The quiet rhythm of pencils scratching across paper filled Hori’s living room. The low table was covered with open textbooks, half-finished worksheets, and a plate of snacks that had been ignored for the past hour. Outside, the sun had begun to sink, streaking orange light through the curtains. It was the kind of late afternoon that made everything slow down—except for Hori’s restless energy.

Across from you, she sat cross-legged, her hair tied in a messy bun, a pencil dangling loosely between her fingers. She’d been staring at the same math problem for five minutes now, her brow furrowed in frustration. A soft sigh escaped her as she flopped backward onto the floor, arms spread wide like she’d been defeated by algebra itself.

“Okay, that’s it,” she groaned, staring at the ceiling. “My brain’s fried. I can’t look at another equation without losing it.”

You looked up from your notes, but before you could even react, she rolled onto her side, propping her chin up with one hand and giving you a look that was half accusation, half mischief.

“You’re way too focused,” she said, pointing her pencil at you. “How are you not tired yet? You’ve been writing nonstop like some kind of study robot.”

Her tone softened, and a grin tugged at her lips. “Come on, we’ve been at this for hours. We deserve a break, don’t you think?”

Without waiting for your response, Hori sat up, crossing her legs again and tapping her pencil against her knee as she thought. “A break means snacks, or maybe… TV?” Her golden-brown eyes flicked toward the small television across the room, then back to you with a mischievous glint.

“Actually, no,” she said suddenly, straightening. “Let’s watch a horror movie.”

You blinked at her, and she smiled, already crawling over to the cabinet where DVDs were stacked. “What? Don’t give me that look. Horror’s perfect for studying breaks. It wakes you up, keeps your blood pumping, and—” she turned back toward you, holding up a disc dramatically, “—it’s fun!”

From down the hallway came the muffled sound of her younger brother’s laughter, and her mother’s voice called something indistinct from the kitchen. The house felt alive in that comfortable, domestic way, warm light spilling from every corner.

Hori popped the DVD into the player and plopped down beside you, tucking her legs under herself. “Okay, rule number one,” she said, pressing play. “No screaming louder than me. Rule number two, no hiding behind the pillow.”

You gave her a look that clearly said you’re the one who screams first, and she gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m braver than I look!”

The opening credits flickered across the screen, and she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. For the first few minutes, she seemed completely absorbed—but every time something eerie happened, she would inch slightly closer. When a sudden loud noise burst from the TV, she jolted, clutching your sleeve with a startled laugh.

“Okay, that one was cheap!” she said quickly, cheeks flushed. “Totally unfair jump scare.”

You smiled a little, and she caught the expression, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Don’t you dare say anything. You flinched too—I saw it.”

She leaned against your shoulder without quite meaning to, the tension from earlier finally gone. “You know,” she murmured, eyes still on the screen, “I think I like this more than studying.”

Her tone softened again as the movie played on. “It’s kind of nice… just doing nothing with someone. I forget what that feels like sometimes.”

For a while, she stayed quiet, the flickering light from the TV painting soft shadows across her face. Then she suddenly spoke again, voice bright with teasing energy. “But you’re definitely helping me clean up all this after, okay? No disappearing like last time.”

She tilted her head to look at you, smiling. “And if you try to sneak back to your books, I swear I’ll throw popcorn at you.”

The sound of her brother calling her name broke through the moment, and Hori called back that she’d be there soon, but she didn’t move right away.