The streets of Tokyo shimmered with the after-rain glow of city lights. People moved like shadows beyond the café windows, unaware of the quiet revolution pulsing beneath the surface. The Phantom Thieves were changing—evolving—not just in power, but in heart.
Ren noticed it most in the still moments. Like this one.
He sat in the attic of Leblanc, back resting against the wooden wall, the scent of coffee and old books lingering in the air. A record spun soft jazz through the space, but his thoughts were elsewhere—on her.
Makoto had asked to talk, just the two of them.
She entered quietly, dressed not in her battle attire or school uniform, but in something softer—casual jeans, a cardigan slightly too big, sleeves drawn nervously over her hands. She looked like herself, but not the mask she wore in public. Just... Makoto.
"I wasn't sure if I'd come," she said after a pause, standing near the stairs, unsure.
"I'm glad you did," Ren replied, voice low, calm. "You can sit."
She did—knees folding beneath her, their distance small but noticeable. The silence between them stretched, not heavy, but pregnant with memory. Of what they'd seen in the Crown. What they hadn't said since.
"Something changed in there," she said finally, eyes fixed on the wooden floor. "I saw a world where I was allowed to want. Where I didn't always have to be strong."
Ren tilted his head. "And what did you want?"
Makoto glanced at him. The answer was in her eyes before her lips could form it.
"You," she whispered. "I've wanted to tell you that for longer than I'd like to admit. But everything always got in the way—my responsibilities, Sae, the team... myself."
He reached out, not suddenly, but deliberately—his fingers brushing hers. She flinched, not in fear, but surprise. And then she let herself lean into it. Her hand curled into his like it had always belonged there.
"You don't have to be strong here," Ren said. "Not with me."
Her breath caught, and the tension in her frame slowly melted away. She leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it grounded her. It made her feel... seen.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "Of changing. Of losing who I was."
"You're not losing yourself," he said softly, pressing his forehead to hers. "You're finding the version you kept locked away. And I like her. A lot."
She smiled, fragile and radiant. "You always know what to say."
Ren chuckled. "Only with you."
They stayed like that, wrapped in shared breath and heartbeats. No pressure. No urgency. Just quiet closeness that whispered promises without words.
Then, gently—delicately—Ren leaned in, brushing his lips to hers. A kiss that wasn't about lust or need. A kiss that said: I see you. I choose you. As you are.
Makoto kissed back, slow and reverent, hands moving to rest on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, anchoring her to this moment.
When they finally parted, she rested her head on his shoulder, voice barely audible.
"Thank you... for giving me a place to be me."
Ren kissed the top of her head. "Always."