the cafe was quieter than usual today, with only a handful of people scattered at the other tables. it was a calm afternoon, the kind that made the hours feel like they were drifting by in a dream.

"looks like it's just us today," she said, taking off her jacket and hanging it over the back of her chair.

tsukishima glanced around, observing the empty tables. "not that I mind," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "less competition for the shortcake."

she laughed softly as they both leaned back into their chairs. it was comforting, this quiet, this routine. it felt natural.

he couldn't help but feel that warmth again — those moments when everything just seemed right. she was more than just a girlfriend, more than just the person he spent his sundays with.

she had become a constant in his life. a solid, unshakable presence that he'd come to rely on more than he realized.

"graduation's just around the corner."

"we'll finish our cake and head back to reality."

"right." she chuckled, but her expression shifted, more thoughtful.

tsukishima looked at her, studying her face for any sign of hesitation; and there it was, the same uncertain undertone she'd had before. the same worry she always carried when she thought too far ahead.

he took a sip of his tea, letting the warmth settle in before talking again. "we'll keep coming back here. sundays will never change."

her eyes softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. "maybe," she echoed quietly.

a silence hung between them, but it was a comfortable one. he realized, then, just how much this—this quiet, this routine—had become the foundation of their time together. they didn't need to talk about the future every time, didn't need to rush toward anything.

the sunday routine had slowly turned into something deeper; something both of them had come to rely on, without even noticing.

"you know," she said, breaking the silence, "sometimes i think we don't need to talk about the future at all. maybe it's enough to just be here, now."

he met her gaze, his heart easing at the simplicity of it.

"yeah," he agreed, a rare softness in his tone. "i think this is enough."

for the first time, he realized that it wasn't about the future or the grand plans they had.

it wasn't about rushing toward something bigger or better. it was about these moments, these sundays, where they didn't need anything more than each other and the shared silence.

it was enough. and for once, he was content to let things be, knowing that whatever came next, they would face it together.

tsukishima realized that he didn't need any more assurances. this — their sundays, their unspoken understanding — was everything they needed. and, really, he couldn't think of anything better.