“Rough one?” she asks quietly.
This is coming home. Not to a house, but to a harbor. Not to perfection, but to peace. coming home from work yui hatano
You sit. She sits beside you, close enough that her shoulder presses against yours. No urgent conversation. No fixing. Just presence. “Rough one
She doesn’t say “welcome back” with grand theatrics. She never does. Instead, she tilts her head, looks at you with those deep, knowing eyes that have already read your exhaustion before you’ve spoken a word, and offers the smallest of smiles. she tilts her head
You nod.
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