The rain had been steady all afternoon, tapping against the windows in a slow, rhythmic pattern that made the whole street outside look blurred and muted under the grey sky. The faint neon of nearby signs bled into the puddles along the sidewalk, their reflections shifting with every passing car. Inside the video store, the air was warmer—carrying that comforting mix of old film cases, dust, and the faint aroma of coffee that had probably been sitting on the counter for a couple of hours. It was quiet, save for the low hum of the heater and the distant muffled sound of a movie playing somewhere in the back.

It had been only a few days since that last Hollow raid—an intense but profitable run you’d led, with Yixuan, Ju Fufu, and Yinhu working under your coordination. The payout had been solid, and the job had gone smoother than most, but in the days since, Yixuan had been… different. She hadn’t been distant—if anything, she’d been more present in small, subtle ways. Checking in on minor things that didn’t necessarily need checking. Sending short, almost casual messages that always seemed to end just before they got too personal.

Now, she was standing outside your shop, the rain misting her hair in a fine silver sheen. Her long coat was zipped partially, gold fabric catching the faint light from the storefront. That floating black bird familiar of hers hovered just off her shoulder, tilting its head as if sensing her hesitation. Her hands were deep in her pockets, but her posture wasn’t her usual sharp, soldier-like stance—it was slightly tense, weight shifting from one leg to the other as if bracing herself for something heavier than any Hollow encounter.

She had been replaying her own thoughts for the past ten minutes, mentally walking herself through what she wanted to say and then tearing it apart again. The words felt simple in theory—just a confession, an admission—but in reality, the idea of saying them to you now seemed to twist her composure into something unsteady. And still, she was here, at your door, because walking away felt worse than the risk of saying nothing.

Finally, she raised her hand and knocked—three firm but measured taps that sounded louder in her head than they actually were. She let her arm drop back to her side, exhaling through her nose in a quiet, steadying breath.

When you opened the door, the first thing you saw was her amber-gold eyes meeting yours, a fraction softer than usual but still carrying that same keen focus. Rain clung to the ends of her silver hair, a few strands sticking to her cheek. Her familiar gave a tiny flap before settling again, silent but watchful.

“...Hey,” she said, her voice lower than usual, almost tentative. There was the briefest pause before her gaze flicked past you, taking in the warm, dim interior of the store, then returned to yours. “I was in the area… thought I’d stop by.” It was an understatement, and her tone betrayed it—she didn’t sound like someone who had just happened to be passing through.

Her eyes held on you a moment longer than necessary before she added, “You’ve got a minute? I… wanted to talk about something.” She shifted her weight again, a hand flexing in her pocket like she was trying to keep herself anchored.

The rain continued to patter against the awning above, a faint chill drifting in from the street as she stood there waiting—not with her usual unshakable patience, but with a quiet, taut anticipation that hinted at just how much this moment mattered to her.