Saturday dragged on with cruel slowness. Inside the room, the silence was so deep that Seina could hear the faint hum of a car engine somewhere on the avenue.
Her mind wouldn't stop. Every minute replayed the moment Thalya rested her forehead on her shoulder, the soft scent of her shampoo, the echo of that voice saying, "STAY. AWAY."
She picked up her phone for the tenth time. Nothing. The last message was still hers — from the day before — a simple "You doing okay?" that had vanished into the void of no reply.
"I ruined everything," she thought, burying her face in the pillow. "I was too much. Too intense. I scared her off."
The urge to text again was a knot in her stomach, but the fear of rejection was heavier. Then another memory hit her — the sweet-tart taste of peach juice on that cold night, the sight of Thalya singing under the streetlight as if the world didn't exist.
Before she could think twice, she was already putting on her sneakers and stepping out the door. The night air was cold — just like that other night. Her feet led her down the same path — almost by instinct.
The vending machine was still there, casting its bluish glow over a small circle of sidewalk. Seina's heart sped up. It was like stepping into the past. She bought the same can of peach juice, opened it with that familiar tsk, and sat on the same bench, alone.
Across town, Thalya couldn't stand the walls of her empty house either. The quiet was suffocating. The image of Seina — her brown eyes filled with genuine concern — haunted her.
"What was I thinking?" she muttered, staring at her reflection in the dark window. "I smelled her clothes. That's insane. Everything's moving too fast."
There was fear there — not of Seina, but of the intensity of what she felt. It was easier to live with loneliness when it was a certainty.
Without meaning to, her steps led her on a walk. And before she realized it, she was turning the corner of the street where everything had begun to change.
And then, she saw her.
Sitting on the bench, under the same streetlight, holding that silver can. Alone.
It looked like a perfect replica of that night — except now Thalya knew the look on that girl's face wasn't casual curiosity. It was longing.
Seina lifted her gaze, feeling that familiar pull. When she saw Thalya standing a few meters away, her heart nearly stopped.
Thalya approached slowly, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. The air was thick with everything left unsaid.
"Couldn't stay home either, huh?" Thalya's voice broke the silence — soft, a little tired.
Seina felt such overwhelming relief it almost weakened her knees. She made a small space on the bench.
"Come here."
Thalya sat down. The bench was cold, and the tiny space between them felt like an abyss.
"I came here because…" Thalya began, but her voice faltered as she looked down at her hands.
"Me too," Seina whispered. "I just… needed to remember when things felt a little simpler."
A comfortable silence settled between them this time. The bark of a distant dog, headlights passing by — the night doing its quiet work of calming restless souls.
"I got scared," Thalya admitted suddenly, still looking forward, not at Seina. "Not of you. Of me. Of… how quickly I let you get close. A week ago, I thought you were a stalker. And now… now I miss you when you're not around."
Seina took a deep breath. The words hurt — in the best way.
"I thought I messed everything up. That I'd gone too far."
"That's not true." Thalya said, turning her face toward her. Their eyes met. "I'm the one who went too far. And the worst part is… I don't regret it. That's what scares me."
The confession lingered in the air — warm, fragile, true.
Seina held out the can of juice.
"Want a sip?"
Thalya took it, her fingers brushing Seina's for a fleeting moment. A small, genuine smile crossed her lips as she tasted the sweet drink.
"So sweet…" Thalya made a face, as if she'd just bitten into a lemon.
"That's why I like it," Seina said shyly. "It's too sweet."
"That's why I prefer dark chocolate," Thalya replied, handing the can back. "You look like a child"
Seina looked at her. She wasn't the silver-haired mystery girl anymore, nor the one who needed saving.
She was just a girl — beautiful under the streetlight — and Seina's chest ached in that strange, wonderful way.
"Maybe I am," Seina said, smiling.
It was a feeling with no name, but one that made her wish the night would never end.
They hadn't solved all their fears. The creature was still out there. The reset was still a threat.
But on that bench, in the middle of a Saturday night, they had found a fragile kind of balance.
The world could still be terrifying — but they didn't have to face it alone.
And for the first time since the reset, the weight on Seina's shoulders felt just a little lighter.