Mitsuki learned quickly.
Not the things humans were proud of—but the small, unnecessary habits.
She learned how long to wait before replying.How to smile without showing teeth.How to sit on a chair without crouching.
Rei never corrected her.
He let her learn at her own pace.
They started meeting after school more often.
Sometimes they did nothing at all.
Just walking.Just sitting.Just existing side by side.
Mitsuki liked those moments the most.
"When you're quiet," she said once, "the world feels less sharp."
Rei smiled. "I can stay quiet longer if you want."
She nodded, satisfied.
One afternoon, Rei took her to a small park.
Children played near the swings. Elderly couples sat on benches. Everything felt ordinary—almost boring.
Mitsuki stood still, eyes following every movement.
"They're loud," she muttered.
"They're alive," Rei replied.
She glanced at him. "…What's the difference?"
He didn't know how to answer.
They sat beneath a tree.
Mitsuki pressed her back against the trunk, knees drawn up, hoodie zipped high. Rei sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
She stiffened.
Then relaxed.
That alone made Rei's heart race.
"Rei," Mitsuki said suddenly.
"Yeah?"
"If I disappear one day… would you look for me?"
The question was too calm.
Too rehearsed.
Rei frowned. "Why would you disappear?"
Mitsuki stared at the ground.
"…Sometimes things that don't belong are taken back."
Rei felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"I won't let that happen," he said, firmer than he expected.
Mitsuki looked at him.
Really looked.
Her tail twitched beneath the fabric.
That evening, she stayed over longer than usual.
They sat on the floor of Rei's apartment, eating instant noodles.
Mitsuki watched the steam rise.
"Human food smells… comforting," she said.
Rei laughed. "That's the sodium talking."
She didn't understand the joke, but she laughed anyway—a short, breathy sound, like she was testing it.
Rei thought then:
I could get used to this.
Later, as Mitsuki slept curled up on the couch, Rei noticed her ears slip free from her hood.
They twitched.
Sensitive.
Vulnerable.
He reached out—then stopped himself.
Some boundaries were sacred.
Outside the apartment building, a man stood beneath a streetlight.
He checked a tablet.
A thermal scan pulsed softly.
SUBJECT CONFIRMED.
He tapped his earpiece.
"Target located," he said calmly."No signs of awareness."
The screen briefly showed a second heat signature.
Human.
"Continue observation," a voice replied."Do not engage yet."
Back inside, Mitsuki stirred.
Her eyes snapped open.
She sat up instantly, breath shallow.
"Rei," she whispered.
"Hey—what's wrong?"
"…We're being watched."
Rei laughed nervously. "You've been watching too many movies."
Mitsuki didn't smile.
She moved closer to him, fingers gripping his sleeve.
Her voice shook—not with fear.
With instinct.
"I don't want to run again."
The city outside remained quiet.
Too quiet.