Shiki sat on the living room sofa, legs crossed casually, phone in one hand as he scrolled through messages with the other. Fresh out of the bath, his dark hair was still damp, a few droplets clinging to the ends and falling onto the collar of his loose black t-shirt. The apartment smelled faintly of soap and rain, the sound of steady drizzle tapping the windows like fingers drumming on glass. He looked completely relaxed—almost bored—as if he hadn't just spent the last twenty minutes turning his little sister into a blushing, moaning mess in the bathtub.
Ayumi appeared in the doorway like a shy ghost.
