Kyra sat cross-legged on the rug of her childhood bedroom, absentmindedly tracing her fingers over faded drawings taped along the pale walls. She barely remembered sketching them—crude crayon figures, bright swirls of color, pieces of a simpler past. A time when monsters were imaginary and love was unconditional.

Then the muffled shouting from the other room shattered the illusion, yanking her brutally back to reality.

She knew her parents loved her. They proved it in small, quiet ways—in bentos packed with extra treats, in bedtime stories whispered through exhaustion, in the way her father's hands always trembled slightly when he ruffled her hair. But love wasn't always enough. Lately, their fights had become louder, like storm clouds gathering at the edges of their home, ready to break. Her father's PTSD from the military weighed on them, and money had become a never-ending battle. The warmth that once filled their home was thinning, stretched too tight over wounds neither of them knew how to heal.

Kyra curled in on herself, pressing her forehead against her knees, as if she could block out the rising voices. She was just a kid. She wasn't supposed to understand what past due notices meant, wasn't supposed to feel relief when her father left for work because it meant the house would be quiet for a little while. But she did.

The door creaked open.

"Kyra?"

Her father's voice was gentle, his footsteps softer than usual. She lifted her head, watching as he knelt beside her. His face was lined with worry and exhaustion, but there was still kindness there, buried beneath the weight of things he wouldn't say.

"I'm sorry you heard all that, sweetheart." His tone was careful, like he was choosing his words piece by piece. "Your mom and I... we just don't see eye to eye on some things. But we'll figure it out."

Kyra swallowed, her small fingers gripping the hem of her sweater. She wanted to believe him, but even then, she could feel the cracks forming beneath his words.

"Then why do you have to yell?" she whispered. "Can't you just... talk?"

Her father's expression faltered—just for a second. Guilt. Pain. Things she didn't have the words to name yet. "I wish it were that simple," he admitted, gently taking her hand. "But no matter what, we're always here for you. You hold us together, Kyra."

Even then, she knew that wasn't true.

The memory blurred into hazy light as Kyra blinked, tears stinging her eyes.

The present came rushing back in—cold and sharp.

She wasn't in her apartment anymore. She was in a near-empty classroom, the faint buzz of students in the hallway seeping through the walls. The final bell for lunch had rung long ago.

She exhaled, rubbing her temples, as if she could wipe away the past as easily as chalk dust on a blackboard.

Her hand drifted to the cuff of her navy-blue school blazer, fingers brushing against the hidden ink beneath. The crescent moon tattoo—a promise to herself. A reminder that she was still here, still standing, even when everything else had fallen apart.

But resilience felt like a hollow word today.

Her phone vibrated against the desk, breaking through the stillness.

**Lain (10:34 AM)**

> Hey hey, still up for tonight? Or do I need to come drag you out myself?

Kyra hesitated, staring at the message a beat too long. Something about the way Lain's words popped up on her screen made her heart give a small, unexpected skip.

Lain was one of the few people who still made things feel a little less heavy, yet Kyra couldn't ignore the knot in her stomach. There was something about being around her that made everything sharper—her loneliness, her fear, and even the way Lain's presence seemed to fill a void Kyra wasn't fully aware of until moments like these.

She typed a quick reply:

**Kyra (10:35 AM)**

> well duh! Arcade later. I'll see you then.

Setting the phone aside, she let out a slow breath. It should've been that simple. But nothing ever was.

Her mind drifted to Renji—Lain's newest source of amusement. He was harmless, really. Just another guy. Yet, even as she tried to dismiss it, a small, uncomfortable feeling in her chest hinted that perhaps it wasn't only Renji who stirred something inside her. It was Lain—whose laughter, whose touch, even if fleeting, began to feel like a lifeline in the relentless tide of her days.

She shouldered her school bag and stepped out into the hallway. Students in matching uniforms streamed past, laughing, shouting, shoving into lockers. The sound of normalcy—a world she was no longer sure she fit into.

Then—

"Kyra! Hey, I was just looking for you!"

Lain's voice cut through the noise, bright and familiar. Kyra turned just as Lain wove through the throng of students, her blazer neatly pressed, her usual gentle smile in place.

"Skipped lunch on me, huh? Should I be offended?" Lain teased, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Then, a small crease formed between her brows. "I got worried..."

Kyra forced a smirk. "I just... lost track of time."

Lain's eyes flickered, scanning her like she always did—like she could read between the lines. Kyra hated and loved that about her. It was in those moments—when Lain's gaze softened, and her presence felt inexplicably warm—that Kyra found herself clinging to the reassurance she didn't even know she craved.

Then, Lain's gaze dropped to Kyra's wrist, where the faint lines of the tattoo peeked out from beneath her sleeve.

"That's new." Her voice was softer now, tinged with curiosity. "When did you get it?"

Kyra's pulse skipped. She tugged her sleeve down instinctively, heat creeping up her neck. "Yeah, well... just something I needed. Not too long ago."

Lain didn't pry, but her lips curved slightly, her expression warm. "It's really pretty... it suits you."

The words shouldn't have mattered. But they did—resonating in a way that made Kyra feel simultaneously seen and understood, as if Lain's simple compliment was a quiet lifeline she never asked for but desperately needed.

Kyra swallowed, trying to ignore the unfamiliar warmth curling in her chest. It was stupid, really. Just a compliment.

Then, for the briefest moment, Lain's fingers brushed against her wrist—just a soft, fleeting squeeze that sent a ripple of something unnameable through her.

Kyra's breath caught. Even as she told herself it was nothing, she couldn't shake the feeling that her heart was reaching for Lain in ways she hadn't anticipated.

She told herself it was nothing. Told herself that it didn't mean anything.

Lain was already stepping back into the crowd, flashing that easy, effortless grin that somehow made the world seem a little less harsh. "See you tonight... yeah?"

Kyra nodded.

But as she watched her go, something restless stirred inside her—a growing dependence on the comfort of Lain's presence, a fragile hope that maybe she wasn't as alone as she felt.

She inhaled, steeling herself. She wasn't the kind of person who got caught up in things like this.

And yet, as she turned toward her next class, her fingers curled absently over her wrist—right where Lain's touch still lingered, a quiet reminder of the connection she wasn't ready to fully acknowledge.