The neon sign outside the arcade pulsed in shifting hues of electric blue, magenta, and green, advertising rhythm games, crane machines, and the promise of fleeting distraction. Even from the street, Kyra could hear the chaotic blend of electronic beeps, muffled voices, and the occasional triumphant cheer from a player landing a jackpot. The city's energy was thick in the air, yet the cool autumn night reminded her that even chaos had its season—and that this night was just another chapter in the long, dragging semester.
She had arrived early. Not out of excitement. Not because she wanted to be here.
But because she didn't want to be anywhere else.
Leaning against the brick wall just outside the entrance, she fished out a cigarette, rolling it between her fingers before lighting up. The first inhale burned, sharp and grounding, as if to steady the relentless pressure of school, expectations, and the days stretching on.
She wasn't addicted.
At least, that's what she told herself.
She could quit anytime. She just... didn't.
Exhaling, she watched the smoke curl into the neon-lit darkness, dissipating like secrets in the chilly night. The glass arcade doors slid open, and a group of students spilled out, their laughter rising into the cool air before fading away.
Her fingers twitched around the cigarette. She didn't know why she was so on edge.
No, that was a lie. She knew exactly why.
With a quiet sigh, she flicked the cigarette away, crushing the ember beneath her boot.
No reason to linger.
She stepped inside.
The instant wall of sound nearly made her regret it.
Flashing lights threw electric blues, reds, and greens against the polished floors. The cacophony of beeping machines, blaring game music, and overlapping voices filled every inch of space, making her head feel too full—even as the soft rustle of autumn night air outside whispered a reminder of something gentler.
Her fingers itched for something—something to keep her grounded.
She scanned the room and spotted them immediately.
Lain and Renji.
They stood near a racing game, talking—laughing.
Kyra's steps slowed.
Renji was the first to notice, his smirk sliding into place as he leaned back against the console. "Damn, Kyra. You look like yourself for once."
Kyra rolled her eyes, adjusting the chain at her belt. "What, the school uniform's not my thing?"
Renji snorted. "Oh, it screams 'Kyra.' All that beige, the mandatory neatness. Really suits your whole aesthetic."
Kyra scoffed, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Yeah, well, I like to keep people guessing."
Lain turned toward her then, eyes flicking over Kyra's outfit—not in the way Renji had, but with something quieter, more thoughtful.
For a second, she hesitated. Then—just a small smile. "Yeah... it suits you."
Kyra wasn't sure why that made her chest tighten. There was a subtle weight there—like the pull of a promise or a dependency she couldn't yet name.
She shrugged, stepping closer. "What are we playing first?"
Renji grinned, nudging Lain's arm. "Lain wants to get destroyed in air hockey."
Lain shot him a glare, bumping his shoulder. "Excuse me? Do I look like someone who loses?"
Kyra smirked, ignoring the strange, unsteady feeling in her stomach. "Guess we'll find out."
They moved deeper into the arcade, falling into an easy rhythm—playing, teasing, competing—but Kyra couldn't ignore the small shifts around her.
It started subtly.
The way Lain leaned into Renji when she laughed. The way Renji's hand found her shoulder—brief, fleeting, but noticeable. The way Lain didn't pull away when their eyes met, as if each accidental touch was stitching together something fragile inside her.
Kyra told herself it was nothing. That it wasn't important. That she didn't care.
But it didn't feel like nothing.
And the more she saw it, the more it felt like something was slipping between her fingers—something warm, essential.
Her fingers twitched again.
She needed to step away.
"I'm getting a drink," she muttered, already turning before they could respond.
The vending machines were tucked into a quieter corner, away from the flashing screens and deafening noise. She exhaled slowly, pressing her hands against the cool metal as she slid a few yen into the slot—a small, deliberate act to ground herself against the pressure of the long semester.
Her fingers curled slightly as she reached into her pocket, about to pull out the carton—
"Damn, these machines are slow as hell."
Kyra jerked her hand back.
She turned, blinking as she registered the girl standing beside her.
She wasn't Japanese.
Her wavy brown hair fell effortlessly around her shoulders, catching the glow of the arcade lights, shifting between warm, golden tones. Even in the dim glow, Kyra could tell she wasn't just another lost tourist. There was something about the way she carried herself—comfortable, natural. Like she belonged anywhere, even in places she shouldn't.
Kyra hesitated. "Yeah..."
The girl tilted her head, eyeing the vending machine with quiet amusement before speaking in broken Japanese. "It eat your money, too?"
Kyra shrugged, pressing the button again. "Not yet."
A beat of silence.
Then, with a soft clunk, her drink dropped into the tray.
The girl sighed dramatically. "Lucky you. Mine's thinking about it."
Kyra hesitated for a second before nudging the machine at just the right spot. Another clunk.
The girl blinked, then let out a small laugh. "Okay. What magic is that?"
Kyra smirked slightly, picking up her can. "It's a trick."
The girl grabbed her own drink, still smiling. "Thanks. Sorry for... uh..." She paused, frowning slightly before correcting herself, "...broken Japanese."
Kyra shifted her weight. "No. It's okay."
The girl studied her for a moment before tilting her head, playful. "Well, I'm sure your English is better than my Japanese."
Kyra wasn't sure why that amused her, but it did. Compliments weren't really her thing. But this one didn't feel forced.
Instead of responding, she just nodded, popping the tab on her drink.
The girl took a sip, then gestured toward the arcade. "You here with friends?"
Kyra exhaled slowly. "Yeah."
The girl nodded, something unreadable flickering in her expression. "Hope you win, then."
And just like that, she waved and disappeared into the crowd—effortless, like she'd never been there at all.
Kyra lingered for a second longer than necessary, watching her go. Something about the brief exchange stuck with her. Not in a way she could name—just... something. Perhaps because it was the first conversation all night that didn't carry the usual unspoken weight.
She inhaled sharply, shaking the thought off.
Her fingers curled around the cigarette pack in her pocket. She wanted one. Badly.
But not here.
Not inside, not where it wasn't allowed.
Not where Lain might see.
With a quiet sigh, she turned back toward the others.
She wasn't ready to go back yet.
But she didn't have a choice.