Noah and Ouran make their way into Tourer Kenai, heading straight for the familiar inn they've visited since their first time there. As always, Sheila greets them warmly and leads them to their usual spot. While they follow her, Noah's eyes scan the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rachel. He's done this every time they've come here since that fateful night, always hoping she might appear. But, just like the previous times, she's nowhere to be seen. Not only has she vanished from the inn, but she never returned to the school either.
He knows he should give up, especially after a month has passed with no sign of her, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't help but look for her, as if it's become a reflex. Sometimes, he even wonders if the entire encounter was just a dream.
"Earth to Noah!" Ouran's voice snaps him back to reality. He blinks and sees them staring at him with an amused expression.
"Sorry, did you say something?" he asks, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Rachel.
Ouran's expression shifts from amusement to something more serious. "Look, I get it. You've loved her since you were kids, but you never seriously told her how you felt. Then it was too late. You thought you'd never see her again because you believed she was dead, only to find out six years later that she's alive and well—and a Junsui like you. But now, your evil brother has her under his control. It's seriously sad, and I feel for you, I really do. But as your friend, I have to tell you—it's time to let it go. First loves always stay with us and hurt like hell when they're gone, but they rarely come back. It's best to stand tall with whatever pride you have left and look toward the future… maybe toward someone new."
Noah narrows his eyes, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Is that what you're doing with me? Trying to move on from your first love by focusing on me? Or is it that you're trying to convince yourself to let go?"
Ouran's confident facade falters for a moment, and they sigh. "Touché, Noah. Touché. The truth is it might be a bit of both. You are my first love, Noah—I would've thought that was clear to you. And it's true that I'm trying to move on, but no matter how hard I try to take my own advice, I just can't see a future without you in it… other than being alone and lonely."
"Well, maybe you don't have to be alone. I could only follow your conversation with Jove so much, but it seemed like they really care about you. And their offer to join the others like yourself—it might not be so bad. Even if you don't like Jove that way, having friends to pass the days with could make life more enjoyable than being alone. Even if the friends are totally different from you, just being with them helps time pass more quickly. It's definitely better than facing the long, slow drag of solitude. Even if you choose to keep to yourself, just knowing they're right outside your door if you need them… it's enough to make life worth living."
Ouran raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Noah's words. "Are you still talking about me, Noah, or are you trying to convince yourself? Sounds to me like you might like your team a bit more than you let on." They smirk, knowing they've hit a nerve.
Noah's cheeks flush with embarrassment as he realizes he's been speaking more fondly of his team than he intended. He may care about them more than he's admitted to himself, but it's understandable. They've spent the last four years growing up together during the most formative period of their lives. Despite the fights, arguments, and unnecessary drama, Noah takes comfort in knowing they're there for him. He suddenly feels a pang of guilt for the harsh words he said to them a month ago. He makes a mental note to make amends when he returns to the academy.
"Tobias, sing us a song! My wife just left me, and I'd like to forget about her. Would ya?" A man's voice rings out from a nearby table, grabbing Noah's attention. The speaker has beet-red skin, black hair and wings, and a black unicorn horn sprouting from his head. The others at the table share similar features, with variations in horn sizes, shapes, and other physical aspects. Noah realizes they must be demons.
"Hey, so are those demons?" Noah asks, turning to Ouran.
Ouran smiles, pleased with Noah's observation. "Good eye. Yes, those are demons. See the difference? Lamia look nothing like demons. In fact, all of us Bakemon look pretty distinct depending on our species. You've seen how I look now too."
"Yeah, actually, I've been wondering—do all Reapers look like you and Jove? Other than the color swapping, you two looked exactly the same, except for your left eyes and their white hair."
"You really do have a good eye. It's exactly like you said. Reapers all look pretty much the same, coming in only two variations—those like me and those like Jove. Although there are Reapers who don't choose a side, those who look like Jove are typically considered men, and those who look like me are considered women. This is because, in our true Reaper forms, the white-haired Reapers like Jove tend to look more masculine, while the black-haired Reapers like me tend to look more feminine. Our bodies morph a bit when we transform from our human form to Reaper form and vice versa. So, naturally, in our human forms, we tend to look more like the opposite gender. That's why I look so much like a guy to you in this form right now. However, genetically, we're all exactly the same having both genitals but no reproductive organs. None of us are truly male or female. We just are."
"Wow, that sounds really complicated and interesting at the same time. So how do you differentiate between one another if you all fall into one of those two forms? Isn't that pretty tough to do?"
"That is indeed our biggest dilemma, hence why I say we can never really be individuals. Sure, we all have our individual names, and Reaper law requires all of us to be registered in the database with a distinct name that no other Reaper is permitted to have. That's ultimately how the officials can separate us. But when it comes to telling each other apart without knowing names, it's tough. We try to style our hair differently or wear distinct clothing in our human forms, and our left eye can vary, but in our Reaper forms, it's almost impossible to tell us apart. That's why we're required to wear badges around our necks—well, those who are registered in the database, anyway. I'm not, so I'm not well known to those outside of Jove and Lady Simone, our leader. That's why she keeps pestering me. She wants me to become a registered Reaper and join her legion, but I keep refusing. She took me in when I had no one else, but I still refuse to conform to the masses. I don't want to stop being me."