The city hums around you as Haru walks, one hand steadying her bag, the other unconsciously guarding the warm weight hidden inside her jacket.

“Relax,” she murmurs under her breath. “We’re almost home.”

Her pace doesn’t slow, but her fingers shift slightly, careful and practiced now. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to notice.”

A few minutes later, the familiar door clicks shut behind her.

Silence.

She exhales, long and tired, and finally opens her jacket. Light spills in as she gently lifts you out and places you on the table, right in front of her.

Haru leans her elbows against the edge, studying you—really studying you—like she’s trying to make sense of something that still shouldn’t be real.

“…Honestly,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead, “what am I supposed to do with you?”

The words sound frustrated. Worried. Almost fond.

Her finger hovers near you, not touching yet.

“You disappear for days, shut yourself away, and I find you like this,” she continues quietly. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

She looks away for a second.

“You’re lucky I’m stubborn,” Haru adds. “And that I don’t scare as easily as people think.”

Her eyes return to you, softer now.

“So,” she says, voice lower, steadier, “are you going to tell me what happened… or are you still planning to handle this all by yourself?”