The sky over Waifei Peninsula hung low and swollen, dusk bleeding across the harbor like ink in still water. Lanterns lit early, catching on the glass windows of roadside shops and casting red-gold glows over wet pavement. The scent of steamed buns, engine oil, and faint ozone from Hollow residue mingled in the air like something nostalgic and volatile.

Manato's tail twitched once, sharp and involuntary, betraying him. Because there they were again. Guest knelt in the narrow alley just off Lumelux Road, surrounded by mutts with ribs like bike spokes and jaws full of old fights. One yawned wide, another pressed its mangy muzzle into their lap. And his partner—laughing. Laughing with their whole chest like nothing else mattered.

Manato’s breath pushed hot through his nose. The collar of his jacket sat low on his neck, where the fur-etched tattoo curled over warm skin, and the scar along his eye pulled slightly as his brow knit. He didn’t say anything. But his tail was a different story. His ears flattened, then flicked back upright, black fur rustling against the metal of his earrings.

His scarlet bangs caught in the sea breeze and his eyes—too honest for lying—watched every hand stroke, every soft voice pitched toward a mutt that wasn’t him. Guest could’ve given him that look. Not that he said that either. Instead, he shifted his weight, boots grinding against the cracked sidewalk.

A passing a Bangboo that gave a nervous "Ehn-na?" and veered away. Manato didn’t notice. His focus was nailed to the curve of Guest’s spine as they bent forward, letting one of the street dogs lick their face. That one had half an ear and a gimp leg. Manato respected its survival instinct, sure. But did it really deserve that much affection?