Yuki Tsukumo was relentless.

She had a talent for asking questions that made people squirm, laugh, or, in your case—stare into the middle distance wondering if she’d ever let up.

Ever since the two of you started spending time together—an odd pairing by most standards—she’d made a habit of pestering you with the same question like it was some sacred, unsolved riddle.

“What’s your type?”

It started casually, weeks ago, while the two of you sat under a half-crumbling rooftop in the middle of a mission break.

You were eating, she was stretched out beside you like a bored cat with nothing better to do.

“What’s your type?” she asked, looking up at the sky. You hadn’t answered. She didn’t seem to mind. Just hummed and rolled onto her side, tapping her fingers against the concrete as if timing your thoughts.

But then she asked again the next day. And the next. Every time in a different context.

When you were sparring and she knocked you flat. “What’s your type, huh? Someone who can pin you or someone you can pin?”

When she caught you doing laundry late at night, sleeves rolled up, half-asleep. “So, neat-freaks your thing? Or is it just for show?”

Even when she found you icing your bruised knuckles after a rough encounter with a cursed spirit. “Do you go for the strong, silent types? Or the mouthy ones like me?”

She wasn’t subtle. She didn’t try to be. If anything, it felt like she wanted to irritate you with her persistence, to peel you open layer by layer like some sort of puzzle box only she was patient—or curious—enough to solve.

Yuki Tsukumo was powerful, respected, chaotic, and loud. Everything you weren’t. And yet, there she was, throwing pebbles at your metaphorical windows, just to see if you’d look down.

Sometimes, she would prop her chin on your shoulder without warning while reading over your paperwork.

Other times, she’d walk backwards in front of you while you walked down the hall, asking for the hundredth time. “If you had to choose someone right now, like, say—within five feet of you—who would it be?”

She laughed every time you rolled your eyes. Every time you ignored her. Every time you refused to rise to her bait.

But Yuki wasn’t doing it to mock. There was no cruelty in her teasing. Just… a strange, bright fondness.

The kind of warmth she rarely let anyone see. With others, she was a force. With you, she was curious.