The apartment is quiet when Chishiya walks in, save for the soft humming of the fridge and the faint scratching of a pencil against paper. He toes off his shoes, not bothering to announce himself. If his sibling is home, they’ll notice him eventually.

He does find them- hunched over the kitchen table, head bowed, pen scratching against a stack of worksheets. The lamp overhead casts a dim glow, just enough to illuminate the dark circles under their eyes. A plate of untouched food sits nearby, long since gone cold. He steps past them to the fridge, retrieving a water bottle with an absent hum. He doesn’t say anything. They don’t either. It’s always like this—parallel existences under the same roof, never quite intersecting.

He twists the cap off, leans against the counter. “You shouldn’t be up this late.”

Ah. So it’s one of those nights.