Chapter 5: Fractures in Neon

Kyra hadn't meant to linger near the vending machines for as long as she had.

But tonight, the arcade felt heavier than before—the noise sharper, the lights harsher.

She ran a thumb over the edge of her drink can, her fingers twitching as the craving for a cigarette still pulsed beneath her skin. She had tried to ignore it, to suppress it, yet the urge lingered like an itch she couldn't quite scratch.

With a slow exhale, she turned back toward the heart of the arcade. She wasn't about to let Renji or Lain think she had bailed. Especially not Lain.

But the moment she spotted them, her stomach twisted.

They were standing too close. Renji leaned in, his voice low as he spoke into Lain's ear over the clamor of games, and Lain—Lain was smiling. Not just any smile, but that soft, easy kind—the kind that reached her eyes.

Kyra's chest tightened.

It didn't mean anything. It shouldn't mean anything.

Yet the warmth in Lain's expression, the slight tilt of her head as she listened, sent a sharp, unexpected jolt through Kyra's ribs. She swallowed hard and forced herself forward before she could overthink it.

Lain spotted her first. Her face lit up as if she'd been waiting.

"Kyra! Finally! What, did you fall into another dimension? You had me ready to start a rescue mission."

Kyra forced a smirk and held up her drink. "Had to fight the vending machine for this."

Renji chuckled. "Should've called me. I would've saved you."

The thought that Renji was the last person she'd want to call came bitterly and immediately—and she shoved it down just as fast.

"Right," Kyra muttered instead, taking a sip of her drink to have something to do.

Without warning, Lain grabbed her wrist, tugging her forward. The grip was warm and familiar, as though it had been done a hundred times before.

"Come on, don't make me actually drag you," Lain said, her voice laced with amusement and something more expectant. "You're playing this one with me. No excuses."

Kyra barely registered what game they were about to play—her mind was too focused on Lain's lingering touch. She felt foolish for how much she noticed every detail.

The moment Lain let go, something in Kyra's chest twisted anew.

The game turned out to be a co-op shooting challenge—the kind where you stand side by side, battling waves of enemies. Kyra wasn't great at these, but Lain's determination was infectious.

Renji leaned on the side of the machine, smirking. "Try not to humiliate yourselves."

Kyra shot him a glare before turning back to the screen. "Worry about your own scoreboard, genius."

The game started, and for a moment, the flashing lights and the solid feel of the gun in her grip allowed her to lose herself. Lain's focus was contagious. They cleared the first two levels without issue, but by the third, Kyra's concentration began to slip. She wasn't focusing on the game—she was too aware of Lain.

It was in the subtle sway of Lain's hair as she moved, the quiet, frustrated huff when she missed a shot, the way her shoulder brushed against Kyra's with every shift. Lain had always been this close, this effortless. But tonight, it felt different—more significant. Or perhaps Kyra was simply noticing it differently.

She forced herself to focus. She aimed, fired, and missed.

Lain laughed, nudging her lightly. "Kyra, you're so bad at this it's actually impressive."

Kyra exhaled sharply. "I don't play these."

"Yeah, no kidding," Lain teased, eyes glinting. "But hey, at least you're consistent."

When the level ended, Kyra dropped the gun onto the machine's ledge and rolled her shoulders. She needed a break—again. Slipping away from the clamor, she weaved through the arcade until she reached the exit.

The moment she stepped outside, her fingers instinctively dove into her pocket. Before she even realized it, the cigarette was in her hand.

A flick of her lighter.

The first inhale burned in her lungs—sharp, grounding, a brief relief.

She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl and twist, dissolving into the cool night air. Yet her heartbeat remained too fast, too unsteady.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Then the door creaked open behind her.

Kyra stiffened. She knew who it was before she even turned.

Lain.

Her arms were wrapped around herself, her breath visible in the cool autumn air. She wasn't shivering, but there was a careful, measured quality in the way Lain stepped closer.

Kyra glanced away, taking another slow drag.

"You okay?" Lain asked quietly, the question cutting through the night like glass.

Kyra let the smoke sit in her lungs for a heartbeat longer before answering, "Yeah. Just needed a second."

Lain shifted, clearly not buying it. Kyra could feel her being watched—observed without judgment, without accusation—just watched. It made her feel achingly fragile, as if she were breakable.

"You always say that," Lain murmured.

Kyra exhaled through her nose, tilting her head back as if she could let the vast, indifferent sky swallow her whole.

Lain sighed, then stepped closer—too close.

Kyra caught the soft scent of Lain's shampoo mingling with the smoke—a scent both familiar and elusive.

Lain's eyes flicked to the cigarette. "You know I hate when you do that."

Despite the tension coiled in her chest, Kyra smirked. "Didn't think you followed me out here to scold me."

"I didn't." Lain's voice softened but remained firm.

A pause.

Then, almost as an afterthought, Lain said, "I followed you because I knew you'd do this."

For a second, Kyra froze. It wasn't just the words, but the way Lain said them—as if she understood Kyra in ways Kyra wished she didn't. As if Lain had been paying attention all along.

Kyra's fingers twitched around the cigarette. She wasn't sure what to do with that feeling.

Lain's voice was gentle—too gentle—and it made something inside her ache.

A silence fell between them, stretching thin and fragile, like an unspoken promise. The city hummed around them: distant cars, the buzz of a streetlamp, the low rumble of a train far off.

Kyra took one last drag, letting the smoke linger, then flicked the cigarette to the pavement. The ember sputtered and died.

Lain gave her a long look.

Kyra shrugged. "See? I'm done."

Lain rolled her eyes, but something softer lingered behind them—something unreadable.

"Come back inside," Lain said finally. "Renji's probably halfway through some dramatic speech about you bailing."

Kyra exhaled slowly, letting the moment settle, hoping just a little for the weight in her chest to ease. Then she nodded.

Lain turned first, stepping toward the door. Kyra followed. And just before they re-entered the arcade, Lain's arm brushed against hers—a light, almost imperceptible touch.

But Kyra felt it.

And for the first time that night, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she wasn't imagining things after all.