Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kohane was six—maybe seven—when she decided she wanted to know what love was.

It wasn’t because of anything big or dramatic. It was because her parents were in the kitchen again, moving around each other like they’d done it a thousand times before. Her mother passed her father a towel without looking; her father nudged the cabinet shut with his elbow. Small things. Quiet things.

Kohane sat at the table with a sheet of paper spread in front of her, crayons scattered everywhere. She was supposed to be drawing a house, but she’d gotten distracted coloring the sky instead—pressing blue too hard, then scribbling yellow over it just to see what would happen.

“Papa,” she said, not looking up, “what’s love?”

Her father paused mid-step. “…That’s a big question.”

She frowned at her paper. “Mama says it’s important.”

“That’s true,” he said, smiling as he leaned against the counter. “It’s very important.”

She switched crayons, red this time, drawing a lopsided sun. “Is it like… liking someone a lot?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “But it’s more than that.”

Kohane kicked her feet under the chair. “Then what is it?”

He thought for a moment. “Love is choosing someone. Again and again.”

She considered this seriously. “Like choosing my favorite crayon?”

He laughed. “A little like that. But instead of choosing once, you keep choosing—even when it’s hard.”

Her nose scrunched. “Why would it be hard?”

“Because people aren’t perfect,” he said gently. “And days aren’t perfect either.”

Kohane looked up at him then. “So how do you do it?”

“You find the right person.”

That caught her attention. She straightened in her chair, gripping the crayon between her fingers. “The right person?”

He nodded.

“How did you know Mama was the right person?” she asked.

Her father went quiet. He crossed the kitchen, turned off the stove, and sat across from her. The late afternoon light streamed through the window, painting the floor in soft gold.

“The right person,” he said slowly, “is the person who will color your skies in all the colors of the rainbow.”

Kohane blinked. “All of them?”

“All of them,” he repeated. “Not just the bright ones.”

She stared down at her drawing. Her sky was messy now—blue and yellow and red all smudged together. “But rainbows only come after rain.”

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Exactly.”

She didn’t fully understand. But something about the way he said it made her feel warm, like she was being told a secret meant for the future.

Outside, clouds drifted lazily past the window, waiting.

~

By the time Kohane reached high school, she’d almost forgotten the exact sound of her father’s voice that day.

But the words had stayed in her memory.

She walked with her hands tucked into the straps of her backpack, the late afternoon sky stretching wide above her. It wasn’t especially bright—just pale blue, with thin clouds drifting lazily by. She glanced up at it without really thinking, then back down the familiar street.

Weekend Garage came into view, its sign worn but warm, the windows glowing softly from inside. The faint sound of music—someone testing chords—slipped out every time the door opened.

An was already there. Kohane could hear her laugh before she even stepped inside.

“Kohane!” An waved from their usual table. “You’re late!”

“Sorry!” Kohane hurried over, setting her bag down. “I stopped to—” She stopped short.

Someone else was leaning against the counter, with bright orange hair that was impossible to miss. He looked up at the sound of her voice, eyes flicking over her in a quick, assessing glance.

“…That her?” he asked, unimpressed.

Kohane shrank instinctively.

An shot him an elbow without hesitation. “Hey. Don’t be rude.”

“What?” he scoffed. “I’m just saying—she’s quiet. You really think she can stand on stage?”

Kohane’s fingers tightened around her bag strap. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, heart thudding too loud in her ears.

An crossed her arms. “She can.”

Akito raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Kohane took a breath. She looked up—not at An, but at him.

“I will,” she said, voice small but steady. “Stand on stage.”

Both of them blinked.

“I like singing,” she continued, cheeks warming. “And… I like singing with An.” She hesitated, then added, quieter but firmer, “I’ll get to the stage, and reach your level one day.”

For a moment, the café seemed to hold its breath.

Akito stared at her, clearly caught off guard. “…Huh.”

An grinned like she’d just won something. “See?”

He clicked his tongue, turning away. “We’ll see.”

But as Kohane sat down, heart still racing, she felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest—not fear.

Resolve.

Outside, the sky shifted as the sun dipped lower, tinged faintly with orange.

By the time Vivid BAD SQUAD became a name people recognized, Kohane had learned how to stand a little straighter.

She still fidgeted with her sleeves. Still hesitated before speaking. But when she sang now, her voice didn’t waver the way it used to. It carried—clear and strong, filling the space like it belonged there.

They were taking a break behind Weekend Garage, the evening air warm and buzzing with distant traffic. An and Toya were discussing song choices near the door, voices overlapping familiarly.

Kohane sat on a crate, sipping water, gaze drifting up to the sky. It was calmer tonight—washed in soft green, the kind of color that made you want to breathe deeper.

“You good?” Akito asked.

She looked over, startled. “Ah—yeah. I’m fine.”

He studied her for a moment, arms crossed. “You pushed your voice pretty hard just now.”

“I did?” She laughed softly. “I didn’t notice.”

“Figures,” he muttered. “You don’t know when to stop.”

Before she could respond, a couple of passersby slowed nearby, whispering a little too loudly. Kohane shifted, instinctively shrinking back.

Akito stepped forward without thinking. “Hey,” he said sharply. “You got something to say?”

They backed off immediately, hands raised in apology before disappearing down the street.

Kohane blinked. “Akito, you didn’t have to—“

“It’s annoying,” he said, looking away. “People staring like that.”

She smiled, small and fond. “You’re just being kind.”

He scoffed. “Don’t get the wrong idea.”

But when she stood, adjusting her bag, he fell into step beside her anyway—close enough that she didn’t feel quite so small anymore.

As they rejoined the others, Kohane didn’t notice the way Akito watched her sing later that night—not with doubt this time, but with something quieter. Steadier.

Like he’d already made up his mind.

~

green: safety and calm

They reached the campsite later than planned.

By the time they’d dropped their bags, the sun was already sinking, painting the trees in soft gold. The forest stretched wide around them, open in a way Kohane wasn’t used to—no walls, no wires, no echo of passing cars. Just wind through leaves and the quiet weight of space.

An immediately started rifling through her pack. “Toya, help me with the cooking stuff before it gets dark.”

“On it,” he replied, following her toward the fire pit.

“Hey, don’t just leave everything to—” Akito cut himself off as they disappeared between the trees. He clicked his tongue, then sighed.

Kohane watched him from a few steps away.

Usually, Akito filled silence without meaning to. A sharp comment. A complaint. Something loud enough to take up space. But now, he just stood there, gaze drifting over the treeline, shoulders loose in a way she’d never seen before.

It felt… different.

She shifted her weight, glancing up at the sky. It seemed wider here, framed by branches instead of buildings, the air cool as she breathed it in.

“…It’s nice,” she said quietly.“Everything feels really open.”

“Yeah,” Akito said.

The answer came easily. No edge, no sarcasm.

Kohane blinked and looked at him again.

He wasn’t tense. Not pacing, not frowning like he was bracing for something. The usual sharpness in his voice was gone, softened by the quiet around them. It made him seem… calmer. Closer, somehow.

She hesitated, then asked, “Are you okay?”

He glanced over, brow creasing. “What?”

“You’re just… quieter than usual,” she explained quickly. “I thought maybe something was wrong.”

He paused. Then he looked away again, thoughtful rather than defensive. “…No. Nothing’s wrong.”

She waited, hands clasped together.

After a moment, he continued, slower this time. “I guess I don’t feel like I have to be on guard out here.”

Her heart skipped softly.

“In the city,” he went on, “it’s always loud. Someone’s watching, or listening, or expecting something. Even when you stop, it doesn’t really feel like you’re allowed to.”

He exhaled, long and steady. “But here… I don’t know. It’s like the noise backed off.” He glanced at her, a little sheepish. “So when you said it felt open—I think I get it now. It’s easier to breathe.”

Kohane smiled, the kind that came without thinking. “I’m glad.”

They stood like that for a while, the quiet stretching comfortably between them.

Kohane shifted her weight, then said, almost to herself, “I think places like this make people honest.”

Akito glanced at her. “Honest?”

“Mm.” She nodded, fingers lacing together. “There’s so much space that… it doesn’t feel like there’s anywhere to hide. But not in a scary way. Just… gentle.”

He huffed a small laugh. “You always say stuff like that.”

She flushed faintly. “S-sorry.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he replied quickly, then added, a little quieter, “You might be right.”

He tipped his head back, eyes tracing the sky through the branches. The leaves swayed lazily, sunlight slipping between them in soft green patterns. He took a deep breath, slow and deliberate, like he was testing the air.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “This place is kind of working magic or something.”

Kohane smiled, watching him.

He glanced at her again, corner of his mouth lifting. “Not that I hate it.”

They rejoined the others soon after, the sound of laughter and clattering supplies pulling them back into motion—but the feeling lingered.

Like a patch of green Kohane tucked away, knowing she’d want to remember it.

~

orange: anxiety and fear

The applause from the show still buzzed faintly in his ears, distant yet insistent, like it was chasing him.

Akito ducked into the alley behind Weekend Garage, heart hammering in his chest. He sank to the ground, knees pulled up, palms pressed hard against his legs as if gripping them could stop the trembling inside. His breaths came fast, shallow, uneven, scraping against the cage of his ribs.

Not now. Not here. He tried to tell himself it was nothing—but the tightness in his chest, the dizzy blur creeping at the edges of his vision, told a different story.

His hands shook. Fingers clawed at the rough concrete beneath him, trying to find something solid to hold onto. His legs twitched uncontrollably, and the city beyond the alley—the honking, the murmurs, the echoes of other people moving—pressed in from all sides.

It was too much. Too fast. Too loud. Too… everything.

He tried to close his eyes, tried to focus on nothing, tried to will the panic to stop. But it didn’t listen. It spread up his throat, twisting, hot and wild. He pressed his palms over his face, but it only made the shaking worse.

Minutes passed—or maybe seconds. Time had no shape here. His stomach churned, throat tight, and a cold sweat ran down his back. His usual control was gone, the wall he carried everywhere dissolved, leaving him raw, exposed, barely holding on.

A faint sound made him freeze—a soft, hesitant step.

“Akito?”

He didn’t respond. His head stayed down, arms braced over his knees.

“Kohane…”

Her voice was small, cautious, unsure. She crouched a few feet away, careful not to crowd him. Her hands were clasped nervously in front of her, but her eyes never left him.

He wanted to tell her to go. He wanted to tell her he didn’t need anyone, he didn’t want anyone seeing this. But his throat was dry. The words wouldn’t come.

She shifted slightly closer, still keeping her distance. “I… I just want to help. You don’t have to say anything.”

He swallowed roughly, chest heaving. His hands quivered, gripping his legs for stability. The panic hit in waves, each one sharper than the last, leaving him gasping and trembling. He closed his eyes and willed it to stop, but nothing came.

Finally, she held out her hand—not demanding, not commanding, just offering. He looked at it, his vision blurry, and slowly, hesitantly, let his fingers brush hers.

“Breathe with me,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, steady, gentle. She counted in a slow rhythm: inhale… two… three… exhale… two… three…

The alley was quiet except for the sound of their breaths. Inhale… exhale… Shudders still rattled through him, but the intensity dulled just enough for him to feel grounded, not as completely alone.

Minutes passed. The trembling eased. His chest loosened slightly. For the first time since leaving the stage, he felt he could exist in the space without fighting it.

Kohane didn’t speak beyond counting, letting the silence stretch comfortably. Then, after a long pause, she whispered, “See? You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He blinked at her, lips parting to say something, but nothing came. He just let out a shaky laugh, half disbelief, half exhaustion.

“…Thanks,” he finally whispered.

“You don’t need to explain,” she said softly. Her gaze met his. “If it ever comes back, I’ll be here. I’ll help you again.”

His chest rose and fell more evenly now. He let out a long, slow breath and nodded. “…Thanks, Kohane.”

They stayed like that for a while, side by side, not touching anymore but close enough that the quiet felt safe.

Outside, the alley hummed with distant city life, but it felt muted somehow, softened by her presence.

For the first time in hours, Akito didn’t feel like he was drowning.

~

blue: sadness and withdrawal

Ever since that night in the alley, Akito hadn’t come to practice.

Kohane had noticed immediately. He hadn’t texted, hadn’t appeared at the usual rehearsal time, and when she asked the others, Toya and An shrugged with a mix of worry and uncertainty. But Kohane could tell—just by thinking about him—that something wasn’t right.

It wasn’t loud, obvious panic this time. It was smaller, quieter… heavier. She remembered the way he had pressed his hands to his knees, the way his breaths had come fast and shallow, and then how he’d leaned back against the wall, trying to recover. The memory made her chest tighten.

She couldn’t just wait for him to show up again. Not when she had a feeling he was struggling in silence.

That afternoon, after a deep breath and several quiet pep talks to herself, she made a decision. She would check on him.

Toya had given her the address reluctantly, with a nudge and a little smile. “Just… make sure he’s okay,” he said. “He won’t ask for help himself.”

Kohane tucked the paper with the address into her pocket, heart thumping. She walked to the familiar house, every step a mix of nervousness and resolve. When she reached the door, she lifted her hand and knocked lightly.

A few moments later, it swung open, and Ena appeared. Akito’s older sister’s expression was calm—almost too calm—but Kohane caught the soft crease in her brow, the tension in her shoulders. Ena’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, but there was worry in her eyes that she didn’t let show.

“You’re here for him?” Ena asked quietly.

Kohane nodded. “Y-yes. I… wanted to see if he was okay.”

Ena didn’t answer with words. Instead, she stepped aside and gestured toward the hallway. Her hand lingered briefly, and her gaze met Kohane’s for a fraction of a second—soft, encouraging, and just a little sad. Then she turned and walked down the hall to her room, the soft click of her door signaling she had left them alone.

Kohane’s stomach twisted, a mix of nerves and resolve. She followed the direction Ena had indicated and stopped in front of Akito’s door. She hesitated, listening. The faint scrape of a chair, the muffled thump of something being set down, but no voice.

She lifted her hand and knocked gently.

“Akito? Can I… come in?” Her voice was small, careful, but steady.

A pause. Then, a low, wary voice: “Why did you even bother?”

Kohane froze.

“I mean… why stick around for someone like me?” he muttered, voice hollow. “I… I don’t even deserve it. You shouldn’t—”

He tried to look away, but his shoulders trembled. His voice cracked quietly, the words breaking against the edge of something he didn’t fully let her see.

Kohane hesitated. She had no idea what to do. She hadn’t anticipated this. But the sight of him like this—so small, so exhausted, so scared—made her heart ache.

She stepped closer. “…Maybe I just want to be here,” she said softly.

And then, without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened at first, barely breathing, then allowed himself to lean into her, trembling against her shoulder.

Kohane held him gently, letting him take the lead with his emotions. No words, no pressure—just the steady presence of someone who wouldn’t leave.

After a long moment, Akito let out a shaky sigh, muffled against her. She didn’t pry. She didn’t ask for an explanation. She simply stayed, holding him as he sobbed quietly into her shoulder.

She knew, quietly in the back of her mind, that he would return when he was ready. And until then… she would keep checking on him. She would keep sitting with him. She would wait until he was ready.

~

indigo: vulnerability and trust

A week had passed since that day.

The door creaked open before she could knock.

Akito sat on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around his knees, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room. The air was still, heavy, the kind that seemed to press in from all sides. He didn’t move when she stepped inside. Didn’t look up.

“…Akito,” Kohane said softly. Her voice was steady, careful. “I… came to see how you’re doing.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound barely rising above a whisper. “Why bother?”

Kohane swallowed, stepping closer. “Because… I care.”

That simple answer seemed to hit something inside him. His shoulders trembled as he finally spoke, voice quiet and raw. “I… I’ve been messing everything up. I thought… maybe it’s better if I just… stay away. I don’t want to drag anyone down anymore.”

The words came out in broken pieces, jagged and heavy. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his shirt. His chest rose and fell rapidly, uneven breaths punctuating the silence.

Kohane didn’t move too close. She didn’t speak over him. She simply knelt beside him, letting him feel her presence without pressing. When his shaking worsened, she gently reached out, laying a hand on his back.

“…I just… I don’t know how to fix it,” he admitted, voice breaking, eyes finally glimmering with tears.

Kohane didn’t say anything. She hugged him, careful but firm, letting him lean against her shoulder. She could feel his tension, the way he pressed into her as if trying to hold himself together, and it made her chest ache.

Minutes passed. He whispered things between shaky breaths—about falling behind, about feeling inadequate, about fearing he’d hurt everyone he cared about. Kohane stayed, silent but steady, letting the words fill the space, letting him release what he’d been holding inside for so long.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was only moments, he exhaled, heavier now with relief. “…Thank you,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Kohane said softly. “Not ever. And I’ll be here. Every time you need me.”

He leaned back slightly, still trembling, but letting himself look at her. His eyes were raw but clearer, a little lighter than before. “…I… I think I understand now,” he whispered. “I… I can… maybe start to… trust that.”

She gave a small, encouraging smile. “You already are.”

For the first time in days, Akito let himself breathe fully. Not perfectly. Not completely. But enough to start opening again, to start healing.

And Kohane knew, silently, that she would keep being there—through every quiet, painful, awkward, beautiful step.

~

yellow: joy and laughter

The park was quiet that afternoon, leaves drifting lazily from the trees in swirls of yellow, orange, and red. The air smelled faintly of earth, crisp but warm, carrying the soft rustle of fallen foliage underfoot.

Kohane walked beside Akito, hands in her pockets, eyes scanning the ground littered with leaves. She paused and looked up at the canopy. “It’s… really beautiful,” she said softly.

Akito’s gaze lingered on a yellow leaf that twirled down in the breeze. He picked it up, holding it between his fingers. “You know,” he began, voice thoughtful, “…I used to think everything had to be green.”

Kohane tilted her head. “Green?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I thought that’s how you had to be. Calm. On top of everything. On the same level as everyone else. That was the goal… to fit in, to match everyone else.”

He looked at the leaves scattered around them. “But… as time passed, I realized… green fades. It doesn’t stay forever. And that’s okay. It changes into… yellow, orange, red. Every color has its place. Everyone has their own colors—different, unique, under the surface.”

Kohane felt her chest warm. “And that… includes you?”

He nodded, letting a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Me. You. Everyone. We don’t have to be like anyone else. That’s what makes it… beautiful.”

She smiled back, eyes soft. “I think I get it.”

Akito chuckled quietly, holding the leaf up again. “It’s like these leaves. All green at first in the spring, but they show their true colors in the fall. And now… I think I can finally see mine.”

He looked at her, genuine, relaxed, and his smile reached his eyes for the first time in weeks. “So, yeah… I agree. It’s really beautiful.”

They walked together down the path, leaves crunching underfoot. A few drifted down from the trees, swirling around them.

One spun in a perfect spiral, landing lightly on the top of Akito’s head. He froze for a moment, then blinked, caught off guard.

Kohane giggled softly. “Hey, you’ve got a leaf hat!”

He touched the top of his head, then let out a short, genuine laugh. “I… I guess I do.”

She reached out, flicking the leaf playfully off, and it floated away. Akito’s laugh lingered, mixing with the rustle of leaves, and for the first time in weeks, his smile was full—reaching his eyes, relaxed and easy.

The wind carried more from the trees, swirling around them like confetti of all colors. For the first time, the world felt easy, bright, and alive—and Akito’s joy, warm and steady, felt fully, completely earned.

~

violet: hope and moving forward

The corner of the plaza was quiet that afternoon, sunlight spilling over the worn brick. Vivid BAD SQUAD had just finished running through a few sets, and the usual crowd had thinned to a few lingering passersby.

Akito stayed behind, guitar slung low, strumming softly as he watched Kohane and the others packing up. His movements were calm, deliberate—no trace of the tension that used to weigh him down. His posture was relaxed, shoulders easy, breaths steady.

Kohane approached him, notebook in hand, pausing at the edge of the circle of sunlight. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Still practicing?”

He looked up and gave her a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. I was thinking… maybe tomorrow I can try a new set. Something I’ve been working on. I want to see if I can really keep up with everyone—really match them, not just follow along.”

Kohane tilted her head. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, strumming a soft chord. The note hung in the air, steady and clear. “I know I’ll make mistakes. I know I’ve got a lot to learn. But… I want to. I can do it. With them. With you.” He leaned back against a low wall, eyes bright and focused, full of hope and quiet determination.

Kohane’s chest warmed. “I… think you can, Akito,” she said softly. “I know you can.”

He chuckled, light and relieved. “Thanks… for sticking around.”

For the first time in a long while, Akito wasn’t just reacting. He wasn’t holding himself back. He was looking forward, imagining what was next, ready to step into it.

Kohane could see it—the hope, the trust in his voice, the excitement for what they could create together—and her heart lifted with him.

~

red: love and giving back

Akito led Kohane down a quiet street, the soft glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement. He had insisted on keeping it simple, just the two of them. She noticed the small smile tugging at his lips, a nervous energy she hadn’t seen in a while.

“I… thought I should… pay you back,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “For everything you’ve done to help me. This… is the least I could do.”

Kohane’s eyes widened, touched. “Akito… you didn’t have to—”

He held up a hand, shaking his head. “I wanted to.”

They stepped into the small, cozy restaurant, and Kohane’s gaze lit up as she picked up the menu. “Ooh! Look at this! They have a pumpkin risotto! And wait—’spiced honey-glazed carrots’? That sounds amazing! Oh, and the chocolate souffle—Akito, can we try that too?”

Akito raised an eyebrow at the carrots. “…You do realize I do not eat carrots, right?” he said with a small, shy grin.

Kohane giggled. “You can’t just ignore them in the menu! Maybe you’ll change your mind if it’s honey-glazed.”

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “I doubt it. But… I’ll survive if you want them.”

Akito watched her, leaning slightly forward. Her eyes sparkled with genuine joy, and her voice carried that subtle warmth he loved. As she looked up at him mid-sentence, describing how the risotto would be creamy and how the souffle was topped with whipped cream, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in her eyes—and saw a small smile on his face, tinged with a faint blush he hadn’t meant to show.

“…Are you paying attention?” Kohane asked teasingly, still flipping through the menu.

Akito laughed, a little shy, fingers tapping on the table. “Yes,” he said softly. “I am.”

She grinned, holding up the menu as if it were treasure. “Good! Because the risotto has rosemary in it, and the souffle is topped with whipped cream, and—oh! Maybe we could split the dessert so we can taste more than one thing?”

He chuckled again, shaking his head slightly, warmth rising in his chest. “You really think about everything, huh?”

“And why not?” she said, eyes twinkling. “I mean, the food is important! You have to enjoy it properly!”

The evening stretched gently, filled with laughter, shared glances, and the quiet certainty of trust. Akito didn’t need to say more—Kohane could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at her, the subtle curve of his lips, the faint blush.

For the first time, he realized fully: love wasn’t just in the big moments. It was here, in these little acts, these shared jokes and choices, the comfort of someone knowing you and choosing to stay.

And Kohane… she felt it too.

~

rainbow: once in a lifetime moments

The city smelled faintly of rain, warm asphalt and the distant scent of flowers from nearby planters. Akito and Kohane walked side by side along the quiet riverside path, hands brushing occasionally, until finally she hesitated and looked up at him.

“Akito…” she began softly. “There’s something I never told you.”

He glanced at her, curious. “Hm?”

“When I was little,” she said, her voice a little shy, “I asked my dad… how he knew my mom was the right person. And he said…” She paused, smiling faintly at the memory. “‘The right person is the person who will color your skies in all the colors of the rainbow. They don’t have to be perfect, but they should be a person you would trust in any situation.’”

Akito blinked. “Rainbow?” he repeated, surprise in his voice.

Kohane nodded. “I didn’t really understand it back then. I was six or seven. But… now, I think I do.”

He looked at her, thoughtful, a slow warmth spreading across his chest. “All the colors of the rainbow… huh.”

Just then, a rainbow arched across the sky behind her, faint but vivid, shimmering above the buildings and river.

Akito’s breath caught. He glanced at the sky, then at her, and for a moment, it all clicked.

She’s part of that rainbow, he thought quietly. All the colors… she’s been there for the calm, the fear, the sadness, the little sparks of joy, and the hope I didn’t know I had. She’s the one who’s let me feel everything fully… and made it safe to feel it.

She’s the one who’s been coloring my skies all along.

He turned to look at her again, really looked, and something shifted in him. He saw all the trust, all the care, all the time they’d spent together—the moments of laughter, tears, growth, vulnerability, and quiet joy—and the rainbow behind her felt like a mirror to everything between them.

A slow smile curved his lips, soft and certain, as he said, “Then… I guess I’m the lucky one.”

Kohane laughed softly, leaning closer. “I think we both are.”

They walked a little further down the path, the rainbow fading slowly behind them, but the warmth of the moment lingered, unshakable—a quiet, perfect reflection of everything they’d built together.