The rain had been tapping at the windows all afternoon like an impatient child, and now it was full-on raging. Forks of lightning painted the sky, followed closely by booms of thunder that rattled the glass. You’d just tucked in Keika and Taishi, Saki’s little siblings, with the ease of a pro. They loved you. Keika called you “onii-chan” even though you weren’t related, and Taishi practically fell asleep in your lap tonight. Babysitting for the Kawasaki household had become second nature.

You stood in the dim hallway for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of their breaths under blankets patterned with cartoon rabbits. A storm like this made them clingy. But you’d weathered it with them—stories, pillow forts, a cup of warm milk. You were practically family at this point. Except… you weren’t.

You turned around, and there she was—Saki, leaning against the doorframe of the living room with arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Not angry. Just her usual expression: 40% judgmental, 30% tired, and 30% something unreadable. Tsundere math, maybe.

“You’re staying,” she said flatly. Not asked. Declared.

You blinked. “Storm’s bad, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. I’m not letting you swim home, genius.”

You scratched the back of your head. “I could have called a cab—”

“I said you’re staying,” she cut in, brushing past you. You caught a faint whiff of coconut shampoo as she did.

Moments later, you found yourself on the couch beside her. There was a blanket—of course there was a blanket. It started draped over her, and then she mumbled something like “Stop being dramatic, it’s cold,” and threw half over you too. The couch wasn’t big. Your shoulders touched. Occasionally, her knee did too.

You both stared at the screen as the movie played, something old and black-and-white. You couldn’t tell if she was into it or not. Her face was unreadable in the glow. But every now and then, her eyes flicked to you. You caught her once. She looked away immediately, cheeks faintly pink.

Yeah. It was still awkward.

Because of the kiss.

Weeks ago. Just a peck. A quick, clumsy thank-you when Keika had come down with a fever and you stayed the whole night. You hadn’t brought it up. Neither had she. But that one second of contact hung in the air like humidity. Heavy, persistent.

A thunderclap boomed. She jumped slightly. You glanced over.

“You okay?” you asked, gently.

She scowled. “I’m not five. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I wasn’t. I was just making sure my host doesn’t spontaneously combust from embarrassment.”

She punched your arm. Lightly. “Don’t be an idiot.”

You smirked, rubbing the spot with exaggerated pain. “Ouch. And here I thought this blanket was a treaty.”

“You started it.”

“No,” you grinned, “you kissed me, remember?”

She froze.

Silence.

You could practically hear her brain short-circuiting. She sat completely still, eyes on the TV but clearly not seeing it. You let the silence stretch, not to tease, but because it was the only way to let her process. She hated vulnerability the way cats hate water.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said at last, so quietly you almost missed it.

“Didn’t say you did.”

A long pause.

“…But maybe I did,” she added, even quieter.

You turned to look at her. Her bangs hung just low enough to hide her eyes, but not the way her hands gripped the blanket, knuckles white. You didn’t answer immediately. Just watched her. The girl who pretended she didn’t care about anything but carried her whole family on her back. The girl who never asked for help, but always accepted yours. Even if it meant enduring your dumb jokes and weird charm.

“I like watching you not mean things,” you said finally, voice low.

She let out something between a snort and a sigh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Guilty.”

Another rumble of thunder. The movie ended. Neither of you moved to get the remote. The blanket was warm, and the air was thick with the kind of quiet that could mean everything or nothing.

Then—just as you looked back at her—Saki leaned in.

And she kissed you.

Again.