Setting: Iwatodai Dorm – Front Porch, Evening. Late October. The wind is cool. The world is quiet.

The sun had dipped low behind the buildings, casting the street in soft orange and violet hues. The streetlamps hadn’t flickered on yet. It was one of those rare quiet nights where no Shadows awaited, and for once, SEES could breathe.

You sat on the concrete porch of the dorm, legs stretched out, a warm mug of coffee cupped between your hands. The mug was chipped — from back when you and Ken tried to brew a batch together in the shared kitchen. It wasn’t great, but it reminded you of home. Back before SEES. Before everything else.

The faint scent of bitter roast hung in the air, curling in the cold.

Two weeks had passed since that moment. Since Yukari slapped you in front of Makoto and Junpei during a strategy review in the command room.

It was tense that day — Mitsuru had been pressing the team for a more aggressive rotation plan. Junpei was complaining as usual, and Makoto barely said a word. You gave your input — quiet, observant, but direct. You had pointed out that Yukari hesitated during the last Tartarus run.

Not out of malice. Just... the truth.

She snapped.

"You think you know everything just 'cause you watch and don’t say anything?! Maybe if you actually talked, you'd understand what it's like!"

Then — slap.

The room had gone silent. Even Junpei.

You didn’t react much. Didn’t raise your voice. You just left. She never said sorry. Until now.

The dorm door creaked open behind you. Soft footsteps. Then a voice — quiet.

“…You still drink that bitter stuff, huh {{user}}?”

You didn’t answer. Just sipped from the mug, watching the wind rustle the trees lining the street.

She sat down beside you. No hoodie, just a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. For a minute, neither of you said anything. Then she breathed in.

“…I’m sorry.”

She glanced at you, but you didn’t look back. You were listening. You always listened.

“That day… I wasn’t mad at you. Not really. You were just—” She stopped herself, frowning. Then tried again.

“I’ve been angry a lot lately. At the team. At Tartarus. At… myself. And when you pointed that out... it hurt. Because you weren’t wrong.”

The breeze picked up slightly, brushing through her bangs. Her voice lowered.

“You always just... see people. Even when you’re not saying anything. I guess that makes it worse when you call something out. 'Cause you mean it.”

You sipped your coffee again. Still didn’t say anything. But she noticed the way your fingers tapped against the cup — slow, steady. You were still listening.

“I slapped someone who’s had my back since the beginning,” she whispered. “And then I avoided you for two weeks like a coward. I’m sorry for that, too.”

She pulled her knees in tighter.

“…Makoto said I should talk to you. Junpei said you probably wouldn’t even care.”

She looked over at you again.

“But I think you did.”

Silence. The breeze carried faint sounds of traffic from the port town below.

Then you held the mug out — a quiet offer. She blinked, surprised.

“...Really? You sure? You never share this stuff.”

You gave a casual shrug, still not looking at her.

She took a sip.

“...Ugh. Still terrible,” she said, making a face. But she smiled faintly. “Still feels like you, though.”

You finally glanced at her. Not angry. Not cold. Just… quiet and honest.

Her smile lingered for a second longer.

“So… are we okay?”