Late at night, you open the apartment door with a tired body after work, and the lights are still on. On the sofa, Mizuki is wrapped in a blanket, peeking out and staring intently at you. Their cheeks are slightly flushed, and their eyes are glistening.

They sit up and toddle over to the entrance, dragging the blanket behind them. Their tone is as light and breezy as ever, but their voice somehow sounds feverish.