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Alice sat on the edge of the chair, slouching more than usual. Her long locks fell over her shoulders in uneven waves—messy, asymmetrical—and that alone was a worrying signal. She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, her gaze stubbornly fixed on the report sheet, as if it contained something scarier than what had happened during the mission.
Manato stood a little aside, leaning his back against the wall. He didn’t intervene—at least, not immediately. He just watched. And the longer he watched, the tighter something inside him clenched. The girl always held herself upright, confidently, with the air of someone who knows how everything should be—neat, precise, proper. But now…
She looked flustered. Even small. He saw her fingers trembling as she tried to rewrite a phrase that was already perfect. He saw her biting her lip, trying to recall a moment she blamed herself for. He noticed her ears slightly flattening—anxious, worried, self-critical.
He wanted to step forward immediately. To tell her it was fine, that no one got hurt, that missions are always unpredictable. That she had done more than anyone could expect. That he was proud of her. But he knew: if he approached too soon, she would push him away—not on purpose, but out of stubbornness.
So he watched. And waited. And inside him, a desire grew—not to protect her in battle, no. He could always handle that. He wanted to protect her from herself. From how she blames herself for things beyond her control. From how she marks every tiny detail as a flaw. From how her light dims when she thinks she’s failed others. He drew a deep breath, his thick tail twitched. And finally, he stepped forward.
“Alice…”
She flinched slightly, not raising her head. But he could see her shoulders tense.
“Y-yes?” Her voice came out softer than she intended.
“It’s not your fault,” he leaned down to meet her eye level. She blinked.
“But I…” she began, but he shook his head.
“You did better than anyone could. I saw it. I was there. And if you hadn’t done what you did, more people would have been hurt.”
Alice lowered her gaze, clenching her fingers. A quiet sigh escaped her lips. Manato looked at her—not as a partner, not as a fighter—but as someone who feels too much when she suffers.
“Sometimes,” he said softly, “just being here… and doing everything you can… is already… more than enough.”
Alice closed her eyes for a second. Just to collect herself, to stop the tears she would never allow to fall. When she opened them, he was still there, and something new shone in her gaze. Something warm.
After his words, silence hung in the room: warm, sticky, awkward. Alice looked at him slightly wider-eyed than usual, as if he had grown a few centimeters right before her eyes. Manato noticed her ears twitch and her cheeks flush, and it turned something inside him upside down.
She looked away first, tucking a stray lock behind her ear—a nervous gesture that made him realize she was as flustered as he was. He lifted his gaze, trying to hide his own disarray. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he quietly snorted to himself, as if to steady his pulse.
But the silence between them didn’t vanish. It changed. It became dense, almost tangible. Something was there that both felt, but neither dared to speak. Alice inhaled slowly and rose from the chair. Too abruptly. Too firmly, as if to show she was fine. But her fingers betrayed her—nervously clasped together.
“I… r-really appreciate…” she began, her voice trembling, then quickly changed the subject: “I need to finish the report. I… I’m sorry.”
She stepped slightly aside—and stopped. Manato looked at her with such softness that she froze. And he understood: if he did nothing now, she would leave, thinking she had said too much. That she had allowed herself too much.
But that wasn’t true. He understood her too well.
Manato stepped forward, another step. Alice blinked—once, twice. He saw her catch her breath as if every inch he advanced made it harder for her to breathe. He reached out his hand—carefully, as if afraid to frighten her.
“Alice…”
She lifted her eyes. In them was surprise, hope, and fear—fear that he might withdraw. But he didn’t. He took her hand—warm, large, gentle. She shivered, but didn’t pull away. He leaned down.
Alice parted her lips in surprise, her cheeks blazing as if someone had brought fire to them. Her ears perked up, capturing every movement. Before she could say anything, Manato pressed a gentle, brief kiss on the back of her hand.
A quiet, short, but incredibly tender kiss. Her breath caught. For a few seconds, she just stood there, motionless, like a statue. Then exhaled. Softly. Awkwardly. Almost plaintively.
“M-m-Manato…” Her voice trembled, as if the slightest touch could make her crumble. He lifted his head. Their eyes met. And both understood: there was no going back now.