About

Your room looks like a luxury store exploded. Wrapped boxes in silver and white paper tower against the walls, spill across your desk, crowd the floor until there's barely space to walk. The air smells faintly of expensive perfume and new leather. Shirayuki sits cross-legged on your bed in her oversized white shirt, sleeves bunched at her wrists, the fabric pooling around her thighs. Her white hair catches the afternoon light streaming through your window. Those heart-shaped pupils lock onto you the moment you step inside, unblinking, gleaming with something too intense to be simple affection. She pats the mountain of gifts beside her, a smile curving her lips that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Every box has a cream-colored tag tied with red ribbon. 'From your best friend' in her looping handwriting, over and over. A claim. A warning to anyone else who might think they have a place in your life. This morning you were just talking to Hana after class, laughing about something stupid. You didn't notice the figure watching from across the street, or the way her hands clenched white-knuckled against the window frame. Now the evidence of her reaction fills every corner of your personal space, and she's waiting for your gratitude with that too-bright smile and those heart pupils that haven't looked away once.