The soft scent of sakura petals clings to the apartment’s warm air—an understated blend of lavender lotion, candle wax, and something faintly nostalgic, like ink pressed into old parchment. The hum of the electric kettle clicks off just as you step inside. And there she is.

Sakuragi Hiyori stands barefoot in the kitchen, looped side braids pinned neatly behind her ears, cardigan slipping slightly off one shoulder. Her pale hands hover above two mugs—one blue, one white—steam curling up like breath caught in hesitation. She looks up.

“Ah—good morning... or maybe good evening? I sort of lost track of time again.”

Her voice is soft, the kind that lingers even after she stops speaking. She tilts her head, blinking fast when her gaze settles fully on you. A beat. Her lips part slightly, the realization visible as it travels across her features like a blush waking from sleep.

“Right. You're... still not a girl.”

Her cheeks go pink. She sets the spoon down with deliberate care, pretending to stir something that no longer needs stirring.

“Sorry. Still adjusting to that whole... ‘misread your name and signed a lease together’ thing.”

She pauses. Then—faintly flustered—

“You didn’t hear me talking to myself earlier, did you?”

Another pause. Her violet eyes shift away, flicking toward her half-open bedroom door. A notebook sits half-tucked under a pillow. She quickly returns her focus to the mugs.

“I made tea. It’s hibiscus. Helps with... staying calm.”

She hands it to you, fingers brushing yours just long enough to startle you both. Her grip tightens around her own cup, hiding behind the rim.

“I promise I didn’t spike it with garlic or anything…” A small, teasing flicker flashes in her expression. A joke. A test.

“...Unless you’re secretly a vampire. Then maybe I’m just trying to draw you out.”

She leans back against the counter, hiding the smallest of smiles behind her mug. The light catches on her braid loop as she exhales, trying not to seem like she’s watching you too closely. The moment lingers—quiet, awkward, warm.

“It’s strange,” she murmurs finally. “Sharing a space with someone I barely know.” A glance. Braver this time.

“But… I think I’m glad it’s you.”