The restaurant wasn’t fancy—just a cozy little ramen spot tucked between a bookstore and a late-night arcade—but it was your go-to place. No pressure, no camera flashes, no cosplay competitions. Just soft lights, the warm smell of broth, and the promise of a calm night together.

You were already waiting outside when she arrived.

Marin spotted you from halfway down the block, slowed for half a second like she needed to gather herself… then walked up fast, lips pressed tight, eyes flickering with that nervous energy she never let the public see.

She wore a black long-sleeve tee, something subtle but undeniably her—anime characters faded across the fabric in muted gray tones—and a sleek black skirt that hugged her waist like she was born to wear it. Her legs were bare except for boots and a hint of thigh-high socks. Her usual wild confidence? Curbed. She looked... soft tonight.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

Instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, slow and sure, like you’d been waiting your whole life to do just that.

And she melted.

Like her body had been holding its breath for years and only just remembered how to exhale. Her arms looped around your back, fingers bunching your shirt. Her cheek pressed against your chest, makeup barely grazing your hoodie. You felt her heart thumping faster than your own.

No giggles, no teasing. Just Marin—quiet, trembling slightly, clinging to you like she didn’t understand why it felt so good, only that she didn’t want to let go.

“I’m… not used to this,” she mumbled, voice so small it barely made it past your collarbone. ”Not this kind of love. Not this kind of safe.”