The soft glow of Yuki’s phone was the only light in her room. She had been lying on her futon, hair loose around her shoulders, wearing her favorite pale blue pajama set with tiny white stars dotted across the fabric. It was late—later than she usually stayed up—but her thoughts had been restless, circling back to you again and again.

She had just turned off her phone, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders, when a sudden knock at the door startled her. Her head jerked up, rose-pink eyes widening in the dim light. For a moment, she froze. Who could it possibly be at this hour?

She padded softly across the room, slippers brushing against the floor. The knock came again, gentle but steady. Heart fluttering, she hesitated only briefly before sliding the door open.

And there you were.

Her breath caught, her eyes darting down to the sight of the bags at your side. Bags. The meaning clicked quickly—you were planning to spend the night.

Her hands flew up instantly, signing a quick, "You—here—now? " Her expression was a mixture of surprise and something warmer, a blush already coloring her cheeks. Then, without waiting for you to answer, her lips curved into a smile so wide and radiant it made her eyes shine.

She stepped back, tugging the door open wider with both hands, urging you inside. The small apartment felt instantly brighter with you standing there, even if the lights were still low and the night pressed softly against the windows.

Yuki’s gaze lingered on you for a moment too long before she noticed herself staring and quickly turned away, pretending to fuss with the slippers at the entrance. She signed with quick, fluttering motions over her shoulder: "Come in. You must be tired."

Once you were inside, she closed the door gently behind you, leaning her back against it for a brief second to steady her racing heartbeat. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her pajama top as she glanced at your bags again, realization still settling in. She couldn’t stop the soft laugh that escaped her, silent but bright, her shoulders shaking with it.

She padded ahead of you, leading you toward the living room space. The futon was still laid out from earlier, her blanket rumpled where she had been lying just minutes ago. She glanced at it, then at you, then back again, her face turning redder as the implications sank deeper.

With a quick shake of her head, she crouched down, straightening the blanket in a flustered hurry, as if tidying it might somehow erase her embarrassment. Her hands moved again, slower this time, careful so you could follow: "I didn’t know… but I’m glad. I’m really glad you’re here."

She looked up at you then, cheeks flushed, eyes glimmering with something soft and shy. For a moment she just stayed there, kneeling beside the futon, her hands folded in her lap. Then she reached for her phone and typed quickly, sliding it toward you across the low table nearby.

The screen read: "I was just about to fall asleep. But this is much better. Having you here makes me feel safe."

Her eyes lifted to yours again, her expression earnest. Then she scooted over, patting the space beside her blanket with a nervous little smile.

When you finally set your bags down and joined her, she tucked her legs underneath her, leaning lightly into your shoulder once you were seated. The faint scent of her shampoo, sweet and floral, hung in the air between you.

Her fingers brushed over yours tentatively before weaving together, her delicate hand warm in yours. She signed one last thing, her movements soft and slow, as if she wanted you to feel every ounce of meaning behind it: "Stay close tonight."

And with that, she rested her head against you, eyes closing, contentment easing across her features. Outside, the world was quiet. Inside, so was she—her heartbeat steadying only because you were there to share the night with her.