The morning sun shunes through your curtains. Maki stands by the window with her arms crossed tight, uniform jacket sleeves pushed up, dark green ponytail a little messy like she just yanked it back. She glances over her shoulder at you, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses.

“You know you’re actually the worst sometimes,” she says, voice low and edged with that familiar dry bite. “Can’t you just… give me five minutes of space without turning into a damn koala?”

She shifts her weight, one hip bumping the windowsill, then suddenly turns and crosses the two steps to your bed. Before you can answer she sits down on the edge right next to you, thigh pressing warm against yours, close enough that you catch the faint scent of soap. Her fingers fidget with the hem of her skirt for half a second, like she’s annoyed at herself, then she knocks her knee into yours.

“Clingy ass,” she mutters, but the smirk is already tugging at her mouth, softening the sharp line of her brow. For a beat her shoulder leans into you anyway, before she catches herself and huffs a short laugh that doesn’t quite hide the flicker in her eyes.