The next afternoon Kenji waited at the back gate exactly when the final bell stopped echoing. He'd changed into his track pants and an old hoodie in the locker room, running shoes laced tight and a backpack slung over one shoulder. He wasn't sure why he'd brought them. Rika had said "might need to move," and something about the way she'd said it made him listen.
She appeared two minutes later, black hoodie zipped to her chin, earbuds dangling unused around her neck, hands shoved in her pockets. No backpack. Just her usual scowl softened by the late afternoon light.
"You're early," she said, stopping in front of him.
"You said after school."
"Didn't think you'd actually show."
Kenji shrugged. "I said okay."
Rika studied him for a second, eyes flicking over his face like she was checking for fresh cracks, then jerked her head towards the side street.
"Come on. It's a twenty minute walk. Don't complain."
They started walking. Not toward the station, not toward the main road home. Instead she led him through a maze of narrow residential alleys Kenji had never bothered with before: past tiny gardens with drying laundry, past an old man watering potted plants on his porch, past a stray cat that watched them from a wall with lazy yellow eyes.
Neither spoke for the first ten minutes. The silence wasn't awkward. It was… comfortable. Like neither of them felt the need to fill it with noise.
Eventually Rika broke it.
"You eat lunch today?"
Kenji blinked. "Uh… yeah. Half a sandwich."
"Pathetic."
"I wasn't hungry."
"You're always hungry after running. You're lying."
He didn't argue.
They turned down another alley, this one sloping gently downhill. At the end it opened into a small, forgotten park no playground equipment, just cracked concrete paths, a few benches, and a long stretch of overgrown grass bordered by a chain-link fence. Beyond the fence ran an old disused railway line; rusted tracks, weeds pushing through the gravel, graffiti tags faded by years of sun and rain.
Rika stopped at the fence. There was a gap where the chain-link had been pried apart years ago, wide enough for a person to slip through.
She ducked under without hesitation.
Kenji followed.
On the other side the air felt different, quieter, dustier, like the city had forgotten this place existed. The tracks stretched in both directions, disappearing around gentle curves. No trains came this way anymore.
Rika walked straight to the middle of the gravel bed and sat down cross-legged on the ties, back against a rusted signal post.
Kenji hesitated, then sat a meter away, knees up, arms resting on them.
She pulled two cans of black coffee from her hoodie pockets, cold ones from a vending machine and tossed one to him.
He caught it. "You planned this?"
"Planned enough."
They cracked the tabs open in unison. The hiss sounded loud in the stillness.
Rika took a long sip, stared down the tracks. "I used to come here a lot last year. After I transferred. When everything felt like too much noise."
Kenji glanced at her. "What happened? At your old school."
She shrugged. "Fought a guy who wouldn't leave my friend alone. Broke his nose. School said I was the problem. Parents freaked. Transferred me here to 'start fresh.'" She made air quotes with one hand. "Fresh is bullshit. Same people, different uniforms."
Kenji nodded slowly. "Sorry."
"Don't be. I'm not."
They sat in silence again. A breeze moved through the tall grass beside the tracks, making it whisper.
"Why here?" Kenji asked eventually.
"Because it's empty. No one expects you to smile. No one asks how you're doing. You can just… sit. And breathe."
He looked down at the can in his hands. The metal was cold against his palms.
"I cried yesterday," he said. "Like a kid. In the classroom."
"I know. I was there."
"Yeah." He exhaled. "Didn't feel good. But… it didn't feel worse either."
Rika tilted her head toward him. "That's progress."
"Is it?"
"Better than pretending you're invincible."
He managed a small, crooked smile. The first real one in days.
They finished their coffees. Rika crushed her can against the rail and stood.
"Stand up."
Kenji did.
She pointed down the tracks. "That way. About five hundred meters. There's an old platform. No one uses it. Good place to run if you want to burn something off without people watching."
He looked where she pointed. The tracks curved gently, sunlight slanting across them in long golden bars.
"You coming?" he asked.
Rika snorted. "I don't run unless someone's chasing me."
"Then why..."
"Because you do." She shoved her hands back in her pockets. "I'll walk. You run. When you're done, I'll be on the platform. We can walk back together."
Kenji stared at her.
She raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Nothing. Just… thanks."
"Don't get sappy. Go."
He set his empty can on the rail, shook out his legs, then started jogging. Slowly at first, testing. The gravel crunched under his shoes, uneven but solid. No coaches yelling splits. No teammates. No finish line he had to beat.
Just movement.
He picked up speed. The wind pushed against his face. His breathing evened out. For the first time in weeks the run didn't feel like escape, it felt like release.
He reached the old platform, crumbling concrete, faded yellow line, a single rusted bench and slowed to a walk, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin.
Rika was already there, sitting on the bench, legs stretched out.
"Took you long enough," she said.
Kenji dropped onto the bench beside her, not too close, but closer than before.
"Feel better?" she asked.
He nodded. "A little."
"Good enough."
They sat watching the sun drop lower, turning the rails copper.
After a while Rika spoke again, quieter.
"You don't have to fix everything at once. Just… keep showing up. Even when it sucks."
Kenji looked at her profile: sharp jaw, messy hair catching the light.
"Yeah," he said. "I can do that."
They walked back as the sky turned lavender. Side by side. No rush.
When they reached the gap in the fence, Rika paused.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked. Casual. Like it didn't matter.
Kenji met her eyes.
"Yeah. Same time."
She nodded once.
Then slipped through the fence without another word.
Kenji watched her silhouette disappear down the alley.
For the first time in a long time, tomorrow didn't feel like something to survive.
It felt like something he might actually want to meet.