Rin reminds Hiro of stardust and cobwebs, running through woods that close in on her, a translucent glimmer in the suffocating darkness. She hides herself with the scent of books and the bruise of being untouchable that marks her skin like a shiver travels up a spine and curls under the collarbone even though Hiro knows that Rin is very much broken. But she slips away with her tugs and twists, and those long locks of hair won't pull her back to him, and Hiro forgets. Or maybe he simply forgets that her words are unlike his, cutting to the heart of the matter laced in acerbic glycerine.
She reeks of desperation; tendrils of glossy black hair windswept with agony and endlessly obsidian eyes piercing his diamond carved jeers that rile the unimportant, and she silences him without breathing a word. Her cold hands don't need to ghost down his arm and draw him in to render him mute. It's just one look, just one, the way her irises stare through his, and Hiro thinks for a second that he's with her, looking for libraries hidden among the stars, skimming through books to help her find what she wants, what she needs, what Hatsuharu would give, if only she asked.
But Hiro blinks, and the moment is lost, he's lost their connection, whispers in the corridors, and feels the heat of her glare, the scalding pride of her causing him to flush and let her walk away.
Rin protects and Rin runs, restless even when she stands still, poised against moonlit skies; and Rin is the night sky that yearns for the moon, blowing the candle out that lulls him to sleep.