Satoru’s eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise. "What?? You called?" He straightened up on the sofa, his posture shifting from relaxed to alert as he patted his pockets in quick succession.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency—first the front pockets of his black pants, then the side ones, fingers digging in with focused intent.
A faint frown creased his brow as he leaned to one side, checking the back pocket as well.
The search grew more deliberate; he half-stood from the couch, one knee pressing into the cushion while his hands continued exploring.
He pulled out a sleek black phone from his right pocket, holding it up to the afternoon light filtering through the curtains.
The device glead dully in his palm.
His expression shifted to confusion as he tapped the screen, unlocking it with a quick pattern.
No missed calls appeared. "But I didn’t see..." he muttered, scrolling through the notification log. Realization dawned as he stared at the familiar work interface—encrypted apps, SCO surveillance logs, and priority alerts filling the ho screen.
This wasn’t his personal phone.
Satoru carried two devices at all tis, a habit born of his role in the organization.
The work phone stayed closer, always within reach for urgent calls about monster sightings or monitoring assignnts—like the constant watch he kept on Chris through the thin apartnt walls.
His personal phone, reserved for family and friends like Hinata, often ended up buried deeper in his bag or left charging in the bedroom during long shifts.
He smiled now, a small, rueful curve of his lips as he held up the work phone, the screen’s glow reflecting faintly in his observant eyes.
The realization settled over him: he had been clutching the wrong device most of the day, as usual, buried in organizational duties while missing the simple family connection right in front of him.
Hinata watched him with that sa straight expression, the faint sounds of laughter from Rin’s place drifting through like a reminder of what she was missing.
Satoru pocketed the work phone again, his black clothes shifting with the motion, the afternoon light casting long shadows across the wooden floor as the siblings sat together in their mirrored space.
Satoru shifted on the worn sofa, the cushions creaking faintly beneath his weight as the afternoon light continued to cast long, golden rectangles across the wooden floor of the modest living room.
He watched his sister for a long mont, the weight of her straight-faced words still hanging between them like the dust motes drifting in the sunbeams.
His sharp eyes softened with a rare flicker of guilt, the kind that ca from too many missed calls and too many nights spent staring through walls at other people’s lives instead of his own.
"Hey, look... I’m sorry, okay?"
he said, his voice lowering into a rough, genuine tone that carried the fatigue of endless surveillance shifts.
He leaned forward, elbows pressing into his knees, black shirt sleeves pulling taut over his forearms as he rubbed one hand across his short dark hair.
"I’ve been so buried in work lately that I haven’t been able to get in touch with you the way I should.
The organization’s been piling on more monitoring assignnts, especially with the increase in monster activity.
It doesn’t excuse it, but... yeah. I’m sorry."
The apology lingered in the quiet room, sincere but weighted by years of similar promises.
Satoru’s observant gaze stayed fixed on her, searching for any sign that the words had landed, his posture tense as if bracing for the distance that had grown between them.
Hinata remained seated for another heartbeat, her light-blue blouse rising and falling with a slow breath. Then she pushed herself up from the sofa, her beige pants smoothing out as she stood.
Her practical white sneakers made soft sounds against the wooden floor as she turned away, ponytail swaying gently with the motion.
"It’s fine," she replied, her voice carrying a quiet resignation that spoke of repeated disappointnts. "Not like I’m not used to it already."
She walked toward the kitchen at the back of the living room, her steps asured and unhurried, the fabric of her blouse tucked neatly into her pants shifting with each movent.
The short distance felt longer in the silence, her shoulders held straight but carrying a subtle slump of acceptance.
As she entered the compact kitchen area, the signs of neglect beca impossible to ignore.
The basic counters, usually kept sowhat tidy in a lived-in ho, showed a thin layer of dust along the edges where hands rarely touched.
The white rice cooker sat cold and empty on the side, its cord unplugged and coiled neatly but untouched for days.
Simple cabinets held a few scattered packets of instant noodles and ready-made bentos, their wrappers slightly faded from sitting on the shelf.
The small sink had a single mug drying upside down, but the dish rack held nothing else—no signs of fresh chopping boards, vegetable peels, or the warm residue of ho-cooked als.
The faint aroma of old instant coffee hung heavier here, mixed with the sterile scent of disuse, as if the space had beco more of a pit stop than a place for real nourishnt.
Hinata’s fingers trailed lightly along the counter edge, her expression softening into sothing concerned as she opened a cabinet and noted the sparse contents.
Satoru watched her from the sofa, his black pants whispering against the cushions as he half-rose.
"Hey, co on," he called after her, his voice a mix of gentle coaxing and mild defensiveness.
He stood fully now, footsteps echoing softly in the narrow hallway-like transition between living room and kitchen.
His sharp eyes followed her movents, a faint crease forming between his brows as he leaned one hip against the counter’s edge, arms crossing over his chest.
"Don’t walk away like that. I know I’ve been distant, but you showing up today... it ans sothing."
Hinata paused at the sink, turning slightly to glance back at him over her shoulder.
Her ponytail slipped forward, brushing her cheek as she took in the unused kitchen once more—the empty rice cooker, the lack of fresh ingredients, the general air of als grabbed on the go rather than prepared with care.
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