Mitsuki started waiting for Rei.
Not openly.Not confidently.
She would stay near the alley, pretending to examine vending machines or stare at shop windows she never planned to enter. When Rei appeared, her shoulders would relax—just a little.
Enough for him to notice.
They began walking home together.
At first, Mitsuki kept her distance. She avoided crowds, flinched at sudden noises, and always chose the darker side of the street. Rei adjusted without asking.
He slowed his steps.He chose quieter routes.He learned when not to speak.
Mitsuki noticed.
She always did.
One evening, Rei bought two onigiri from a convenience store and handed one to her.
She hesitated.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yeah."
She accepted it with both hands, like it was something fragile.
She ate slower this time.
That alone felt like progress.
They sat on the steps of a closed bookstore, sharing silence.
Mitsuki watched people pass by, her eyes moving constantly—counting, measuring distance, memorizing patterns.
"You don't like crowds," Rei said gently.
"They're loud," she replied. "And they smell… busy."
Rei laughed softly. "That's a weird way to describe people."
Mitsuki smiled.
It was small.
But real.
Rei noticed things he pretended not to.
How Mitsuki never took off her hoodie.How her hands sometimes twitched when she was relaxed.How her feet turned slightly inward when she stood still.
How she sat closer to the ground than the average person.
None of it bothered him.
What bothered him was how easy it felt to be with her.
Weeks passed.
Spring crept into the city.
Mitsuki started visiting Rei's apartment.
She liked the corners.
The narrow spaces.
The way the room smelled like laundry soap and old books.
"This place feels safe," she said once, curling her legs beneath her on the floor.
Rei felt something warm bloom in his chest.
They watched movies together.
Mitsuki didn't understand romance scenes. She tilted her head during kisses, brows furrowed in confusion.
"Why do humans press their mouths together?" she asked seriously.
Rei nearly choked on his drink.
"I… guess it's how they show affection."
She considered that.
"…Does it work?"
Rei met her gaze.
"Sometimes."
Mitsuki looked away, ears twitching beneath her hood.
On the way home one night, she stopped suddenly.
"Rei," she said.
"Yeah?"
"If I wasn't… normal," she began slowly, "would you still walk with me like this?"
Rei didn't hesitate.
"Of course."
She studied his face, searching for deception.
She found none.
Mitsuki reached out—then pulled her hand back at the last second.
"…Thank you," she whispered.
The city lights glowed softly above them.
For a while, everything felt simple.
Almost human.
Almost happy.
Neither of them noticed the black car parked across the street.
Its engine running.
Its windows dark.