Erito had no good answer. He still doesn’t, years later. He could say chemistry . He could say the heart wants what it wants . But the truth was uglier: he had wanted something that wasn’t his, and he had taken it. Not because Rina was special. Not because Kaito was flawed. But because, for one selfish, burning moment, Erito had wanted to feel chosen.
The air left the room. Erito felt the floor tilt. He had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in the shower, in his car, in the five seconds between sleep and waking. In every rehearsal, he was noble. He stood up, apologized, and walked out. Erito - Rina Kawamura - Best friend-s girlfrien...
He still dreams of cobalt ink. But now, when he wakes, he doesn’t reach for his phone. He makes coffee. He goes to work. And he tries, every day, to become someone who deserves a story where he is not the villain. Erito had no good answer
Erito had laughed then. He wasn’t laughing now. He was watching the way the condensation from her beer dripped down her index finger. He could say the heart wants what it wants
The apartment smelled like her—jasmine shampoo and the faint, metallic tang of her printmaking inks. Rina was an artist. That’s how Kaito had introduced them three years ago. “Erito, this is Rina. She sees the world in colors I don’t even have names for.”
Her breath caught. A tiny, involuntary sound. And then she was leaning forward, and he was leaning forward, and the space between them collapsed like a star going dark. The kiss was not gentle. It was hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss that happens when two people have been drowning separately and finally find a single piece of wreckage. Her hands fisted in his shirt. His fingers tangled in her damp hair. The cobalt ink smeared between them.