Chapter 5

Rin’s Journey Through Flashbacks and Memories, Recontextualizing Feelings

The smell of coffee woke Rin before the sunlight did. She blinked against the brightness streaming through the loft windows, momentarily disoriented by the weight of Kiko’s arm still draped across her waist, the warmth of their tangled legs under the covers.

They’d moved even closer during the night. Rin’s head was tucked under Kiko’s chin, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee, and the intimacy of it should have sent Rin scrambling to the other side of the bed.

Instead, she stayed perfectly still, afraid to break whatever spell had allowed her to sleep so deeply, so peacefully, for the first time in weeks.

Kiko’s breathing changed, shifting from the deep rhythm of sleep to something more conscious. Her arm tightened briefly around Rin before going still.

“You awake?” Kiko whispered.

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved. Downstairs, Rin could hear her mother moving around the kitchen, the clink of mugs, the soft murmur of conversation with David. The normal sounds of family morning, while up here in the loft, nothing was normal at all.

“We should probably get up,” Rin said, but she didn’t move.

“Probably,” Kiko agreed, but she didn’t move either.

They lay there for another minute, maybe two, holding onto something neither could name. Then Kiko slowly withdrew her arm, and the loss of contact felt like a physical ache.

Rin rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I had a dream.”

“Yeah?”

“About freshman year of high school. That camping trip our parents dragged us on.” Rin turned her head to look at Kiko, who was propped on one elbow, hair messy from sleep, watching Rin with careful attention. “Do you remember?”

“The one where it rained for three days straight and we spent the whole time in the tent reading?”

“That’s the one.” Rin sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. The dream had been so vivid, so detailed, that it felt more like a memory surfacing than something her subconscious had invented. “I was remembering how you let me have the dry sleeping bag. Yours had gotten wet when the tent leaked, but you insisted I take the good one and you’d be fine with damp.”

Kiko smiled. “You were miserable. You hate camping.”

“I hate being wet and cold,” Rin corrected. “But that trip ... I remember lying there in that sleeping bag, listening to the rain, and you were maybe three feet away in your damp bag, reading by flashlight. And I kept thinking how I’d rather be cold and wet with you than warm and dry with anyone else.”

She watched Kiko’s expression shift, the smile fading into something more serious.

“I told myself it was because we were friends,” Rin continued. “Because we’d gotten close after the wedding, and of course I’d rather be with my friend than alone or with our parents. But that wasn’t—” She stopped, searching for words. “That wasn’t all of it, was it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I remember watching you read. The way your face looked in the flashlight glow, how focused you got when you were really into a book. And I remember thinking you were beautiful. Just—objectively beautiful, like I was observing a fact.” Rin wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. “I told myself that was normal. That everyone notices when their friends are attractive. But I also remember feeling this ... this pull. Like I wanted to move closer, wanted to share your sleeping bag instead of mine, wanted to know what it would feel like to—”

She stopped abruptly, heat flooding her face.

“To what?” Kiko asked softly.

“To touch you. To kiss you, probably, though I wouldn’t let myself think that clearly at the time.” Rin pressed her forehead to her knees. “God, I was fourteen. Fourteen and already lying to myself about what I was feeling.”