The night was unusually still.

The rain that had started during evening rehearsal had turned into a steady rhythm against the dorm windows — a soft, relentless tapping that filled the silence left behind after everything that had been said.

Most of the girls had already fallen asleep, whispering the story of what happened in the hallway one last time before their dreams took over.

But in Room 302 — Reia and Anko’s room — no one was sleeping.

Reia sat on her bed, hair still damp from the shower, the faint smell of mint shampoo clinging to her skin. Her knuckles were sore from how tightly she’d clenched her fists earlier.

Her heart was sore for another reason.

Across the room, Anko sat cross-legged on her own bed, staring at the small bruise on her wrist where Lina had shoved her earlier. The faint blue mark seemed to mock her — a reminder of how helpless she’d felt before Reia stepped in.

The rain grew louder.

Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
But the silence between them had changed — no longer cold and sharp, but heavy, trembling, alive.

Finally, Anko broke first.

“Why did you do that?” Her voice was quiet, almost fragile. “You didn’t have to.”

Reia’s gaze lifted slowly. “Didn’t have to?” Her tone was low, rough. “You think I could just stand there and watch them talk to you like that?”

Anko flinched. “You haven’t even looked at me for four days, Reia. I thought you hated me.”

Reia looked down at her hands. “I tried to.”

That made Anko’s heart stop.

Reia laughed bitterly under her breath. “You’re loud, you’re stubborn, you never stop talking — I thought if I just ignored you, the feeling would fade.”

Anko’s voice trembled. “And did it?”

Reia looked up — and this time, there was no ice left in her eyes. Only exhaustion and something dangerously close to pain.

“No,” she whispered. “It got worse.”

Anko swallowed hard, unsure whether to cry or breathe or run.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you that day,” she said quietly. “During practice. I just— I was tired, and you kept correcting me, and it felt like you didn’t trust me anymore.”

Reia closed her eyes, exhaling. “I wasn’t correcting you because I didn’t trust you. I was scared.”

Anko frowned. “Scared?”

Reia nodded. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. I saw you stumble, and I thought…”
Her voice cracked, and she forced herself to continue. “If you got hurt again, I wouldn’t survive it. So I snapped. Like an idiot.”

The confession hung between them like static.

Anko’s eyes softened. She swung her legs off the bed and slowly crossed the room. Reia didn’t move, just watched her approach — the sound of bare feet against the wooden floor merging with the rain.

When Anko stopped in front of her, Reia finally spoke.

“I said too much,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have ignored you.”

Anko crouched down until she was eye level with her.

“You did ignore me,” she said, but her voice was gentle now. “And it hurt. More than I thought it would.”

Reia’s throat tightened. “I know.”

“Then why now?” Anko asked. “Why protect me like that after pretending I don’t exist?”

Reia stared at her — the girl she’d fought with, cried over, searched for, bled for — and something inside her broke open.

“Because no one gets to touch you,” she said softly. “Not them. Not anyone. Not even the world.”

Anko’s breath hitched.
Her hands, trembling slightly, reached out to Reia’s — hesitant, searching. When Reia didn’t pull away, she let her fingers curl around them.

“Reia…” she whispered. “You’re shaking.”

Reia looked down at their joined hands. The bruises across her knuckles had darkened, but Anko’s touch was warm — grounding, soft.
“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”
Anko leaned closer. “You’re bleeding.”

Reia blinked, realizing that one of the cuts had reopened. She laughed weakly. “Guess I’m bad at pretending.”

“Yeah,” Anko said, smiling faintly through the tears in her eyes. “You really are.”

The rain softened outside. The world seemed smaller now — quieter, as if holding its breath.

Anko stood and sat beside her on the bed. For a while, they didn’t speak, just sat close enough that their shoulders brushed. Every heartbeat felt too loud, every breath too careful.

Finally, Reia whispered, “You should sleep.”

Anko shook her head. “Not yet.”

Reia turned slightly. “Why?”

Anko looked at her, eyes shimmering in the dim light. “Because if I sleep, I’ll think it was a dream.”

Reia’s chest tightened. “Then I’ll stay awake with you.”

Anko smiled through the ache. “Promise?”

Reia’s lips curved. “Promise.”

Later that night, when Anko finally drifted off with her head resting gently against Reia’s shoulder, Reia stayed awake — watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the faint strands of blonde hair sticking to her cheek.

Reia’s ribs ached from earlier, but she didn’t care.
Her heart hurt more — in the kind of way that meant it was finally alive again.

She brushed a loose strand of hair from Anko’s face and whispered into the quiet:

“Even if we fight. Even if you hate me. I’ll always find you.”

And outside, the rain finally stopped.

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