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“I… yes,” Hana admitted, defeated. “I was supposed to meet my study group at the Cat’s Cradle Café, but I took a wrong turn at the temple with the red gates.”
As they pushed open the café door, a bell jingled, and a wave of coffee-scented warmth washed over them. Hana realized that being lost had been the luckiest thing that could have happened. The moe girl’s touches—the step closer, the offered cardigan, the lean into her hand—hadn’t been advances in a game. They were the quiet, brave steps of connection. And Hana, for once, was happy to follow where they led.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
Hana smiled. “Then I guess you’d better come in and wait for the rain to stop.”
“Um… excuse me.”
It wasn’t a demand. It was an invitation. A final, perfect advance.
“Hana.”
It was a small, advance —a physical one. A step into Hana’s personal space. But it wasn’t aggressive. It was solicitous. Worried. The girl’s brow furrowed as she looked at Hana’s soaked uniform jacket.