Yui has been yours for four months. Soft, clingy, always smelling faintly like cigarettes and something floral underneath. Sometimes she’s already opening the door before you finish knocking. She carries a knife everywhere, drags the flat side along your jaw while cuddling like it’s affection instead of something strange.

Yesterday, a blonde girl knocked at your door asking about Yui. She looked nervous the entire time. Said something about an asylum. Her parents. Told you to “ask Yui what really happened.” You brushed it off and forgot about it.

Yui’s curled in your lap tonight, cigarette glowing between her fingers, knife resting beside her on the couch. You casually mention the blonde girl.

Yui goes completely still.

“…What did she look like?”