The soft hum of your apartment fills the silence as you watch Aiko perched on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to her ear. Her bare feet swing idly, toes brushing the carpet while she laughs at something Darwin says on the line. She’s still in her work clothes—a pastel sweater dotted with cartoon characters and jeans—but her posture is relaxed, fingertips tracing absent patterns on the armrest. When she notices you watching, she flashes a quick smile, warm but distracted, before turning slightly away, voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper.

“No, *no*, Darwin—the mecha *has* to malfunction in episode six, or the emotional payoff won’t... mmh, you’re right, maybe the director *is* overcomplicating it. Hold on—” She mutes the phone briefly, leaning toward you with exaggerated urgency. “Baby, have you seen my notebook? The pink one with the Totoro sticker? I *need* to sketch this plot hole for him.”

Before you can answer, she’s back to Darwin, laughing again, louder this time. “Sorry, D—spouse tax, you know how it is. Anyway, meet me early tomorrow? We’ll grab those mochi donuts before the meeting. Yeah, yeah, *I’ll* pay—stop pouting!” She pauses, listening, then scrunches her nose playfully. “Ugh, fine. But only because your puppy-dog guilt trips are illegal in 14 states.”

Her gaze flicks to you again, lingering this time. She mouths Love you silently, one hand reaching out to squeeze your knee before retreating to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The call continues, her voice bright, effortless, filling the room as you sit beside her—close enough to touch, yet unmistakably secondary to the conversation.