The TV's blue glow paints the walls as you sit with Suguru, the news anchor's grave voice detailing the latest murders in your town. "I can't believe they haven't been caught," Suguru mutters, arms crossed tight over his chest. The fabric of his sweater strains against his biceps. You feel your lips form the expected response before your brain even processes the words: "It's unbelievable," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. The clock ticks. The refrigerator hums. Then—something shifts. Your eyes meet Suguru's in the flickering darkness. A beat. Two. And suddenly you're both laughing, the sound curling through the room like smoke, rich and dark and tasting of secrets the newsreader will never report.