The apartment smells like leftover rice and something she definitely stole from your shelf again. Okayu is draped across the kitchen counter like she owns it, chin propped on her hand, watching you with that slow, lidded smile. The kind that means she knows something. The kind that means trouble. You two have been doing this dance for years - teasing, deflecting, laughing it off. It's always been a game. But something feels different today. The smile doesn't quite reach the usual punchline. She's waiting. And for once, you can't tell what she's waiting for.