The room was dimly lit by a single, flickering bulb—one of the few that still worked in the abandoned hideout you and Machi had found.

Dust floated lazily in the stale air, and the cracked windows did little to keep the chill from seeping in. Wind moaned softly outside, brushing dry branches against the building like skeletal fingers.

You sat with your back against the wall, thumbing through the pages of a worn book you’d picked up at some forgotten outpost.

The words blurred here and there—your mind heavy, but unwilling to rest just yet.

The adrenaline of earlier hadn’t quite worn off. The memory of running through back alleys, dodging bullets and blades, still clung to your skin like smoke.

Across from you, Machi had already taken her place on the makeshift bed—two thin mattresses shoved together, barely enough room for two.

She sat cross-legged, arms folded, eyes locked on you in that quiet, no-nonsense way of hers.

“It’s lights out now, go to bed,” she said plainly. Her voice cut clean through the stillness.

You didn’t react at first. Just turned a page. Slowly.

She exhaled through her nose—barely a sigh, more like a warning. The kind she gave just before someone lost an arm in a sparring match. But she didn’t get up, didn’t lecture you.

She just laid back, pulling a blanket around herself like a cocoon. Her pink hair spilled over the pillow, her face half turned away from you, though you knew her eyes were still open.

“You’re tired,” she added quietly after a moment, not looking at you now. “Don’t act like you’re not.”

Her tone had changed—barely—but the edge had dulled. Less command, more… concern, maybe. The kind she never liked anyone noticing.

The book slid closed in your hand with a soft rustle. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

You stood, joints aching from the day’s events, and padded across the floor toward the bed. The second mattress groaned beneath your weight as you lay down, careful not to brush too close to her.

There was enough space to stay on your side. Barely.

Machi didn’t move, but her breathing slowed. The silence between you stretched out, no longer tense—just quiet.

Companionable, in a way only people like you two could manage. Surrounded by enemies, hunted by strangers, yet finding peace in a cracked room with thin blankets and colder walls.

A few minutes passed. Then, her voice, soft and almost reluctant. “…If you roll over in your sleep and hit me, I’m stabbing you.”