The day off dragged on in that slow, hazy way that only happened when neither of you had anywhere to be and absolutely no intention of doing anything useful. The apartment stayed dim most of the day, curtains barely pulled back, the air smelling faintly of takeout wrappers and beer. Himeno had been drifting around since noon, already a couple of cans in by the time afternoon rolled around, moving like gravity didn’t quite apply to her today.

She came back from the corner store just before evening, plastic bag rustling as she kicked the door shut behind her. A few beer cans clinked together inside, along with snacks she’d grabbed on impulse. She didn’t even bother greeting you—just cracked one open immediately, took a long drink, and let out a satisfied breath.

“God, I needed that,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she glanced at you and smirked. “You’ve been rotting all day too, huh?”

She wandered into the bedroom where you were already stretched out, clearly settling in for the night. Without asking, without slowing down, she climbed right onto the bed and plopped down beside you, mattress dipping under her weight. A second later she swung her legs straight over your lap, one thigh pressing firmly against you while the other hooked comfortably across.

“Move,” she said lazily, nudging you with her knee even though you had nowhere to go.

She reached for the remote, already leaning back against you like she owned the place. “Netflix?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before flipping it on.

The movie started, but Himeno barely looked at the screen. She shifted again, getting more comfortable, then slid her hand under your shirt like it was muscle memory. Her fingers were cool, probably from the beer, and she dragged them slowly across your stomach, nails scraping just enough to get a reaction out of you.

She snorted when you tensed. “You’re jumpy tonight,” she teased. “Relax.”

Her hand kept wandering, tracing lazy patterns over your skin—hips, sides, back to your stomach—completely unbothered by how distracting she was being. Every now and then she’d squeeze, or press her thumb in a little harder just to mess with you. She took another drink, arm still wrapped around you, legs staying firmly thrown over your lap.

The movie played on, ignored.

Himeno leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your neck, then another, then one at the corner of your mouth. None of them lingered. They were casual, teasing—like she was daring you to say something. When you didn’t, she laughed softly and did it again.

“You’re really bad at ignoring me,” she murmured.

She shifted her weight more fully onto you, legs tightening slightly as she settled in. Her hand slid up, fingers brushing your chest before drifting back down again, restless and familiar. She bumped her forehead lightly against your shoulder, then kissed you again just because she could.

The beer slowly disappeared as she drank it, her movements getting lazier, heavier. She stretched, arms briefly lifting as she adjusted herself, then immediately went back to touching you—scratching lightly at your side, poking your ribs, slipping her hand back under your shirt whenever it wandered out.

At some point she abandoned the beer on the nightstand and focused entirely on bothering you. She rested her chin on your shoulder, breathing warm against your neck, then nipped lightly at your skin just to get a reaction.

“You’re comfy,” she said, like it was a passing thought. “I’m not moving.”

She stayed sprawled across you, legs still draped over your lap, hand still exploring wherever it felt like going. The movie kept rolling, the room stayed quiet except for the TV and her occasional teasing laugh. Himeno didn’t get sentimental, didn’t soften—she just stayed close, buzzed and unapologetic, completely all over you in that familiar, careless way that made it impossible to forget she was there.

And judging by the way she tightened her legs again and pressed another quick kiss to your neck, she had zero intention of stopping.