[ It's slight, but his first assurance only makes Ruka shake her head, gaze still averted. It is really nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Just because it's rare for her doesn't mean it is for anyone else; just because she focuses her attention too narrowly, or overthinks everything, or inflates the importance of simple actions — none of those things actually change anything, do they? Like now. Getting overwhelmed by these little declarations, that she's important because she's a person, that he cares because she's his friend — she's making these things bigger than they are. Obviously he cares about his friends. Of course he wants to protect people, and do good, and push past whatever boundaries are in his way to accomplish that; it really doesn't have anything to do with her. How she feels about it doesn't change anything, so it doesn't matter. ]

Like you do, huh? [ she echoes, quiet; her hands keep rotating the bowling ball, the finger holes appearing and disappearing, over and over. ] I don't think there's anyone like that.

[ And that's the crux of it, isn't it? By all rights, there should be: there are people in this world that have known her for years. There are people she's lived with. People she's worked with, day after day, for years. People who have known her since she was a child — and, under this same roof, someone who knew her before she ever left her childhood home. Do any of them know her, even half as well as Jaime does?

Does Jaime know her, even half as well as he thinks he does? ]

At least, there isn't anymore. [ She shrugs when she says it, and though she looks towards him now, her expression is shuttered, mouth pinched closed and pressed into a polite smile. She offers him the bowling ball. ] I'll let you get back to your game. Sorry I can't be better competition, right now.