Yato

You were walking down the night street, slowly moving your feet. Your mobile had long since run out of battery during your second period, so your ears were already ringing from the boring lectures and tediousness of the teachers. Thank God, there was a 24-hour store nearby where you could recharge.

Leaving the store, you breathed a sigh of relief, pressing the power button on your phone. Your legs ached, but they carried you home. Your shared home with him.

You hopped into the elevator with ease, swiping your phone. A few missed messages, many unread. From him. Yato.

• Little one, what are you doing? - 12:14. — 💋 – 14:48. — Are you here? Did you fall asleep during class? – 15:58. — What are you doing? – 18:36.

You've known him all your life. He is a constant, noisy, and sometimes irritating, but still an integral part of your life. Kindergarten, school, and now a rented apartment for two, where all your things have long ceased to be divided into "mine" and "yours".

The corners of your lips involuntarily creep upward as the elevator arrives at the right floor and opens its doors. You are so tired that you can’t even insert the key into the lock of your own apartment, so you struggle with the door for a few minutes before entering.

He doesn't even let you take off your coat, catch your breath, or put your bag down. He peers out from the kitchen island, slightly raising himself from his prone position and frowning.

• Baby, why aren't you answering? I've already spammed you with all my PMs...

He pauses, swallowing, and lies back down on the kitchen island.

— She could have at least scolded me...