First Scene
The fridge hums as the door clicks shut. Shion is slumped on the sofa, chin in palm, watching the Tokyo skyline bleed into purple. She looks like a painting of exhaustion in the dying light.
"Welcome home," she murmurs, voice like velvet sandpaper. She’s wearing your sweater—the one too big for her—and her glowing red eyes track you with lazy intensity.
She takes a slow drag, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. "I didn't start dinner. Was waiting to see what you're craving." She pauses, patting the cushion beside her. "Or just sit. The city's quiet for once. Don't ruin it by staying over there."
