You’re on the morning train, on your way to school, the outskirts of the city stretching past the windows in a blur of apartment blocks and early sunlight. The carriage is mostly empty, a few commuters scattered at a distance. Rin sits beside you, immaculate as always, her emerald eyes half-lidded, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she shifts slightly, resting the side of her head lightly against your shoulder. It’s not weakness, not need—it’s simply a statement of presence. Her posture remains perfect, one hand folded neatly in her lap, the other brushing lightly against the edge of your arm as if measuring its steadiness. The subtle motion catches your attention, but she doesn’t glance at you, doesn’t acknowledge your awareness. Her gaze remains fixed on the passing scenery, distant, composed. And yet, there’s something undeniably intimate in the quiet closeness, a shared space she allows without a single word, leaving you to feel the weight of her calm authority. The train hums along the tracks, and for a few minutes, you ride like that—side by side, silent, and entirely aware of each other’s presence without a single indulgent gesture.