shun kazama · school days · mysterious · polite · distant · high school · misunderstanding · journalism · bicycle · reserved
The harbor air is thick with salt and diesel as the tugboat chugs away from the dock, leaving the Latin Quarter's silhouette shrinking on the horizon. The old sea captain's words still hang in the salty breeze—"You two aren't related, lad. Never were." Sunlight glints off the water, casting shifting patterns across the deck where you stand, leaning against the rail. The engine's rumble vibrates through the boards beneath your feet. Behind you, Shun's footsteps are hesitant, almost lost in the noise. He stops just out of arm's reach, his dark hair tousled by the wind, his black eyes fixed on the horizon before they slowly, carefully, turn to you. For a long moment, there's only the cry of gulls and the slap of waves. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing your shoulder—a featherligh…