making everything feel slower. Kouta’s laughter mingled with the faint jazz playing over the speakers. Mutsuki tapped his foot unconsciously to the rhythm.
“Hard to believe we’ve all survived as long as we have,” Sakuya said quietly, almost to himself.
Kaito leaned back, arms crossed loosely. “Survival isn’t luck. It’s stubbornness.”
Kouta nudged him with a smile. “Stubbornness and luck.”
Mutsuki’s hand found Sakuya’s beneath the table. The older Rider’s fingers curled around his without hesitation. Warm. Solid. Real.
“We’ve earned this,” Mutsuki said softly. “These kinds of days.”
Sakuya nodded, eyes gentle. “Yeah. We have.”
After their cups were empty and their laughter had blended into the rainy afternoon, they stepped outside under the gray sky. Kouta twirled his umbrella like he was in a musical; Mutsuki splashed through a puddle on purpose. Kaito complained about getting wet, but still held the umbrella over Kouta instead of himself.
Sakuya adjusted his jacket collar as Mutsuki fell into step beside him, leaning just close enough to brush shoulders. “We should do this again,” Mutsuki said. “No monsters. No Rider suits. Just us.”
Sakuya glanced at the others, then back at him. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”
Kouta turned back, grinning wide. “Next time, my treat!”
Kaito made a noise that could have been approval or disapproval. Mutsuki decided it was the former.
And for once, under the soft rain, four Riders who had seen the end of the world in their own ways just… walked. Together. Unhurried.
The rain hadn’t let up, but none of them seemed to mind anymore. The city lights had begun to blur against the misty gray, wrapping the street in a soft, muted glow. They lingered at the corner where their paths would split — a casual, easy kind of lingering that only came when people genuinely didn’t want the moment to end.
“Thanks for coming today,” Kouta said, tucking his scarf closer to his neck. His umbrella tilted slightly to cover Kaito more than himself, though he pretended not to notice.
“It wasn’t terrible,” Kaito said, which from him was practically a glowing review. “The tart was acceptable.”
Kouta laughed, the sound easy and bright. “You liked it. Just admit it.”
Kaito met his eyes, sharp as ever, but there was a softness beneath it — the kind only Kouta ever really saw. “Maybe.”
Across from them, Mutsuki was struggling to keep his hood from slipping off again, making an exaggerated noise of complaint. “This rain hates me.”
Sakuya, ever the steady hand, reached over and gently fixed the hood for him. “Or maybe,” he said, calm as the rain, “you just don’t know how to dress for weather.”
“Rude,” Mutsuki muttered, but he was grinning.
They eventually split at the intersection.
Kouta and Kaito headed down the narrow street lined with glowing shopfronts, their footsteps splashing softly through puddles. The umbrella covered just enough for them to huddle close, shoulders brushing.
“You know,” Kouta said after a few beats of comfortable silence, “when we first met, if someone told me we’d end up walking home together like this… I’d have thought they were crazy.”
Kaito gave him a sidelong look. “They wouldn’t have been wrong.”
Kouta chuckled. “You’re a lot softer now, you know.”
Kaito raised a brow. “Softer?”
“Not weak,” Kouta corrected immediately, looking up at the faint lights above them. “You just… don’t push people away the same way you used to. Or maybe you still do, but less with me.”
Kaito was quiet for a long moment. Rain tapped against the umbrella. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned a little closer, his arm brushing against Kouta’s.
“You’re the only one stubborn enough to keep pushing back,” he finally said.
Kouta’s grin broke wide across his face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t one,” Kaito deadpanned.
But when Kouta bumped his shoulder against his, Kaito didn’t move away. He tilted the umbrella just slightly more toward him. The unspoken language between them — sharp edges and quiet warmth — was something only they understood.
Meanwhile, Mutsuki and Sakuya found themselves under the awning of a closed bookstore, where the rain pooled on the edge of the fabric and fell in steady streams. Mutsuki stuffed his hands into his pockets and let out a breath that fogged up in the chilly air.
“You know,” he said, his voice less bouncy now, softer, “this kind of thing… I never thought I’d get to have it.”
Sakuya tilted his head. “A date?”
“A normal day,” Mutsuki replied. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the wet pavement. “A quiet one. Where the world isn’t falling apart, where I don’t feel like I have to prove something every second. Just… a day.”
Sakuya’s expression softened. He’d seen the kid Mutsuki used to be — scared, impulsive, desperate to be seen as more than a burden. The man standing before him now was still a little loud, a little impatient, but also stronger. Steadier.
“You have,” Sakuya said simply. “You earned it.”
Mutsuki glanced up at him. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” Sakuya replied. His hand came up to rest lightly on Mutsuki’s hair, ruffling it the way he used to when the younger Rider was still finding his footing. But now, Mutsuki didn’t flinch or swat it away. He just leaned into the touch.
Rainwater pooled at their feet, streetlights catching in the ripples. Mutsuki’s fingers twitched before he finally reached out, slipping his hand into Sakuya’s. Not shy — not anymore. Just… certain.
Sakuya squeezed back, his grip warm and firm. “I like these quiet days too,” he admitted. “They remind me that we actually got through it all.”
Mutsuki looked at him for a long moment, then smiled — smaller than usual, but real. “Then let’s keep making them.”
Sakuya’s thumb brushed against his knuckles. “Deal.”
Later, when both pairs reached their own doors — one tucked behind a fruit shop, the other in a quiet apartment building — the rain still fell steady. But there was warmth tucked into the spaces between their footsteps, into the quiet words that didn’t need to be spoken.
Kouta laughed at something Kaito muttered under his breath.
Mutsuki leaned against Sakuya’s shoulder as they climbed the steps.
Four Riders, four pasts.
But tonight, they were just two couples walking home in the rain.
And that was enough.