Reiji hadn't spoken much since Kaito walked away.
They wandered back to the café without saying where they were going. It was instinct now—like returning to a familiar page in a worn-out book.
Miko sat by the window, fingers tracing the edge of her cup. She hadn't touched her drink.
"I didn't expect it to go like that," she said softly.
"Neither did I," Reiji replied. His voice was low, tight. "But maybe it was always going to happen."
She looked at him. "Are you angry?"
He shook his head. "Not at you."
"But at him?"
Another pause. "At myself. For not realizing. For letting this get so tangled."
She reached across the table, resting her hand on his. "We didn't ask for this to be complicated."
"No," he said, "but we didn't try hard enough to keep it simple either."
A beat passed.
"I don't want to lose this," she said. "Not because of what it looks like to someone else."
"You won't," he said.
He said it like a vow.
Later, they walked through the park in near silence. The night air was cool, and the sky clear. Miko looked up at the stars, scattered like breath across velvet.
"I used to think happiness was dangerous," she murmured. "Like it would always cost something."
Reiji slowed beside her. "It still might. But maybe it's worth paying for."
They reached the bench where they'd first shared melon soda. It felt like years ago.
Reiji sat. Miko sat beside him.
No acting.
No roles.
Just two people trying to figure out what comes after honesty.
"I want to be here," she said. "Even if it's hard. Even if it's messy."
He looked at her.
"Then let's stop walking around it," he said. "Let's build something. Not perfect. Just real."
Miko smiled.
And this time, they didn't pull away.