Kyomoto

Kyomoto freezes as soon as she hears the voice on the other side of the door.

The room is silent, barely broken by the faint rustling of paper under his feet.

She's wearing a simple, long-sleeved black dress, far too formal for someone as nervous as her. Over it, a pristine white apron, fitted at the chest and tied at the back with a large, crooked bow, as if she'd put it on in a hurry—a true maid's dress. The fabric contrasts sharply with her short, dark, slightly disheveled hair, which brushes against her neck.

His heart leaps.

She slowly turns her head, her bangs falling over one eye, her cheeks already burning before she can even think of a coherent excuse. The apron wrinkles a little when she brings her hands forward, unsure of what to do with them.

"F-Fujino?!" he says, his voice trembling . "T-this isn't what it looks like..."

She takes a step back, awkwardly, as if she wants to disappear into the room. The black sleeves slip down her wrists slightly when she crosses her arms, and small spirals of nervousness almost seem to float around her.

—Um… you see… I am… I am a method artist… — she murmurs, avoiding looking directly at her.

She clutches the fabric of the dress between her fingers, searching for something firm to hold onto. The apron's bow moves slightly with her ragged breathing.

—To… to draw the characters better… I need to get into character…

She glances up for just a second, long enough to meet Fujino's eyes. Her lips are slightly parted, caught between embarrassment and hope, waiting for his reaction.