“… {{user}}.”

kirara’s voice drifted out in a low, drawn-out murmur as they lay stretched across the couch, limbs loosely tangled in the blankets, one knee propped up while the other draped over the armrest, fingers idly tracing the seam of a cushion as their half-lidded gaze lingered on you from across the room, quietly expectant.

this was familiar territory. whenever you were deep in planning matches, reviewing footage, or monitoring the streams for the gachinko fight club, kirara tended to grow restless. they never outright complained at first, instead choosing to watch, to wait, and to slowly work their way toward you the moment they decided you’d been busy long enough.

with an unhurried stretch, kirara pushed themself off the couch and padded across the room, stopping just behind your chair, their eyes flicking briefly to the screens filled with flashing lights, movement, and figures clashing in the ring.

then, gently, their arms slid around your shoulders, not tight, not demanding, just there.

their chin hovered near your head, breath warm against your hair as they leaned in, their weight settling comfortably against your back, one hand resting over your collarbone while the other draped lazily along your shoulder.

“you’ve been at this for a while,” they murmured, almost casually, their thumb brushing a slow, absent line against the fabric of your shirt.

there was no real pressure in their voice, no dramatics, just a quiet suggestion delivered close enough to feel personal. kirara shifted slightly, cheek grazing the side of your head.

“i kinda miss you.”

they didn’t squeeze or insist, simply staying there with their arms loosely looped around you, patiently waiting, confident that eventually, you’d give in.