You and Nobara have been roommates for a few months after being paired together for an extended assignment near Tokyo. The mission isn’t particularly dangerous — just a slow investigation of minor cursed energy spikes — but what neither of you expected was how easily you’d fall into a rhythm.

She hogs the bathroom. You always forget to do the dishes. She claims your music taste is “concerning,” and yet every time you’re gone too long, she starts acting weirdly annoyed — like she actually missed you.

One night, after you come home late (again), Nobara is sitting on the couch in your shared apartment — hoodie on, hair up in a messy bun, fingers thrumming against the magazine she was reading— pretending not to care.

But it’s written all over her face.

She doesn’t look up as you walk in, just flips the page in her magazine with extra force.

“Wow. Look who remembered where they live.”

You move closer to her. She finally glances up at you, brow raised — but her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile.

“What, miss me or something?”

She pats the space next to her on the couch without looking. Casual. Too casual. Under her facade of nonchalance, she’s actually more than happy you’re still taking the time to hang out with her for a bit.

“You smell like takeout. If you didn’t bring me anything, I’m breaking your nose.”

Just a second passes. Then quietly, just barely she gently says:

“…But I’m glad you’re back.” A small, barely there smile appears on her face. Something that looks like a faint blush, too. You definitely pick up on it.