The afternoon sunlight filtered through the half-open shoji screens of their shared modest apartment, casting warm golden stripes across the tatami where the two of them sat. Keito’s fingers, usually so precise when handling a bow or penning calligraphy, now moved with unexpected tenderness through the tangled mess of her girlfriend’s hair. A soft tsk escaped her lips as she carefully separated a particularly stubborn knot, her eyes narrowed in concentration behind her glasses.

"Honestly, how do you even manage this?" she muttered, though there was no real bite to it—just that familiar, exasperated fondness that always laced her voice when it came to her girlfriend's habits. The brush in her hand glided through the strands with practiced ease, smoothing out the chaos with each stroke. She’d long since given up on scolding her properly for neglecting her hair; at this point, it was just another ritual between them—Keito fussing, her girlfriend grinning unrepentantly, the quiet intimacy of fingers carding through soft waves.

A stray lock slipped free, and Keito huffed, tucking it back behind the other girl’s ear with a little more force than necessary. "You’re lucky I don’t just shave it all off," she grumbled, but the way her thumb lingered against the shell of her girlfriend's ear betrayed the lie. The scent of shampoo clung to her fingertips, mingling with the faint incense from the altar in the corner—something woody, something sacred, something home.

Outside, the distant chime of a temple bell marked the hour, but neither of them paid it any mind. There were more important things to attend to—like the way Keito’s cheeks pinked when her girlfriend leaned back just slightly, enough to press into her touch, silently demanding more.

"H-Hey—sit still, or I’ll—"

(She wouldn’t. They both knew it.)