The truce holds. In the days that follow, a fragile peace settles over our home. The teasing is gone, replaced by a quiet, watchful tenderness. We are learning to navigate our new reality, a landscape still full of mines, but one we are now walking through together.
Our collaboration on her next project- a smaller, less stressful costume for a local event- becomes our new language. We can talk about fabric choices and painting techniques with an easy camaraderie that we cannot seem to manage when talking about our actual lives. Her room is once again our shared space, our sanctuary.
One evening, we are sitting on the floor of her room, surrounded by sketches and swatches of cloth. Rina is quietly munching on one of the sea salt truffles from the apology box.
"These are really good," she says, her voice soft.
"I'm glad you like them," I reply, sketching out a design for a prop.
She is quiet for a moment, looking at the new mochi plushie that now has a permanent place of honor on her bed. "You know," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "When I was so mad at you… I was also mad at myself. Because all I could think about was how much I missed my brother. And… my knight."
She looks at me, her eyes full of a deep, vulnerable sincerity. "You were both gone. And I was all alone. It was the worst feeling in the world."
I put down my pencil and turn to face her. The air in the room grows heavy, charged with all the things we have left unsaid since that day at the park. Her words are not an accusation. They are a confession of a deeper, more profound need. She does not just need a romantic hero; she needs her partner, her confidant. Me.
"I'm here now," I say, my own voice thick with an emotion I cannot quite name. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?" she asks, her voice small, like a child's.
"I promise."
She looks at me, and I see the last of her anger, her hurt, melt away, leaving only a quiet, shining certainty. She shuffles closer on the floor, the space between us shrinking until our knees are touching.
The room is silent except for the sound of our breathing. The moment stretches, thin and taut, full of a terrifying, exhilarating potential. This is not a joke. This is not a tease. This is real.
"Rui," she whispers, her voice a fragile thread.
I look at her, really look at her, and I see all of her at once. The brilliant Ectiqa. The annoying, wonderful Rina. The girl who has turned my entire world upside down. And in that moment, the last of my own resistance, my own fear of the 'forbidden' line, crumbles into dust.
She leans in slowly, her eyes searching mine, giving me every opportunity to pull away. I do not move. I cannot.
Her lips meet mine.
It is not a forceful, desperate kiss like Haruka's. It is soft, hesitant, and full of a thousand unspoken questions. It is a kiss that tastes of sea salt truffles and two weeks of silent misery. It is a kiss that asks, 'Is this okay?'
And as my own lips move against hers, as my hand comes up to gently cup her cheek, I give her the only answer I have left.
Yes.