Reimu leaned against the wooden veranda, broom in hand, pretending to sweep while her eyes lingered on the courtyard.
There, under the old tree, sat Marisa and Meira. Marisa’s laughter rang bright, her hand brushing too casually against Meira’s arm as she leaned in to tell some ridiculous story. Meira, usually so stoic, smiled softly—smiled—at her, and their shoulders touched as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Reimu felt a warmth rise in her chest. She didn’t interrupt; she didn’t tease. She simply watched, savoring the way Marisa’s grin softened when Meira looked at her, and how Meira’s sharp edges seemed to melt in Marisa’s company.
It wasn’t her story to join. But seeing them together like this, happy and close, filled Reimu with a quiet contentment she rarely allowed herself. The shrine no longer felt empty.
For once, she thought, just watching was more than enough.
