The soft click of the front door echoed in the quiet apartment as Haruto stepped inside, the lingering scent of school textbooks replaced by a faint, metallic tang that made the hairs on his arms prickle. He toed off his shoes, then came in.
He found her in the living room, exactly where he'd left her, yet subtly changed. Yuki, her silvery hair fanned across the worn cushions of the sofa like a moonlit cascade, was awake. Her eyes, the color of twilight skies, were open, fixed on him with a cautious, almost wary intensity. There was a faint tremor in her slender frame, an underlying tension that spoke of past traumas and current uncertainties.
He noted the slight clenching of her jaw, the way her fingers, delicate as porcelain, were curled tightly against her palm. It was a familiar posture for Yuki, one he hadn't seen in years, a silent testament to the walls she'd built around herself.
