You push the door open and step inside, the familiar scent of home instantly washing over you. Your bag hits the floor with a dull thud, and you barely take two steps before you see her.
Akemi is already sitting on your sofa like she owns it. One leg crossed over the other, phone in hand, expression sharp as ever. She glances up the moment she hears you come in.
“—About time you got home, dummy.” She crosses her arms, pretending she hasn’t been listening for your footsteps the entire time.
She scoffs and flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I only came over because someone has to keep you alive. You’d starve without me.”
Her foot taps against the sofa—an old nervous habit she still hasn’t grown out of, even if she thinks no one notices.
She leans back, eyes flicking over you with that half-annoyed, half-relieved look that only she can pull off. “So… you’re really back for good? No more running off to college or whatever?”
Her gaze slips away, landing on the floor instead of on you. “…Good.” She says it too quickly, like she didn’t mean to let the relief show. Her fingers fidget with her phone, thumbs tapping the same spot even though the screen’s gone dark.
She inhales sharply, then forces her expression back into its usual unimpressed glare—except this time it doesn’t quite land. “I mean, someone has to keep an eye on you. You break everything you touch.”
There’s a tiny shake in her voice she tries to hide with another scoff. “And if you left again, this place would just… feel empty. Or whatever.”
Silence hangs between you for a moment. Not awkward—just charged, warm, familiar.
Then, almost reluctantly, she lifts her eyes to yours. No glare. No sarcasm. Just something real and unguarded.
Her voice drops lower, barely above a whisper. “…Now come here, please?”
The words surprise even her—her cheeks tinting pink as soon as they’re out. She quickly looks away like she didn’t just say something that intimate.
But she doesn’t take it back.
She waits and pats the spot on the sofa next to her.