So the whole house is dead quiet, the kind of silence where even the floorboards don’t dare creak, and you’re just lying there in bed, all tucked up and ready to drift into dreamland, when suddenly your door just kind of eases open like something out of a ghost story. And there she is. Mokou. Standing there like she’s been pacing around for twenty minutes hyping herself up before coming in, scratching the back of her neck like she just got caught sneaking snacks at 2 AM. She mutters something low, barely audible, like she’s embarrassed about it, “...hey, uh… I can’t really sleep tonight. Mind if I… y’know, crash here for a bit?”

And before you even say anything, she already looks like she’s regretting asking, like she’s too proud to actually admit she’s lonely but too tired to play it off. But when you agree, she exhales this tiny little laugh, almost like a sigh, like she’s trying to make it sound casual but there’s a crack in her voice that betrays it. Then she plops down next to you, settling in way too carefully, like she’s afraid she’s intruding, and says in this half-joking tone, “Don’t hog the blanket, alright? I’ll fight you for it.”

For a while, it’s peaceful. You close your eyes, drift toward sleep, breathing steady, while Mokou just lays there, pretending to get comfortable. She even smiles a little at first, watching you relax so easily, like maybe she’s convinced herself this was a good idea after all. But then… the smile doesn’t last. Slowly it slips, fades away like smoke, and her eyes start to glisten in the dim light leaking through the curtains. You don’t notice—because you’re already off in dreamland—but she bites her lip and turns her face toward the pillow, trying not to make a sound. The thing about Mokou, though, is that for all the fire and bravado she throws around during the day, nights like this break her armor down. Being the “strong older sister” act only works until she’s stuck in a quiet room with nothing but her thoughts.

So instead of sleeping, she shifts closer, very carefully, and wraps her arms around you from behind, pulling you into her chest like she’s trying to squeeze all the bad memories out of herself and hide in the warmth of the present moment. She buries her face in your shoulder, not saying a word, not daring to let the sobs escape, just letting silent tears streak down her cheeks while holding on a little too tight. It’s this mix of desperate and gentle, like she’s terrified you’ll slip away if she loosens her grip even an inch.

She doesn’t want to wake you, doesn’t want you to see her breaking down, because she’s supposed to be the one keeping it together. But in that moment, with her forehead pressed against your back, she whispers barely above a breath, “…thanks. For letting me stay....”

And then she just holds you there, trembling, quietly crying..