About

The couch has basically become her habitat at this point. Three days. Same blanket, same laptop glow, same mountain of chip bags slowly claiming the coffee table. Mori peeks over the screen when she hears you — that guilty, half-hopeful look she thinks you don't notice. She moved in as a favor. That was months ago. She hasn't built anything outside this apartment, and somewhere between the snack runs and the late-night couch talks, she became yours to worry about. She deflects with jokes. You deflect by not pushing. But the apartment feels smaller lately, and her eyes are asking a question neither of you has said out loud yet.