Chapter Text
When I was fifteen, Bruce told me to "Go make some friends." and banished me to this nature-filled, sap-scented green prison. For the next three weeks, I was to be locked away in this campsite, completely cut off from civilization. It wasn't Bruce who drove me here, but Alfred, our butler. I stepped out of the classic car, watched him lift my heavy trunk out, and simply said, "Thank you."
I suppose Bruce hoped I would become more like a normal kid my age and learn to socialize. Maybe he thought that buying me a dose of wholesome, everyday youth would magically cure my stubborn, overly analytical nature. But it wasn't going to work that easily. The looming, colossal lodge, the high-pitched shouts of kids running around, and the thick scent of trees that made my lungs ache—none of it sat well with my skin.
I dragged my trunk and retreated toward the shade of the trees. Aside from the trunk, I had brought a backpack containing a thick volume by Alexandre Dumas—my actual friend. I hadn't packed any social skills for this trip. Surely, as I drowned myself in this sea of pages, these tedious three weeks would be over before I knew it.
As I sat reading on a bench in the shade, a burst of cheerful voices reached my ears from a distance. Lifting my eyes slightly from the printed text, I saw a group of about five boys walking lively across the grassy lawn up ahead. Surrounding one particular boy, they were gesturing animatedly and chatting with an energy so intense, it was as if they were caught up in some kind of collective fever.
It wasn’t as if I wanted to join that noisy group. Even so, my eyes were drawn to them more than usual. He was wearing a radiant, dazzling smile—as though he were gathering all the light in the area and shining from within. Yes, he was like the sun. His healthy, sun-kissed skin, contrasting with the glimpses of pale skin hidden beneath his clothes, absorbed the unrelenting summer sunlight, glittering almost blindingly. The blue sky, the lush greenery—it all seemed like nothing more than a backdrop designed to highlight him. He was someone whom the sunlight suited better than anyone else in the world.
My heart beat with an irritatingly loud thud. Deep in my chest, the smile of this boy whose name I didn't even know crashed in with violent vividness. I didn't want to admit it, but my eyes couldn't stop following him. This person whose name, voice, and background were entirely unknown to me—I kept watching him, as if he were a landscape I couldn't look away from.
The words of the revenge tragedy in The Count of Monte Cristo no longer registered in my head at all. My fingers never stopped turning the pages, though. Mechanically, as if flawlessly performing the role of an engrossed reader, I kept moving my hands to the next sheet of paper. I refused to cast another glance in his direction. There was no way I could look directly at something so blinding ever again. Kept down, my eyes saw nothing but lines of tightly packed print.
With my sight cut off, my sense of hearing became unnaturally razor-sharp. This wasn't eavesdropping. In this quiet forest, their voices just happened to drift into my ears. That was what I kept telling myself.
"Hey, Conner! For the next activity..."
Conner. That was his name.
Sociable. Astonishingly, overwhelmingly sociable.
Whether it was a boy or a girl, those boundaries didn't seem to matter to him at all. The staff hadn't even begun guiding us to our lodge rooms yet, and he had already managed to become friends with practically everyone at this campsite.
Bright. Endlessly, unfailingly bright.
An easy, carefree laugh, and a natural friendliness that effortlessly bypassed anyone's guard. He was, without a doubt, the kind of person who belonged at the center of the world. The exact ideal of a boy that Bruce so desperately wished I would become. Compared to him, what was I? Hiding in the deep shade of a massive tree, using the thick pages of a book as a shield, erasing my presence from the world.
Conner.
Just tracing that name in my mind somehow made it hard to breathe. The timelines we lived in were far too different. Coldly, rationally, I accepted that truth.
After a while, the volume of voices coming from the lawn grew even louder. Cars were probably arriving at the campsite entrance one after another. I could tell by the shifting atmosphere that the newly arrived boys and girls were being drawn toward that sun like iron to a magnet.
Suddenly, my high-functioning brain flagged an anomaly. Come to think of it, I had arrived here fairly early on the first day. Yet, he was already standing in that exact spot when I got here. Luckily, he didn't seem to have noticed me hiding behind my book... but had he already been spending a few days here? Was he the child of one of the summer camp staff members, or was there some other reason? If I only had a device on me, I could look it up instantly, but this place was an infuriating dead zone with zero reception.
I submerged my consciousness back into the sea of print. Even so, this Dumas book was captivating. The scene of nineteenth-century France unfolding with every turned page provided a perfect escape from the noise of reality.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't pick a literary work like this. My bookshelves were mostly occupied by technical texts on psycho-engineering and mechanical engineering—papers and essays written by the mad geniuses running at the forefront of the world, like Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne. That was my usual reading material. Yet, this story packed with human love and hatred wasn't bad, either. Escaping into this rich, emotional world of literature rather than a world of cold logic served well enough as a fortress to pass these dull three weeks.
Suddenly, a voice came from right behind me.
"Hey, is that any good?"
My heart nearly leapt into my throat with shock. Before I could even look at the person's face, I snapped the book in my hands shut with a loud pop that echoed forcefully through the quiet shade.
Flustered, I spun around to inspect the intruder, only to find the very "Conner" I had been watching from afar standing right there. Being at such close range took my breath away. Up close, he was much taller than he looked from a distance, radiating a vibrant, healthy heat that felt like summer itself. He didn't send a single probing or calculating look my way. It was clear he had zero interest in my background or the fact that I was Bruce Wayne's ward. He had walked into this shade for one ridiculously simple, pure reason: because the book I was holding was unnaturally thick.
"Sorry, you just looked so intensely into it."
Conner's eyes settled on the cover of the book in my arms. He raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise. Given his cheerful, quarterback-like demeanor, I had assumed he wouldn't care for literature at all, yet he named the author as if it were common knowledge.
"Dumas?"
"Dumas. Have you read it?"
"Nah, just the cover."
Oh, so just the cover. I'm sure it showed on my face. All the muscles around my eyebrows relaxed—which is to say, my surprise vanished entirely.
"Don't give me that look. I just have a good memory, that's all."
"I didn't say anything to you."
"Conner."
He stated it briefly, extending a large right hand toward me. A healthy, slightly rough palm, tanned by the unforgiving summer sun.
"Huh?"
I looked back and forth between his outstretched hand and his face, utterly bewildered. Seeing me freeze up for words, he tilted his head slightly like an overly friendly large dog, gazing at me with curiosity.
"Come on, your name. I'm Conner. Conner Kent."
The last name I had been faintly wishing to know dropped straight from his lips. Kent. As I repeated the sound of it in my head, I felt my heart beating even faster. I couldn't keep ignoring his offered hand any longer.
Reluctantly, I shifted the heavy Dumas novel I was holding over to my left arm. Then, hesitantly, I reached my somewhat cold right hand toward his large palm.
"...Timothy."
The moment my real name left my lips, my hand was swallowed up in his warm palm. A rough, yet surprisingly warm and solid touch vibrated through my skin, traveling directly to my heart.
"Not much of a talker?"
From across our joined hands, Conner leaned in slightly, asking with genuine curiosity. It wasn't that I was bad at talking. It was just that people around me rarely kept up with the speed of my thoughts or the volume of my knowledge. Being dismissed as 'bad at socializing' felt somewhat unfair.
"No, I wouldn't say I'm bad at it."
I replied coldly, averting my gaze just a bit. Surely now he would give up on trying to engage with me and return to his own crowd. Or so I thought.
"Awesome, then let's go!"
Conner's thought process leaped completely past my predictions. Breaking into a delighted grin, he yanked my right hand—which he was still holding—without missing a beat.
"Wait, what...?!"
I involuntarily raised my voice, but he wasn't listening at all. Pulled along by Conner, whose frame was easily a size larger than mine, my slender arm had no way to resist. Practically dragged, I was forcibly escorted straight into that dazzlingly bright lawn—and right into the lively circle he had built.
"Hey guys, this is Timothy."
Conner's resonant voice rang out, and the gazes of about five boys and girls turned toward me all at once. Becoming the sudden center of attention made my heart leap so hard it almost hurt.
"Nice to meet you, Timothy! I'm Matt."
"I'm Amanda. Welcome!"
"Victor here. Good to meet you."
Hearing Conner's introduction, they didn't look at me with skepticism at all. Instead, they welcomed me one after another with friendly, welcoming smiles. Amanda, Matt, Victor... I flinched for just a fraction of a second at the stream of unfamiliar names hitting me all at once.
"U-uh... Hi..."
Squeezing the Dumas novel tightly against my chest, I managed to squeeze out those words in a high-pitched voice. My face felt impossibly hot. I was painfully aware that it wasn't just because of the summer sun.
I wasn't bad at talking. That was neither a bluff nor empty pride—it was the honest truth.
At first, I was completely thrown off by the sudden turn of events, but once inside their circle, my brain instantly adapted to the room's atmosphere and the pace of the conversation. In response to the harmless, silly topics Amanda and Matt threw my way, I offered just the right amount of humor, matching my phrasing precisely to their level of knowledge. Before even a few minutes had passed, I found myself standing side-by-side with them, laughing naturally. If this was the socializing Bruce had been talking about, it wasn't nearly as tedious as I'd thought.
"Alright, everyone gather around! We're about to start the orientation!"
Just then, the lively voice of a camp staff member amplified through a megaphone rang across the lawn. Our fun chatter was cut short, and we all drifted naturally toward the counselor. The explanation was about to begin—covering our lodge room assignments for the next three weeks and the overall summer camp schedule.
Everyone listened to the staff member with anticipation and a hint of nervousness written on their faces. As I listened, my eyes subconsciously searched through the gaps in the crowd for him. Conner was standing near the front, a bit away from me, right in the center of a group of kids. Even just from behind, I could tell instantly that it was him. He occasionally nodded enthusiastically at what the counselor said or patted the shoulder of the boy next to him with a laugh. I still knew next to nothing about him. That his last name was Kent, and that everybody liked him. That was about it. Why he had been here so early on the first day, what kind of town he grew up in, and how he'd been raised—none of that information existed in my head yet.
When the staff finished explaining the room assignments, everyone on the grassy lawn moved into action all at once. Carrying their heavy trunks and backpacks, the crowd began walking toward the wooden lodge that would serve as our fortress for the weeks ahead.
"Timothy, which room are you in?"
Slipping through the crowd, Conner was suddenly walking right beside me, calling out. A massive duffel bag was slung effortlessly over his shoulder.
"I'm in Room 203 of the East Wing. What about you?"
"Room 108 of the Main Wing."
The moment I heard those words, a tiny pang of disappointment brushed past the depths of my chest. Oh, so we weren't in the same room... To keep that small flicker of dismay from showing on my face, I intentionally kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. Yet, the pace we had established together didn't slow down. Dragging my heavy trunk, we continued to walk side by side and chat. Conner peered at my side profile with a mischievous smile.
"I gotta admit, I was surprised. I thought you'd be way more shy and stubborn."
"Do I really look that gloomy?"
When I puffed out my chest slightly and retorted, a smile spilled from the corners of my lips so naturally that it surprised even me. If it were the me from just a little while ago, I could never have imagined smiling at someone like this.
"Just a little bit."
Conner narrowed his eyes happily, and as we walked down the single path leading to the lodges, we kept talking about entirely ordinary things. Favorite sports, the journey getting here, Matt and the others we had just met. But good times never last long. Before long, the path split sharply into two directions. One led to the lively Main Wing where Conner was headed; the other to the quieter East Wing where my room was located.
"Ah, mine's this way."
Conner stopped and pointed toward the Main Wing. I tightened my grip on my trunk's handle and looked up at the aged red-brick roof of the East Wing.
"See you later, Conner."
"Definitely see you later!"
Waving his right hand widely, Conner left behind a dazzling smile and jogged toward the Main Wing lobby. Left alone, I watched his retreating back until he disappeared from view before taking my first step toward the East Wing.
My room was for one person. I rolled my trunk onto the floor and sat down on the worn-out pipe bed, making the old springs creak loudly. It was a slightly aged building, and for better or worse, it carried the strong scent of greenery. The breath of the deep forest spreading outside the window seeped through the ill-fitting screen screen, filling the room. It had a dusty, yet somehow soothing smell of wood and paper. It felt like being in a library. Only silence rang faintly in the back of my ears.
Before coming to this campsite, I had imagined a much rowdier place. I assumed a spot where people like me gathered would surely be somewhat cynical, or at least futilely trying to force a lively atmosphere. Looking back now, that wasn't the case at all.
Only the sound of the wind rustling leaves outside the window and the faint voices of other campers carrying their luggage in the distance reached me through the thin walls. Having parted ways with Conner, the next time we would meet was likely at dinnertime. I needed to kill time until then.
I reunited with Dumas. This quiet single room should have been the ideal space for reading. I turned the page, lowering my eyes to the printed text.
...It was no use. Not a single word registered in my head.
Conner's figure, walking beside me from the front desk to here just moments ago, was burned onto the back of my eyelids and wouldn't leave. Nothing particularly dramatic had happened. He had simply made a silly joke and smiled warmly at me. Yet, his deep blue eyes, his sun-kissed neck, and his slightly low voice calling my name replayed in my mind over and over.
Was this what people called love at first sight? Falling into such an overwhelming emotion on the very first day, just a few hours after meeting—it felt completely insane.
I closed the book and lay flat on my back on the bed. I stared blankly at the wood grain on the ceiling. Less than thirty minutes had passed since we parted ways. How much longer until the dinner chime rang? The hands of my wristwatch were moving agonizingly slowly.
I didn't dislike the quietness of a single room. In fact, under normal circumstances, it should have been the space where I felt most at ease. I pulled my smartphone out of my backpack to check the screen. The dark LCD screen lit up, displaying a few pop-up notifications. Brief emails had arrived from Bruce and Dick, but I had no desire to read them.
Usually, responding immediately to their messages—whether out of a sense of obligation or habit—was my routine. But right now, I didn't even feel like scrolling through the screen. My noisy daily life in Gotham and the faces of my family lost all sense of reality, as if they were events happening in a distant foreign land. I swiped away all the notifications and tossed my smartphone onto the bed.
"I really like him..."
I didn't even know if I had spoken the words aloud, but my monologue melted and dissolved pathetic and sweet into the quiet, green-scented room. As if giving up, I let out a heavy sigh, stowed my t-shirts in the closet, and buried my head deep into the pillow once and for all. My heart was still pounding so fast that sleep seemed entirely out of the question, but as I closed my eyes, the sound of the wind shaking the trees outside stroked my eardrums comfortably.
Before long, a chime informing the whole building to assemble echoed through the lodge, and I decided to head toward the main lawn. A cool evening breeze slipped through the trees, gently brushing against our cheeks. Stepping out of the East Wing and walking down the gravel path leading to the central square, the large front doors of the Main Wing opened, as if on cue. What poured out from inside was a rumbling cheer and an exceptionally loud burst of laughter. It was Conner. Once again, he was walking while leading a massive crowd, generating an almost unbelievable heat of excitement.
Yet, standing at the very center of that world, his eyes suddenly swept through the gaps in the crowd toward me. By the time I caught my breath, it was already too late. Amidst dozens of jostling participants, Conner's blue eyes locked onto me with impossible accuracy. While still chatting cheerfully with the people around him, the moment he noticed me, the corners of his handsome lips curved up even wider, and he waved one hand vigorously enough to tear it off.
"Timothy!"
Through the noisy crowd, I felt as if I could hear his clear voice calling my name. Flustered, I quickly lowered my head and clenched my fists tightly inside my pockets. Even as I hurriedly looked away, I couldn't just ignore him. Just a little, somehow—with a tiny sliver of hope—I waved back. Perhaps delighted by my modest response, Conner nimbly wove through the surrounding crowd, striding toward my side of the path with long, confident steps.
"Timothy! How's your room?"
"It's quiet. Not bad."
"Let's grab seats near each other for dinner later!"
Leaving behind only those rapid-fire words, Conner laughed cheerfully and returned to the group beckoning him back.
He truly was like a storm. Watching Conner's back disappear into the center of the crowd once more, I shrugged my shoulders. Left alone, I found myself stranded in the hustle and bustle of the dining hall. I had intended to spend my time alone from the start anyway. It was no big deal now. Telling myself that, I shoved both hands into the pockets of my hoodie and headed toward the serving line where trays were stacked. The atmosphere inside the cafeteria was lively, to say the least. Many participants were already seated at long tables, surrounded by the steam of soup and the savory scent of roasted meat.
While placing our served dinner onto my tray—a generous heap of mashed potatoes, roasted chicken, and a somewhat hard-looking dinner roll—my eyes subconsciously scanned the seats in the vast hall.
Conner Kent.
Where in the world was that sun who had asked to sit near me? Surrounded by so many guys and girls, he might have already completely forgotten about me. A little extra force pressed into the hands holding my tray. I started walking to look for an empty seat in the corner of the cafeteria, a spot fit for an inhabitant of the shadows.
Stepping outside the dining hall, a beautiful outdoor dining space unfolded before me. On the lush green lawn stood numerous weathered wooden tables and chairs. As the pale gradient of dusk painted the sky and the lantern lights began to flicker on one by one, the scene was as lovely as a painting.
Without taking the time to fully appreciate that beauty, I headed straight for the most deserted table on the far edge. Setting my tray down, I settled into a seat where my eyes wouldn't meet anyone else's. I silently began carrying pieces of roasted chicken to my mouth.
The words Conner had tossed out as he left—about sitting near each other—were surely nothing more than a playful passing thought. Or perhaps just his innate lip service, meant to keep the mood lively. There was no way someone who stood at the very center of the world would genuinely keep caring about someone like me, who was stuck in the shade just minutes after meeting. Expecting anything was a waste of effort, and if I was only going to feel miserable later upon realizing I'd been forgotten, staying by myself like this from the start was far more rational.
Tearing off a piece of the hard dinner roll, I tried to take satisfaction in my own cold, logical reasoning. Yet, no matter what, the voices of the participants heading toward the lively central tables filtered into my ears. Was that slightly low, pleasant voice of his mixed into the cracks of their joyful laughter? Unconsciously searching for it made me feel terribly foolish and frustrated with myself.
I lifted a spoonful of mashed potatoes to my mouth with clumsy movements. The taste shouldn't have been bad, yet somehow it was hard to swallow. These dull, quiet three weeks were supposed to pass exactly as I had planned, without anyone bothering me. Yes—as if telling myself that, I lowered my head even deeper. Just then, someone forcefully slapped the wooden table where I was sitting from behind.
Thanks to the timing—just as I was shoving a mouthful of mashed potatoes into my mouth—I must have looked thoroughly ungraceful and foolish, sitting there with my fork still wedged between my teeth. Standing right there was, as expected, Conner. Back at that shaded bench where we had exchanged our first words, I had definitely been startled from behind just like this. Experiencing that strange sense of déjà vu, I hurriedly took the fork out of my mouth. Yet, Conner, who usually wore a radiant, bottomless smile, wasn't laughing much for some reason.
He was glaring at me with an intentionally theatrical, transparently pouting expression. He exaggeratedly knitted his well-groomed eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks like a young child.
"Timothy, you started eating without me?"
"I didn't think you were coming."
Even before I could defend myself, Conner—as if having no intention of waiting for my answer—sat down in the seat right next to me with an air of pure naturalness. The wooden chair creaked, and the warmth of the summer evening surrounding him, along with the savory scent of roasted chicken, rushed all at once into my personal space. We were close enough for our shoulders to brush.
"I looked everywhere for you! I scanned the whole mess hall and couldn't find you! I told you we were gonna eat together, didn't I?"
Placing his tray on the table, he peered at my side profile with a lingering look of discontent. He wasn't joking, my heart thumped hard in the depths of my chest. Leaving his large circle of friends behind, he had genuinely searched for me all the way to this empty, out-of-the-way seat—all to keep his promise to me.
"I honestly thought it was just politeness."
Looking at me as I offered that half-hearted excuse with my eyes cast down, Conner blinked in slight disbelief for a second. After a moment's thought, the corners of his eyes wrinkled into a smile.
"Do I look like a guy who knows how to do polite small talk?"
Saying that, he began boisterously tearing off pieces of his dinner roll. The warmth radiating from him beside me made the back of my ears grow hot all over again. I had assumed he would come charging over to me while dragging that huge crowd along, but he had genuinely come looking for me all by himself. I didn't ask him why. If I asked, I felt as though the loud pounding of my heart might actually reach his ears.
The sky had fully turned a deep indigo, and the flame of the small lantern on our table began softly illuminating our side profiles in orange. It felt as if the surrounding noise had receded into the distance, and an astonishingly quiet, peaceful time flowed between the two of us.
Perhaps partly due to the difference in our physical builds, Conner's eating pace was much faster than mine. By the time I had barely managed to finish half of my plate, he had already cleaned his entire meal. Normally, having someone next to you finish early makes you feel rushed, thinking, I need to eat faster. But Conner simply pushed his empty tray slightly to the side and, showing no sign of impatience whatsoever, rested his chin on his hand and quietly watched me eat. After that, it was just me listening to Conner's aimless, almost monologuing chatter as I ate.
"I heard the canoeing program here starts tomorrow. Let's do it together, alright?"
"Oh, yeah, you know that big maple tree behind the East Wing? One of the counselors said stag beetles gather there at night. Wanna go check it out later?"
Truly, nothing but disconnected, ordinary chatter.
Under normal circumstances, being dragged into contentless conversation would have been nothing short of tedious. To someone like me, who favored logical and efficient thinking, meaningless small talk was mere noise. Yet his voice, strangely enough, sank comfortably into my ears. His slightly husky, yet warm voice dissolved into the quiet of the night. The orange flame of the lantern gently flickered within the blue eyes gazing at me.
Even as I chewed, I realized that far from being annoyed, I actually wanted to keep listening to his aimless monologue forever. Startled by my own thought, I hurriedly tore off a tiny piece of the dinner roll and stuffed it into my mouth. Just having him beside me made the night in this nature-filled prison feel astonishingly peaceful and special.
"Squirrel."
When I offered a tiny, sharp glare at his remark, Conner burst out laughing with pure delight.
After I drained the last of my soup and cleared my tray, we exchanged simple small talk at the table under the fully settled cloak of night.
"You talk to everyone. Why?"
To me, throwing myself into a circle of strangers and laughing at its center felt like a complex equation that required an immense amount of energy to solve. That was precisely why I genuinely wanted to know his motivation for doing it as naturally as breathing. At my serious question, Conner wore a blank, bewildered expression for just a second.
Then, letting his gaze wander a bit sheepishly, he began twirling his front hair with the tips of his large fingers.
"Why, huh... Even if you ask me that..."
Conner lowered his eyebrows in a troubled manner, stopped playing with his hair, and looked straight at me.
"I don't really know."
"You don't know?"
"Maybe I just like how everybody's different."
It was a response so simple and entirely without pretense. He wasn't acting sociable because he wanted to be acknowledged by someone, nor was he moving out of a sense of obligation. He radiated that dazzling light purely out of an endless curiosity for the world and for people. His fundamental mental architecture was entirely different from mine—someone who analyzed the other person's psychology and calculated his own positioning before speaking a single word.
"Right. And here I was hoping you were just a crowd-pleaser."
Letting out a soft breath, I gazed into his blue eyes illuminated by the lantern light.
"Even I have people I don't like, you know."
Releasing his hair, Conner let out a bashful laugh and playfully nudged my shoulder.
"Come on, let's go check out that maple tree I mentioned earlier."
Reaching the maple tree with only the faint glow of the lantern to guide us, we found not a single insect resting on it, contrary to our expectations. Even when we swept the beam of the flashlight across the trunk to search thoroughly, there was nothing but the shadows of the rough, aged bark. The surroundings were so dark we could barely see where we were stepping, and the rugged path felt as though a moment's lapse in concentration would cause us to trip violently over tree roots. Having walked all this way through such terrain made the empty-handed result feel all the more disappointing.
"...Ugh..."
The voice from Conner beside me sounded openly crestfallen.
Illuminated in the light, his side profile wore an expression of childlike disappointment so obvious that anyone could have read it at a single glance. His eyes had been sparkling with such excitement just moments before, yet the instant he realized the stag beetles weren't there, his shoulders dropped entirely.
"Do you think it's just one of those days?"
"It's just one of those days."
I made a point to reply evenly, but in truth, I was slightly disappointed, too.
"Guess my cologne wasn't doing it for them."
Shaking it off, Conner said with a faint laugh and turned around, illuminating our feet as we began walking back the way we came. The path home seemed to have grown even darker. With every step, the scent of damp soil and grass brushed against my senses.
"It felt like an intense day."
"What did?"
"I hadn't been going outside much before coming here."
"Not bad, right?"
"Yeah. Not bad."
Without realizing it, the corners of my lips had curled upward. I didn't know if he could see my expression in the dark, but he probably noticed anyway. Since Conner was leading the way with the lamp, I couldn't see his face. But well, he was undoubtedly thinking of something positive.
Once our stroll ended, we parted ways naturally. Without throwing a fit, without sitting down to exchange deep thoughts—just a simple, see you tomorrow.