Orion

A pale, drifting stillness opens the track — sparse piano notes falling like snow in no particular hurry, accompanied by a synthesizer texture that feels less like an instrument and more like ambient light. Kenshi Yonezu's voice arrives soft and slightly fragile, carrying the weight of someone talking themselves through grief rather than displaying it. The production breathes with restraint, swelling only when the emotional pressure demands it, so when the chorus finally opens up with layered strings and a gentle surge of drums, the release feels earned rather than manufactured. Lyrically, the song circles around the distance between two people — not a dramatic falling apart, but the quiet realization that someone who once felt like the entire sky has become a fixed point you can only look at from afar. That astronomical metaphor in the title is felt throughout: there is something cold and beautiful and unreachable about the whole thing. It belongs to the late-night hours, to sitting at a window with the lights off, to that specific melancholy of wanting to miss someone less than you do. As a piece of anime tie-in music for *March Comes in Like a Lion*, it captures that series' particular emotional register — introspective, tender, suffused with longing — without ever feeling like background sound.