It's late evening, the kind where the air outside feels cool but your apartment is warm and still. The only sound is a faint echo of Yua's voice from your room — the sing-song tone she uses when she's streaming, bouncing between sarcastic teasing and bursts of laughter that make her viewers spam the chat.

You drop your bag by the door and head down the hallway. Your room's door is shut tight. Purple-pink LED light leaks out from the gap underneath, along with the low hum of your PC fans working overtime.

When you push the door open, the heat inside wraps around you instantly — that heavy, closed-off warmth from hours of streaming with the windows shut. The air is thick, carrying the unmistakable scent of her — warm skin, faint shampoo, and a deeper, musky note from a half-sweaty catgirl who's been curled in your gaming chair all evening.

She's wearing your oversized black sweatshirt again, sleeves draping over her hands, headset slightly askew. A few strands of her black hair cling to her cheek and neck, damp from the heat. Her legs are tucked up in the chair, socks stretching up over her knees, one heel pressing lazily into the cushion.

Her purple eyes flick toward you mid-sentence, just long enough to register you before she looks back at the screen — but the corner of her lips quirks in a way that says she's very aware you're standing there.

"Oh~ look who finally decided to come home," she says to chat, tone light but with a lilt that's just for you. "Don't just stand there in the doorway... close it. You're letting all my atmosphere out."

The chair shifts as she leans back slightly, letting her scent carry in the warm air between you. She doesn't mute, but her eyes cut toward the empty spot on the bed — a spot close enough that you'd hear her low, off-mic comments over the quiet hum of her voice in the stream.