The laundry basket wasn't heavy, just awkwardly shaped. I balanced it on my hip as I turned the knob to Senna's apartment, already half-distracted by what I was going to cook tonight. We always took turns with dinner, and it was my night. Curry, probably. Easy.
I didn't knock. She never did either. That was just how we were, neighbors with open doors and too much shared history.
Besides, this wasn't a social call. I was just returning her laundry basket. The one she used earlier when she rescued my clothes from the washing machine I completely forgot I was using. Again.
Living alone meant you had to be responsible. Do your laundry on time. Cook. Clean. Water the plants. And maybe write a few thousand words of RPG lore between all that. I tried. But something always slipped through the cracks. Usually the laundry.
I'd only just hung my clothes to dry on the balcony and figured I'd drop the basket back before I burned the rice. Just a quick errand. In. Out. No drama.
But the moment I stepped in, I knew I messed up.
Steam. A rush of it hit me like a spell. The scent of shampoo, something floral and citrusy that clung to the fog as it wafted past me. Then.
"Ah!"
Senna stood frozen in the doorway of her bathroom, barely wrapped in a towel. Hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. Skin still glistening from the shower. Her eyes wide.
My soul left my body.
The towel slipped. Just a little, thank every god I could think of before she caught it with a panicked grab. But I'd seen enough to feel my face erupt into heat.
"I… I didn't see anything!" I blurted out, turning so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. "Sorry! Sorry! I was just…! The laundry!"
Senna's voice cracked through the air like a whip. "Ranjiro! Can't you knock?!"
"You never knock!" I shouted back, already halfway out the door and fumbling to place her basket down at the entrance like it was cursed.
"That's different! I'm not the one barging in like some towel thief!"
"I'm not…! I'm starting dinner now!" I slammed the door behind me and bolted back to my apartment. My heart was still in my throat, racing like I'd just failed a stealth check in front of a dragon.
By the time she came over, hoodie slouching off one shoulder, hair still damp and tousled from the shower, I had the rice steaming and the curry bubbling. Her glasses sat low on her nose like they always did when she was too tired to care, and her long brown hair was half-pinned up, the rest sticking to her neck in little wet strands.
"You know, I really might have to take away your key," she muttered, not looking up.
"I swear I didn't mean to…"
"That's the second time this month. Pervert."
"I'm cursed."
"You're something."
She was a few years older. Already deep into her third year of college but she wore her exasperation like a big sister badge. The kind that said "I'm not mad, just tired," even when she was definitely mad.
She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm as she watched me ladle curry onto two plates. I placed one in front of her and sat across from her.
"Itadakimasu," we both said in sync, hands together in a soft clap.
The warmth of the food settled in like a ritual. Senna ate with casual grace, spoon held loosely, her eyes flicking between the meal and the mess I'd left on the floor: game notes, maps, and a handmade character sheet still half-finished.
"You really live like this? I'm not even surprised there's paper stuck to your foot. Can't you put all this junk in a folder or something?"
"There's no more space."
"Yeah. Exactly my point."
I smiled. "I finally perfected it."
Senna raised an eyebrow. "Perfected what?"
I gestured to the paper sprawl beside the table. "The game. My own system. Custom characters, rules that don't rely on a thousand charts, and an actual story path that doesn't feel like a bunch of dice rolls stitched together."
She gave a little snort and took another bite of curry. "And here I thought you were finally gonna start studying for entrance exams."
"...Yeah, no."
"Figures."
It wasn't mean. Not really. Her voice didn't carry judgment, just that dry, exhausted tone she used when I said something she already expected. Like a mom who caught her kid trying to microwave instant noodles without water. Again.
"Look," I said, leaning forward, "I know I've been going hard on it. But it's not just a game. It's… something I've actually seen through, from start to finish. That's rare for me."
She raised an eyebrow mid-bite, but didn't interrupt.
"I mean, I didn't come up with everything from scratch," I admitted. "A lot of it started from another game I liked. But when I actually tried getting into it… it wasn't exactly beginner-friendly."
I scratched the back of my neck.
"So I started tweaking things. Making it simpler. Easier to jump into. I guess… I just wanted something I could actually play with someone else someday."
Senna didn't look up, but her spoon paused just a second too long over her plate.
"Someone besides me?"
That hit a little harder than it should've.
I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light. "You don't exactly count. You've been rejecting my fantasy worlds since middle school."
She smirked. "Guilty."
I looked around my room. The curtains were always half-drawn. The air smelled faintly of soy sauce and printer paper. My futon was neatly folded in the corner, tucked beside a single overflowing bookshelf. Everything else: the lamp, the corner board of scribbled notes, and the drawers marked with dice weights, all curated chaos, every piece exactly where I needed it.
There was a quiet moment where she didn't say anything. Just leaned back with her tea, listening.
"I love fantasy roleplay. But yeah my obsession with it turned me into a total outcast. And it's not like I don't get why."
Her gaze flicked toward the notes on the floor, then back to me.
"You already know this, but… it's hard for me to connect with people when the first words out of my mouth are usually something like, 'Would you rather be a slime that turns into a sword or a vampire with two personalities?'"
She didn't interrupt. Just exhaled through her nose and gave the slightest shake of her head. The universal gesture for you're hopeless then went back to scooping up her curry like she'd decided to let the weirdo finish talking before it got cold.
"So I kept to myself. And for a while, that felt fine. But now that it's my last year... it's hard not to admit I spent most of it playing make-believe instead of participating in my own existence."
I let the words hang, staring down at the table. The thought lingered, stubborn, a little too honest and for a second, I almost followed it somewhere deeper. Somewhere hopeful.
But I didn't.
It felt too big. Too far.
So I let the moment pass with a shrug.
"I don't blame you for not being into it. I mean, it's not exactly normal. Most people need convincing just to give it a shot. And even then, they've got to be reassured that the fun will start after they survive ten practice rounds of figuring out whether they go third or fifth in the combat order."
A dry smile pulled at my lips.
"That's why I made my own version. Something easier. Something someone might actually want to try."
Now she looked up. Really looked. Like she was reading more than just my words.
"That sounds a little lonelier than you meant it to."
I exhaled. "Maybe. But it's not so bad. You're here."
She paused, then set her spoon down with a dramatic sigh. "Only because I feel sorry for you."
"Wow."
"Sad little goblin boy, living all alone with his fantasy swords and instant curry."
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling now. "You're the one eating that curry, you know."
"Out of pity."
"Right."
We sat like that for a while, eating under the warm kotatsu light. Outside the window, the sky was settling into that deep blue stretch just before night, when the city got quiet for a bit, before the neon signs started flickering on.
She leaned back against the wall, one leg half-tucked under her.
"So, when was the last time you saw your parents again?"
I blinked. "A few months ago. They're still in Singapore for the expansion thing."
"They're always on some expansion thing."
"Yeah."
"And they really left you here alone for your last year of high school."
I shrugged. "They trust me."
"You cook maybe twice a week. The rest of the time you're living on conbini onigiri and anime logic."
"Some people would call that freedom."
"Some people would call that 'at risk.'"
I laughed. "You're one to talk. You practically live here too."
"Only because this dump has a better rice cooker than mine," she said, reaching for seconds. "And because I can't deal with another night of cup noodles and legal textbooks."
"I thought law was your calling."
"It's my family's calling. I just inherited the ambition."
She said it lightly, but the way her eyes drifted to the side told me it ran deeper.
Senna's place, two doors down from mine, was basically a mirrored version of my apartment. Same floor plan, same single room. But hers was always neat, cold. Minimalist. A few folded clothes, her law books lined up in size order, the faint sterile scent of citrus cleaning spray always hanging in the air.
You couldn't tell anyone lived there unless she was actually inside it.
"You ever think about quitting?" I asked. "The law thing?"
"Every week. Usually when I'm halfway through constitutional theory and remember what having a social life felt like."
"And yet, here you are."
"Like I said." She smiled. "Pity."
I reached across the table and picked up one of the custom-made class sheets I'd been working on earlier. "So... no interest at all? I could walk you through it. You'd make a pretty cool ranger or sorceress."
"Ra-chan."
"Not even one round?"
She sighed and gave me the most exasperated look imaginable. "Hard. Pass."
I chuckled. "Yeah, yeah."
The conversation drifted then, from her uni life to my latest attempts at cooking without burning garlic, to why our building's only laundry machine was cursed to break down every other Sunday. The usual.
But somewhere in the rhythm of things, I realised something.
Senna was the only person who ever really saw any of this. Not just the surface but the chaos, the effort, the parts of me I never bothered to explain. Everyone else at school probably just thought I was the quiet kid who didn't talk much. And I didn't mind that.
But still…
"I've been thinking," I said after a while.
Senna was on her second cup of tea, curled under the kotatsu now. "Dangerous words."
"What if I tried starting a club?"
That got her attention.
I felt her eyes scan me like I'd grown a second head.
"Like… at school?"
"Yeah. A tabletop club. For people who actually want to play. I've spent so long making this thing work. I guess I just want to see what it feels like to finally share it with someone."
She took a long sip, like she was stalling.
"You really think you'll find anyone weird enough to say yes?"
"Dunno. Doesn't hurt to try."
She stared at me for a beat, then looked away. Not dismissive, just… cautious.
"…It'd be good for you."
"What, the human interaction?"
"No. The part where someone other than me sees all this and doesn't immediately leave."
I blinked.
She smirked. "Also the sunlight. You're starting to look like a haunted library boy."
"Hey, I go outside."
"Walking to school doesn't count."
"It's a twenty-minute walk!"
She didn't even look up. "You do it with your hood up and headphones in. That's not 'outside,' that's transit."
I sighed. "Okay, fine. Point taken."
She chuckled again and looked down at her empty cup.
"Start your club," she said, brushing her hair behind one ear. "Maybe you'll meet people who speak your weird little language."
I looked at her.
She wouldn't say it, but I think she was rooting for me in that quiet, sideways kind of way she always did. The kind that didn't hug or cheer or shout, but always made sure I ate and told me when I was being an idiot.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe it was time.
Time to take the world I built and bring someone into it.
Even if she'd never say it, I think Senna wanted to see what would happen if I tried.
And maybe… so did I.
Senna peeled off one of her socks with her toes and casually flicked it across the room. It landed perfectly on the armrest of my desk chair.
Then, without missing a beat, she used her other foot to pinch one of the notebooks off the floor between her big toe and index toe.
"Hey! gross," I muttered.
She didn't even blink. "Oh, please. I've caught you doing worse."
I shut up.
"Damn. You even wrote out how the goblins smell." She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. "Foul. Mildew. Wet rat vibes. You're really setting the mood, huh?"
"I believe in full sensory immersion," I said, stretching my legs out beneath the kotatsu. "And mildew's atmospheric."
Senna rolled her eyes as she flipped through the notebook, fingers pausing on a sketch of a crumbling forest temple. "Cursed with silence?" she read aloud, unimpressed. "Sounds like a great place for a date."
"It's an emotional set piece," I said, feigning pride. "Very dramatic."
"Mhm," she said, flipping to the next page. "Huh. This bit's actually written really well."
I raised an eyebrow. "Actually?"
She grinned. "I mean, suspiciously well. Like, 'did a robot help you with this?' well."
I shrugged. "Okay, yeah. I cleaned up some parts with AI."
She looked up, smirking. "Oh yeah? The robots writing your goblin erotica now?"
"No…" I coughed, face heating up. "No! I just mean… I can't really write. Not the way I want to. So, like… I have all these ideas, but they come out messy. With AI, it's like boom. Suddenly it reads like a real story."
I winced. "Okay, that sounds like I didn't do anything. But it's not like that."
I leaned forward, resting my arms on the kotatsu.
"I'm not some billionaire genius playboy with a master's degree in literature. Hell, I can barely write a decent paragraph without second-guessing myself. But I know I can create. I can build stories. That much I'm sure of."
Senna raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
"The problem's always been the translation. What's in my head and what hits the page? Totally different languages. My first drafts probably read like a pile of scrap metal held together with duct tape and caffeine. Unpolished. Clunky. Like armor built in a cave with a box of parts."
A beat.
"And now?" she asked.
"Now it's like I've got something that helps me rebuild. Not replace, just refine. It looks at the prototype and helps shape the next version. Smarter. Smoother. Still mine… just better. It's the difference between shouting into the void helplessly and finally hearing something echo back."
She shifted slightly in her seat, expression unreadable.
"Maybe if you actually paid attention in class, you wouldn't need a robot to hold your hand."
I grinned. "Maybe. But this 'robot' isn't here to replace writers. It's here to help shape the future, not just the world's future, but mine if I allow it to. It helps take my imperfect armour and turns it into something new. The Mark II. Something closer to what I meant it to be."
She took a slow, deliberate breath.
"Are you comparing yourself to the indestructible armor man?"
I let out a short laugh, already regretting how dramatic it sounded. "Okay, yeah, that came out more cringe than profound."
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"Analogy aside... I don't exactly have the budget for an editor, so gotta work with what I've got."
Senna shrugged, like she wasn't fully convinced but wasn't arguing either.
"Well… true. If you were asked to build a skyscraper, you'd probably wanna use the latest tech instead of just hammer and nails."
We shared a laugh, but it didn't last long. Her eyes drifted across the page, then paused and that tiny snort escaped.
"What?"
She tapped the notebook with a single fingernail. "'The goblin queen's impossibly supple limbs glistened in the moonlight' okay, come on."
My face burst into flames. "That was supposed to be intimidating!"
"Sure it was," she said, flopping sideways onto the cushion. "Nothing scarier than seductive goblin thighs."
"You are never reading my notes again."
She laughed harder, kicking her feet under the kotatsu like she'd just found buried treasure.
"Please. You can't write something like that and not expect commentary."
I sank a little lower. "It was a first draft."
"Don't you mean thirst draft!" she cackled, leaning all the way back, like the sheer cringe of it physically knocked her out.
"Okay, okay I think we've both had our fair share of dramatic readings tonight."
I scooped up the notebook, slid it between a stack of unmarked ones, and shoved the whole mess aside like that would erase her memory.
"Do you want to watch the next episode or not?"
I grabbed the laptop from my desk and set it down on the kotatsu in front of her, like a peace offering.
Senna sat up, brushing her hair from her face like she'd only just remembered that was the plan tonight. "Only if it's not another recap episode. I swear, if they flashback to that dumb cliffhanger for the fourth time..."
My fingers moved by muscle memory, minimising, clicking, opening the tab I'd left ready.
"I queued it already," I said, scooting around to sit beside her. "You always forget what happened anyway."
"Not true," she said, tugging the blanket over both our legs. "I just like hearing you explain it with that annoying 'I'm smarter than you' voice."
"It's not annoying. It's educational."
"Sure it is."
The kotatsu hummed quietly beneath us, its warmth pooling under the blanket. Outside, the wind pressed gently at the balcony door: not a storm, not even rain. Just winter, soft and cold.
Senna leaned back into the cushion, close but not touching. She always sat like that. Not giving space, not taking it either. Just there. Present.
Her hair was still damp at the ends. As she adjusted the laptop, I caught the faintest scar near her collarbone. Old, maybe from childhood. The light hit it just right.
It was hard not to look.
She noticed, of course. She always noticed.
"What?" she said, not looking away from the screen.
"Nothing," I said too quickly.
She turned her head slightly, a smirk curling at the edge of her lips. "You've got that face again."
"What face?"
"The 'I'm thinking something but I won't say it because I'm a coward' face."
I groaned, letting my head fall back against the pillow. "Do I really have a face for that?"
"Oh yeah. It's super obvious. You make it every single time the scene gets even slightly romantic and you pretend like it doesn't fluster you."
"The show hasn't even started yet."
"I'm not talking about the show."
I blinked. "Right."
She didn't look at me. Just smirked faintly, eyes still on the screen.
And yeah… maybe I did get a little flustered. But it was Senna. This kind of thing was basically her hobby at this point. I'd built up some resistance. Mostly.
The anime's opening started. A swell of synths and bright guitar riffs underscored by overly cheery idol vocals belting about courage and destiny. Senna hummed along, tapping her fingers against the edge of the kotatsu, mouthing half the lyrics like it was her personal anthem.
I watched her from the corner of my eye. The way she leaned forward. The way she tucked her knees under the blanket. The way half the kotatsu was somehow hers now.
It felt… peaceful.
Comfortable in the way old routines are. Predictable, warm, a scene we'd played out so many times it had started to blur into background noise.
And maybe that's why I felt it: the itch at the edges of normal. The quiet little voice asking if this was all it was ever going to be.
The ending song trickled in, soft vocals over swelling strings. Senna stretched, arms raised high, hoodie riding up slightly over her stomach as she let out a little yawn.
"That was a filler episode," she muttered, slumping sideways on the cushion.
I kept my eyes on the credits, the lyrics flashing in kanji with the romaji underneath. "It wasn't filler. It built up the red-haired guy's arc."
"Oh, please. He got, like, three lines. All it did was show that he's still mad about his sword being broken."
"That's character development!"
She groaned. "Ra-chan, not every quiet moment is development. Sometimes it's just budget-saving."
"You just want explosions."
"No, I want plot. Forward momentum. This one stalled."
I waved a hand toward the screen. "It's setting up something. You'll see."
Senna leaned over and reached for the trackpad, finger hovering. "Anyway, I'm skipping—"
"Don't!" I grabbed her wrist gently. "I like this ending."
She raised an eyebrow. "You like all the endings."
"I like the vibes. Let me vibe."
"Ugh. Fine. Two minutes of melancholy piano and whisper-singing it is."
I grinned and sat back. Our shoulders were close now, not quite touching, but the heat between us was noticeable in the chilly room.
"You're weird," she said, eyes forward.
"You've known that for years."
"Yeah. Still surprises me."
We sat in the glow of the screen, the song playing out. I could see the reflection of the room in her glasses: the steam-softened light of the kotatsu, the outlines of dinner plates still half-full.
Then, with no warning, Senna spoke again.
"You know," she said slowly, "you're not bad looking."
My heart skipped.
"You've got that whole broody, nerdy, 'mysterious loner' thing going on, and that Okinawan complexion doesn't exactly hurt."
I blinked. "Pretty sure being quiet and tan doesn't make me hot."
She gestured lazily toward the window. "Compared to the pale city boys up here? You stand out. That skin tone, that messy hair that somehow always looks intentional…"
"It's just bed hair. I don't even own gel."
"Exactly," she said, smirking. "And that's what makes it unfair. If you ever smiled on purpose, half the girls at school would melt."
I rolled my eyes. "Not really aiming to cause cardiac arrest."
She leaned her head back, still smiling. "Honestly, I'm surprised I haven't walked in on you with some girl on top of you by now."
I choked. "Excuse me?!"
She gave me a lopsided grin. "What? I'm just saying. With how often I stop by, I figured by now I'd have caught some scandal. A sock on the door. A giggling girl making a run for it. But no. Not even a suspicious extra toothbrush."
I groaned, pressing a palm to my face. "Yeah, well… not really a priority."
Senna tilted her head. "Really?"
"Really," I muttered. "I mean, I don't not think about it. I'm a guy. But… I've never really felt like I needed to go looking."
She raised an eyebrow.
I shrugged. "I already have you dropping in all the time. Feels like I'm already at the daily recommended dose of female presence."
"Oh, so I'm just filling the quota?" she teased, nudging me with her foot.
I shot her a look. "Hey, if anything, I should be worried about you barging into my place. If I did have someone over, that towel moment would've been a two-way scandal."
She smirked. "Touché."
The banter eased, giving way to a quieter stretch of time. The room felt warm. Not just from the kotatsu, but from something else layered into the space between us.
Senna leaned back, watching me more thoughtfully now. "You really never cared about that stuff?"
I paused. "I think I didn't. Not for a while. Romance, dating… It just never clicked as something I was supposed to chase."
"Why?" she asked, voice low.
I leaned my head back against the cushion. "I guess part of me always thought… what's the point if I can't really be myself with someone? Most people don't care about the stuff I care about. And I've never been good at faking interest just to make conversation."
She didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me, not surprised, not judging. Just… listening.
Then she smiled. "You're not wrong."
A soft hum passed between us. Not awkward. Just enough to feel like it could've ended the moment.
Then the screen faded to black. Credits rolled.
I shifted slightly. "I guess I just—"
"Shhh," Senna hushed, lifting a finger as the next episode's opening sequence began. "I sat through your end credits. I get to listen to mine."
I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even get to listen. You were interrogating me about my non-existent love life."
She smirked, eyes still on the screen. "Correction: your non-existent social life."
I opened my mouth to fire something back (probably clever, definitely defensive), but she beat me to it.
"Shhh. Shh-shhh." She leaned over and pressed her hand directly over my mouth. Not forcefully, just enough to shut me up.
Her palm was warm.
Soft.
And resting squarely against my lips.
For a split second, the whole room seemed to pause: the song, the light, the air. My brain stalled. Was this… was this considered an indirect kiss?
Of course not.
But the heat on my face said otherwise.
Her hand slipped away a moment later, falling absentmindedly into her lap like she hadn't even realised she'd touched me.
The song swelled, vocals belting something about chasing dreams and protecting the ones you love. The radiator clinked behind it all like it was keeping time.
Senna leaned in slightly, her shoulder brushing mine again.
And I stayed quiet.
Not because she told me to.
But because, for once, I didn't mind just sitting still.
The moment lingered like steam in the kotatsu: light, invisible, and somehow heavy all at once.
It had felt like Senna had been humming along just minutes ago, mouthing the lyrics with that same glint of energy like she'd mainlined the chorus straight into her bloodstream. But somewhere between the third dramatic plot twist and another "never give up" speech, she'd gone quiet.
The episode pushed toward its climax, characters screaming each other's names mid-battle, but the only thing I felt was the weight of her head gently tipping onto my shoulder.
Hair brushed my neck. Her breath came slow and even.
The citrus scent of her shampoo lingered in the warmth between us.
She was asleep.
Just like that.
I didn't move.
Not because I was scared to but because I had to.
Yeah, she could be annoying, but with no parents around for most of my childhood, she was the only one who was really there for me.
And it'd probably suck if I hadn't intended on being there for her too.
I let my hands rest loosely in my lap, the kotatsu's warmth spreading through the quiet space between us. The only sounds were the anime's overblown monologue about friendship and the low hum of the heater beneath the window.
Sunday nights were always like this: quiet, slow, wrapped in curry and laziness.
And for Senna, exhausting.
She had her long shift today. Every Sunday she closed at the maid café two stations over: all frilly skirts, fake smiles, and customers way too into the "master and princess" act. She usually came home ready to collapse or rant about the latest weirdo who tried to tip her in anime keychains. Honestly, I was surprised she came over at all.
But maybe that's just how things are now. I cooked. She came over. We sat, watched, talked, existed.
We weren't family. We weren't dating. But somewhere between all that noise, we became this… thing.
Familiar.
I peeked at her from the corner of my eye. Her lips were parted slightly. One of her hands curled in front of her chest like a cat paw. Her hoodie had slipped a little down her shoulder, and the way she leaned into me was totally unconscious, like she didn't even realise how close we were.
I didn't think too much about it. I couldn't.
She'd done this before, dozing off on me after dinner like it was no big deal. And maybe it wasn't. But it always left me stuck somewhere between flustered and… something else I couldn't name.
Still, I didn't shift away.
I let my eyes rest on the screen, but my thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
Final year. Graduation on the horizon. Everyone else chasing futures: jobs, entrance exams, relationships.
And me? I was still here. Still drawing maps, writing stat blocks, tweaking dice mechanics like it meant something.
Not bitter. Just… aware. Aware that while the world moved forward, I'd stayed tucked in this little corner I built for myself: cluttered, quiet, oddly warm.
Curry-stained spoons sat in the sink. A forgotten cup of tea stayed warm beside a college girl softly snoring on my shoulder.
I glanced at the pile of campaign notes still sitting by the kotatsu, illuminated faintly by the screen's glow. Character backstories. World lore. Encounter outlines.
Pages and pages of make-believe that no one but me had seen.
Well… me and Senna, now. A little.
I smiled to myself, closing my eyes briefly.
In my mind, the world shifted.
Gone was the living room.
Instead, I sat cross-legged by a low-burning campfire, sparks crackling into a star-dusted sky. Trees loomed like sentinels overhead. The air smelled like ash and pine. The kotatsu had become a stone ring of embers, and the soft glow of the laptop screen flickered like firelight
Next to me, Senna lay sleeping, a soft blanket pulled over her shoulders, her hoodie swapped for a traveler's cloak. Still curled up like a cat, still close.
My sword rested nearby. A trusted katana.
I sat there, silent watch under moonlight, keeping the fire alive while she slept. My thoughts quiet. My duty unspoken.
But the world shimmered, reality sneaking back in through the corners.
A soft groan.
The weight on my shoulder shifted.
"...Huh? Did I fall asleep again?" Senna's voice was a mumble, thick with sleep. She blinked blearily behind her fogged-up glasses, then pushed them up the bridge of her nose and rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. "Ugh. My neck's gonna kill me tomorrow."
"You fell asleep again," I said, adjusting the blanket. "This time, you're lucky I was here to stop your head from hitting the floor."
Tamki groaned without opening her eyes,
"When it comes to anime night," she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep, "you turn into nothing more than the closest soft thing to pass out on. But don't worry, Ra-chan... if a real bed had been any closer, I'd have picked that instead."
She yawned, stretching out her arms as she adjusted her glasses, the fog of sleep still clinging to her eyes. A quick glance at the darkened screen made her blink in surprise.
"Crap. It's late."
"You heading back?" I asked.
She blinked at me. Then, slowly, shook her head.
"Nah. Too lazy." She stood up, wobbling slightly, and pointed lazily toward the corner. "I'm stealing your futon again."
"...You do realise that means I get the floor?"
She was already halfway to the futon.
"You've got that sad excuse for a beanbag, don't you?"
"It's not a beanbag. It's a deflated regret cushion. I think it lost half its beans in like… 2022."
"Then consider this character-building," she mumbled, already wrapping herself in the blanket like a burrito with legs.
"For who?"
"For your spine."
She had already wandered halfway across the room. "I've worked ten hours today, you demon. Suck it up."
"But you live ten steps away!"
She waved me off. "Ten steps too many."
I watched as she lazily unfolded the futon with her foot, kicking it open like she'd done it a hundred times. Then, without an ounce of shame, she flopped onto it and unfurled the blanket over her legs. Within seconds, she was curled up again, face half-buried in the pillow I wasn't getting back tonight.
I sighed, pulling the blanket over her shoulders.
The episode had long since ended. The screen dimmed to a soft black, reflecting just a hint of the room around me: messy, lived-in, full of things only I seemed to care about.
But as I looked at the notes again, at the scattered dice and folded maps and half-finished stat blocks, the quiet finally settled over me in a different way.
I'd spent years building a world I could escape to.
Maybe it was time to build one someone else could enter.
Not just friends.
People who believed in what I made.
People who'd stay.