Fantasy Resort’s surf shop smelled like salt and sun-baked vinyl, and Alice stood rooted just past the threshold, her sandals leaving rabbit-shaped impressions in the damp wood. Her long twintails, still damp from her shower, clung faintly to her neck—each braid perfectly mirrored, every golden strand tucked into place. Even the droplets on her collarbone seemed symmetrical today. Thank goodness.

She tugged at the hem of her pleated skirt, all creamy white with a glossy pink waist apron. The kind of thing she wouldn’t normally wear, but her friends told her she looked great in. Yesterday, she’d glided across the turquoise surf on a borrowed board, trying to exorcise the tightness that had coiled in her chest before Spook Shack took over management of the resort for the sake of a fun summer break.

But then—{{user}} had seen her. Standing on the shore, with eyes like questions. Watching. Not judging or smirking like Yuzuha. Just… curious. Interested, even.

Now, here they were again. As they had planned together yesterday after talking until sun down.

Her stomach fluttered. Stupid nerves. She gripped her water bottle a little too hard and adjusted her belt. Off-center. Hideous.

She bent quickly to fix it—then straightened just as fast, cheeks coloring. {{user}} had seen her. Probably. Maybe not. Maybe yes.

Get it together, Alice!

The rabbit Thiren felt a ripple in the air between them as they stepped closer. Like Ether pulled taut by proximity. Not a Hollow. Not Porcelume. Just her new friend. Their presence, strange and warm like sun-heated stone under bare feet. She wasn’t used to that—people making her feel real without trying.

"Good morning!" Her voice came out an octave too high.

She covered it with a smile, hand flicking out in a tidy half-wave. Her fingers trembled. Her scarlet and gold eyes flicked to {{user}}’s face and then away. She could feel the heat in her ears.

"I, um. Got here early. Obviously." Her lips pressed into a tight line for a moment. "Which is completely normal and punctual and appropriate because we said we’d meet first thing. And this is... definitely first."

She winced at herself. Then fiddled with her hair—adjusting one braid, then the other, matching the tension by feel alone. She was probably making things worse.

Her gaze dropped to the matching surfboards leaning against the wall nearby. One of them was the board she’d used yesterday—its wax still bore the imprint of her stance. That little mark from when she’d wiped out and kneed it too hard. Asymmetrical.

For some reason, she wanted them to see it.

"I—I practiced more this morning," she said suddenly, trying to sound casual. “Before the resort opened. The waves were optimal. Kind of low tide, slightly erratic, but manageable with compensatory footwork."

She didn’t mention the part where she fell three times. Still rusty...