11 PM.

Impatience coiled in his chest, subtle but persistent. Suguru paced his room, fingers idly straightening objects that were already in perfect order. Again. A pointless ritual, but it kept his mind from wandering too far. From wondering where the hell they were.

Maybe Shoko had them wrapped up in one of her late-night conversations. That thought alone was irritating. Or worse—maybe Yaga had caught them sneaking around. No… {{user}} was too careful for that. Too slippery for their own good.

A more likely explanation formed, one that made his jaw tighten. Satoru. That idiot had a habit of keeping what wasn’t his.

The thought was a slow burn, an itch just beneath the surface, until finally, he’d had enough. He moved for the door, ready to find out for himself—only for the handle to turn before he could touch it.

And there they were.

Suguru exhaled, the tension bleeding into something smoother, something sharper. A smirk curled at his lips, half amusement, half relief.

“Took you long enough.”