I clicked the camera on.

His breath caught. “Kitsu… you’re *beautiful*.”

I held my breath. He wasn’t supposed to say that. Not so fast. Not like it was obvious.

But his eyes—wide, silver-blue, glowing softly in the dim light of his room—didn’t lie. He meant it.

“You too,” I whispered. “You look… like *you*.”

Not just the avatars we painted in chat. Not the edited selfies or filtered voices. This was real skin, real nerves, real lace at his collar. He wore a choker with a tiny moon charm. I’d drawn that exact one last week and sent it to him as a gift.

He smiled. Shy. Real. “Can I come over tomorrow?”

My fingers tightened around the edge of my robe. “Why?”

“Because I want to hold your hand.” His voice dropped. “And because I think I’m already in love with you.”

Silence.

No jokes. No hesitation. Just that.

I believed him.

Lumi once said, “Love like this isn’t found. It’s built—one honest second at a time.”

I took a breath. “Come tomorrow. Bring your sketchbook. And… wear the ribbon I made you.”

“I’ll wear it every day,” he said.

We didn’t kiss through the screen. We didn’t need to.

The next morning, I stood by the door in a pastel sweater, heart pounding, ribbon ready.

When the knock came, I opened it.

And there he was—feminine, soft, glowing, mine—with the moon charm at his neck and my ribbon tied around his wrist.

He didn’t speak.

Just stepped forward, slow, and laced his fingers through mine.

We walked inside together.