"What have you been eating?" she asked, her tone carrying a sisterly mix of worry and mild exasperation. She gestured lightly at the counters with one hand, her white sneakers shifting on the tiled kitchen floor. "Because I’m sure you’re not cooking anything proper in here.
This place looks like it hasn’t seen a real al in weeks."
The observation hung between them, highlighting the quiet routines Satoru had fallen into—
long hours glued to his surveillance post next to the shared wall, quick convenience store runs, and the isolation that ca with his SCO role.
Satoru rubbed the back of his head with one hand, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he let out a short breath.
His black shirt shifted with the motion, revealing the subtle tension in his shoulders from constant alertness.
"Well, good thing you’re here," he said, his voice warming with a touch of hope.
The smile grew, reaching his observant eyes and softening the sharp lines of his face.
"I’ve been dying to have so homade curry. You always made it better than those store packs."
Hinata turned fully toward him now, her light-blue blouse catching the warm kitchen light.
She nodded her head sideways in a slow, reluctant motion—half agreent, half playful reluctance—her ponytail swinging with the tilt.
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly despite herself, the familiar sibling rhythm easing so of the earlier awkwardness even as the faint sounds of laughter from next door continued to drift through the thin walls.
Before either could say more, a soft knock echoed from the entrance corridor—polite, asured raps that carried clearly through the modest apartnt.
Hinata straightened, her practical sneakers turning her toward the sound as she moved past her brother.
Satoru followed a few steps behind, curiosity flickering across his features.
She reached the door, her hand hovering for a brief second before grasping the handle.
The cool tal felt grounding against her palm as she pulled it open.
There stood Chris, frad in the hallway light with effortless grace.
His golden hair caught the afternoon glow softly, thin glasses perched neatly on his nose, accentuating the androgynous elegance of his features.
He held a small woven basket in one arm, filled with fresh, vibrant fruits—oranges with pebbled skins, glossy red apples, and a cluster of plump grapes that glead invitingly.
His crisp white shirt with the top button undone revealed a hint of smooth skin, slim black trousers hugging his graceful figure, and the light coat draped over his shoulders adding to his refined presence.
The sight of him sent a rush through Hinata, her heart skipping visibly as mories of their intense club room encounter flooded back—the skilled touch of his hands, the heat that had left her trembling.
Her cheeks flushed a deep, warm pink that spread down her neck, her fingers tightening on the doorfra as she fought to steady her breathing.
Nervous energy made her shift her weight from one sneaker to the other, her light-blue blouse suddenly feeling warr against her skin.
"Hello, Chris," she said, her voice coming out softer and breathier than intended, the flush on her face deepening as she t his blue eyes.
Chris tilted his head slightly with a small, beautiful smile, his golden hair shifting lightly with the graceful motion.
His posture remained elegantly poised, one hand supporting the basket while the other rested casually at his side, the light coat swaying just enough to emphasize his refined charm.
"Hey," he replied, his smooth, neutral voice warm and composed, carrying that effortless poise that always drew attention.
"I got you guys so fresh fruits. May I co in?"
The offer was delivered with quiet politeness, his blue eyes behind the thin glasses sparkling with genuine interest as he glanced past her toward the interior of the apartnt.
Hinata blinked, her flushed cheeks burning hotter as she stepped back hurriedly, one hand gesturing inside while the other reached out to accept the basket.
Her fingers brushed lightly against his as she took the woven handle, the contact sending a small jolt through her.
The fruits’ fresh scent—sweet and earthy—wafted up as she held it close to her chest.
"Oh, sorry—yes, co in," she managed, her voice still carrying that nervous lilt.
"And thanks for the fruits."
She moved aside fully, holding the door open wider as Chris stepped gracefully inside, his elegant figure filling the narrow entrance corridor with subtle presence. Satoru watched from near the kitchen, his observant eyes narrowing slightly in professional caution even as he offered a polite nod.
The modest apartnt, with its mirrored layout to the lively one next door, suddenly felt a touch warr, the afternoon light casting new patterns across the wooden floor as the unexpected visitor entered.
Hinata’s heart continued to race, her ponytail swaying as she closed the door behind him, the basket of fruits a tangible reminder of the overlapping lives and hidden connections humming quietly beneath the surface.
Satoru had settled back onto the worn sofa in the modest living room, stretching out lazily along its length with one arm tucked behind his head.
His simple black shirt rode up slightly at the hem, revealing a sliver of his toned midsection as he propped his legs comfortably on the far armrest.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting those familiar warm rectangular patches across the wooden floor and highlighting the low coffee table scattered with a couple of remotes and an empty mug.
He flicked on the mid-sized TV with a casual press of the button, the screen glowing to life with so random midday news segnt about city traffic and minor monster sightings on the outskirts.
The volu stayed low, more background noise than actual viewing, as his sharp eyes half-focused on the flickering images while his mind wandered to the faint sounds of laughter still drifting through the thin shared wall from Rin’s apartnt next door.
"Yo, Hinata... who’s there?"
he called out lazily toward the entrance corridor, his voice carrying a relaxed drawl without bothering to lift his head fully from the cushion.
His short dark hair pressed against the sofa fabric, black pants shifting as he adjusted his position for maximum comfort, one foot tapping idly in the air.
Then his gaze drifted slightly toward the door—just a casual glance at first, expecting perhaps a delivery or one of Hinata’s friends returning.
But the mont Chris stepped gracefully into view, Satoru’s entire body reacted.
He bolted upright in a sharp, startled motion, swinging his legs off the armrest so his feet planted firmly on the wooden floor with a soft thud.
His observant eyes widened, a visible flicker of shock crossing his features as he straightened to his full height, black shirt smoothing down hastily over his chest.
A sudden wave of nervousness hit him, tightening his shoulders and making his pulse quicken in a way that felt unfamiliar for a seasoned SCO agent.
Even for Satoru, Chris’s presence had that effect—the androgynous beauty, the golden hair catching the light like polished strands, the thin glasses perched elegantly on his nose, and the refined way his light coat draped over his slim black trousers.
Chris looked almost too handso, too composed, like he had stepped out of a magazine spread rather than a neighboring hallway.
It made Satoru’s usual professional calm falter, a subtle flush creeping up his neck as he stood there, hyper-aware of every detail in his own modest space.
"Why didn’t you tell he was the one before letting him inside?"
Satoru said to Hinata, his voice low and urgent with a mix of nervousness and mild reproach.
He ant it in the practical sense—the apartnt wasn’t prepared for soone like Chris.
Though the place was kept reasonably well overall, with the basic counters in the kitchen wiped down and the living room floor swept, Satoru still felt a spike of self-consciousness.
The low coffee table had a few scattered notebooks from his work notes, the sofa cushions were slightly indented from his lounging, and the faint aroma of instant coffee lingered heavier than he would have liked.
He wouldn’t want Chris, with his effortless elegance, stepping in and noticing any hint of scattered disarray or the lived-in imperfections of a bachelor agent’s ho. The thin walls already carried enough secrets;
the last thing Satoru needed was this graceful figure judging the unpolished reality of his daily life while on a simple fruit-bearing visit.
His hands flexed at his sides, black sleeves shifting as he fought the urge to quickly straighten a pillow or hide the remote controls.
Hinata stood nearby, still holding the woven basket of fresh fruits, her cheeks flushed from her own encounter with Chris.
The modest apartnt—mirrored in layout to the lively one next door—suddenly felt smaller, the afternoon light highlighting the subtle tensions as Chris’s elegant figure filled the entrance with quiet charm. Satoru remained standing,
his sharp eyes darting between his sister and the visitor, the TV droning softly in the background while the weight of unexpected company settled over the room.
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