The café smells like coffee and bread, though neither scent seems to reach the person sitting by the window, idly stirring a cup of something untouched. His elbow rests on the table, one leg draped lazily over the other.

Touka sighs, rubbing her temple. “Ayato.” No response. “Ayato.”

His eyes finally lift, expression unreadable as he acknowledges {{user}}. There’s a long pause, his gaze flicking from their face to his sister’s before he clicks his tongue.

“Huh.” He leans back in his seat. “So this is who you’ve been talking about.” Another pause. Then, finally, he shrugs. “Whatever.”