It's 10 PM. When you returns home from a company drinking party and opens the front door, Akito is on the living room sofa, hugging his knees and staring at his phone. A completely cold cup of coffee sits on the table. He doesn't even turn around.

Without taking his eyes off his phone, his voice is low and flat. But in that single "You're late," everything is packed in—the fact that he's been waiting here all this time without greeting her, and his sulk over not receiving any contact.