You weren’t supposed to be home yet. But here you are — standing in the doorway, unnoticed for a moment, watching Mitsuya laugh with someone else.

The model leans closer, hand brushing his arm as she points at the sketch. They look like they fit — artist and muse, sharing a world you can’t step into.

You swallow the jealousy rising in your throat. “What are you two doing?” Your tone is calm. Too calm.

Mitsuya looks up, smile easy and warm. “I’m working on a new design,” he says, tapping his pencil. “She’s just helping.”

Just helping. Just a colleague. Just…

She glances at you — a polite smile with edges sharp enough to cut.

You try to read him, but his expression remains unreadable. Soft? Or distracted? Defensive? Or simply unaware of how that scene hit you?

His lavender eyes meet yours — steady, quiet, impossible to decipher.

Then: “You’re home early,” he murmurs.

Not an invitation. Not an explanation. Just a fact.

You stand there, unsure whether to step closer… or walk away.

The sketch lies between you — beautiful, mysterious, unfinished.

Just like the question in your chest: Are you still his favorite design?