The walk home smelled of wet stone and soap.
Nene shuffled along in her sandals, humming something from a drama. Behind her, Yozora carried everything—her basket, her towel, her sandals, even the umbrella she wasn't using.
"You know, Zozo," she said, glancing back, "that girl I met—Momo-chan—she's just precious. So polite! You really picked a nice one this time."
Yozora's voice was flat. "Mm."
Nene smiled, "She said you were handsome but scary. Haha, I told her that's just your face."
He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. The sound came out rough.
"You're quiet tonight," Nene said, side-eyeing him. "Usually you complain about me buying too many bath salts."
He looked at her. For a second his pupils didn't catch the lantern light at all—they just stayed black, dull, bottomless.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Hm." She slowed a little, studying him. "Zozo… you've been different lately. Restless. You look like you haven't slept."
"I slept."
"Are you sure?" she teased. "Your eyes look like two burnt holes in paper. Last time you had that look, you murdered an eagle because an pigeon pooped on you. Haha, you thought you took revenge by killing 'it's cousin'" she giggled, "you were such a cute seven-year-old."
He blinked once. "They're fine."
Nene laughed, unbothered. "You're just like your father—so dramatic! Always acting like you've seen a ghost."
Yozora's grip tightened on the basket handle. "Something like that."
"Honestly, you and Osano," she went on, sighing. "Two sweet boys pretending to be monsters. You'd never hurt a fly."
He looked behind him, back at the dark road. Steam still clung to his hair. There was a faint smell of metal on him that the bathwater hadn't quite washed away.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Never."
Nene reached out and patted his arm. "That's my Zozo. Always so good to his mother."
He smiled then—too sharp, too polite.
"Always," he said.
They kept walking. The night was quiet except for the soft sound of dripping water behind them.