Zawisza slowed near a flat patch in the clearing, lifting a hand casually as if calling a timeout in the middle of a battlefield.

  “Here,” he said.

  Kazou stopped a few paces behind him, catching his breath only slightly. Zawisza shrugged off his worn backpack and crouched, unzipping it with a soft rasp. Kazou watched, unsure what to expect—maps, tools, maybe a compass.

  Instead, Zawisza pulled out a folded fabric bundle and flicked it open with a practiced shake. A picnic blanket—plaid, faded, edges slightly frayed.

  Kazou blinked.

  “You… carry that around?”

  Zawisza spread it across the grass as if the world weren’t falling apart.

  “Of course. Never know when you’ll need a break.”

  He glanced up at Kazou, half-smiling.

  “Sit.”

  Kazou hesitated, then exhaled, lowering himself stiffly onto one edge of the blanket. His legs folded beneath him, posture tense. Zawisza sat opposite him, cross-legged, relaxed, the dying sunlight catching in his eyes. For a moment, the scene almost looked ordinary: two men out for an evening rest, not a scientist with a rifle and a stranger with secrets.

  A breeze brushed through the clearing, warm but carrying the first hint of night. Kazou’s shoulders unwound a fraction. Zawisza rested his forearms on his knees. The breeze brushed through his dark hair. He looked like he hadn’t slept properly in days—which was probably true.

  Neither spoke at first.

  They just sat there, facing each other across the blanket, their silhouettes rimmed in gold, the forest humming softly around them. The moment felt suspended—an accidental pocket of peace carved out of chaos.

  Zawisza broke the silence with a quiet chuckle.

  “Hard day, huh?”

  Kazou let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “That’s one word for it.”

  Zawisza leaned back on his palms, looking at him across the small divide of patterned fabric. There was no judgment in his gaze. No expectation. Just a strange, grounding presence—as if he’d made a habit of sitting with lost people in empty places.

  

  “God, you look like someone just assigned you paperwork on your birthday,” Zawisza teased.

  Kazou blinked, slow and dull.

  “I didn’t know we were picnicking.”

  “That’s because you’re boring,” Zawisza grinned, fishing into his backpack. “But lucky for you, I’m not.” He produced a bundle wrapped in cloth, unwrapping it to reveal neatly made sandwiches. “Ta-da! One for you, and one for me. Unless you’re on a sadness-only diet.”

  Kazou stared.

  “…You brought food?”

  Zawisza held out a sandwich dramatically.

  “What can I say? I’m a man of preparation and appetite.”

  With a sigh and a reluctant flicker of amusement in his tired eyes, Kazou accepted the sandwich.

  “Thanks, Mr. Zawisza."

  “Wait, wait, not done yet,” Zawisza said, digging further. “Behold—wine!” He brandished a small bottle and two tin cups with a flourish. “It’s terrible. But that makes it authentic.”

  “You’re drinking in the middle of a field.”

  “I’m drinking with a friend in the middle of a field,” Zawisza corrected, uncorking the bottle with a pop and pouring it out. “There’s a difference.”

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  Kazou huffed something between a chuckle and a sigh. “Really?”

  “Cheers to that.” Zawisza and Kazou clinked their tin cups together and took a sip. “Ugh. Yep. Still terrible.”

  Kazou took a tentative sip. It really was awful—but strangely comforting. He shook his head, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “There it is,” Zawisza said with a grin. “That’s the first time I’ve seen your face try to smile! You should try it more often. Less wrinkles.”

  Kazou glanced over at him, lips barely curved.

  “You’ve known me for what, an hour?”

  Zawisza leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky.

  “You know, I went to Japan once. Years ago. Before all this madness.”

  Kazou turned slightly, brows raising in surprise.

  “Really?”

  “Mhm. Tokyo. Kyoto. Even a little fishing town—I don’t remember the name, but they had rice balls the size of my head.”

  Kazou gave a soft laugh. “That… sounds accurate.”

  “I liked it. Polite people. Good trains. Amazing vending machines. Also, jazz bars.”

  Kazou’s smile warmed, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes.

  Zawisza fished around in his bag again.

  “Hold on—I’ve got something for this,” he muttered.

  Zawisza pulled out a small radio, scuffed and dented. He fiddled with the radio dial until a burst of static cleared into soft, dreamy synths. The opening chords of “Remember Summer Days” by Anri shimmered through the quiet field.

  Zawisza perked up instantly. “Yes! Oh, this one! This was everywhere in '82. I heard it on a Tokyo street and thought, ‘This is what happiness sounds like.’”

  Kazou tilted his head.

  “I know this song…”

  “Of course you do. It's Anri!” Zawisza sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. “I’ve got this one memorized. Just... badly.”

  He lifted a finger and, with zero shame and maximum enthusiasm, began singing along in butchered Japanese:

  “? Rii-mee-mbaaa saamaa deee~ ? ? Kazé no naka no shinyu-uuu~ ?”

  Kazou blinked.

  “That’s not... even remotely close.”

  Zawisza ignored him, swaying his shoulders with the beat.

  “? Aa-aah~ setsuna-sa ni~ toki o tomete~! ?”

  “You’re just slurring vowels,” Kazou muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  “? Ko-ko-ro no... ya-kee-so-ba~! ?”

  “That’s not the lyric. That means fried noodles.”

  “I knew it had heart.” Zawisza grinned.

  “It’s yakusoku, not yakisoba. That means promise.” Kazou chuckled, shaking his head.

  “Fried noodles, promise—what’s the difference when you’re in love?” Zawisza quipped, grinning.

  The chorus came in, and Wolfgang Zawisza stretched his arms wide with excitement:

  “? Remember~ summer daaaaays~! ? ? IEEE-aiii-ohh~I don’t know this part, but I’m vibing! ?”

  Kazou groaned softly. “You’re desecrating it.”

  “Help me out then!” Zawisza nudged him with an elbow. “You’re the native speaker. Come on! Sing.”

  Kazou hesitated, looking out over the tall grass, the golden hue of the sunset, the little tin cup still in his hand. The ridiculous man beside him was off-tune, full of joy, and somehow… impossible to resist.

  With a quiet sigh, Kazou relented.

  He mumbled, “? Kaze no naka no shinyuu... ?”

  Zawisza gasped, eyes sparkling.

  “There it is! The voice of a generation!”

  Kazou gave him a long, unimpressed look.

  “I will push you into a ditch.”

  Together, terribly and wonderfully out of sync, they sang.

  “? Remember~ summer daaaays! ? ? Natsu ga kieteikuwa Touriame ga anata o tsuredashiteitta. Oh, I love you! Wasurerarеnaikedo tsugi no natsu ni mo Mata koko e kuru~ ?”

  Wolfgang raised his cup in salute, eyes laughing.

  “To mispronounced lyrics and unexpected friendships!”

  Kazou lifted his as well, his smile finally free and genuine.

  “To terrible singers.”

  They clinked their cups once more, the radio humming behind them as Anri faded into the wind. For a moment, there was only the warmth of the wine, the summer air, and the sound of laughter in a field at the edge of nowhere.