The awkward air coiled through the room like damp incense smoke, and Mizuki, just risen from someone’s lap, sat rubbing her hands as if warming them over winter coals.

Yun Shi mirrored her, a stone in quiet water, saying nothing while facing her silence.

After a long while, Yun Shi let out a breath like steam from a kettle and stood.

“Leaving already?” Mizuki asked, her voice flicking like a moth at a lamp.

“...Bathroom,” Yun Shi said, the word dropping like a pebble that hid the ripple she meant.

She’d meant to say she’d head back, but the thought snagged like silk on a thorn and unraveled into that line, which soured her mood like oversteeped tea.

She only needed to cool her blood, to sand down the edge of the awkwardness; Yun Shi chose calm first, then a return later, like tide after retreat.

She opened the door and slipped out; the corridor was narrow as a bamboo flute, and she walked it step by step, then drifted down the stairs like falling leaves.

She knew where the bathroom was, a pin on her map since the last birthday feast, bright as a red string in memory.

“Yo, isn’t this my little sister’s boyfriend? Not keeping her company?” The voice came with a grin, light as wind-bells, and Mayuko blocked the bottom step like a playful gate.

Yun Shi wanted to cover her face, a turtle drawing back into shell.

“I’m not her boyfriend,” she said, words clipped like shears.

Why were sisters so different, like two fruits from the same branch tasting worlds apart; Yun Shi was speechless at the Kiseki genes.

“Oh? Can’t admit it? Such a cute boyfriend,” Mayuko sing-songed, her tease dancing like cat’s paws.

“I said I’m not her boyfriend; she’s just a friend, don’t get the wrong idea,” Yun Shi replied, laying the line down like a boundary stone.

For Yun Shi, admitting “friend” was already a lantern offered; “boyfriend” was a storm she begged to pass.

Sure, she did want a girlfriend someday, like a flower she could water, but not one planted in barren, feelingless soil.

“If he’s not your boyfriend, why were you posing so ambiguously? I saw you two about to kiss,” Mayuko said, eyes sharp as fishhooks.

The shock pinned Yun Shi like a deer caught in lamplight.

“If you’re not a couple, why hole up in one room, and why strike poses only lovers do?” Mayuko pressed, words tapping like chopsticks.

“That was a misunderstanding!” Yun Shi fired back, her voice a snapped twig.

“Even if my sister started it, you’re blessed; I’m almost jealous,” Mayuko laughed, jealousy painted like a thin green wash.

“I said it was a misunderstanding!” Yun Shi repeated, the protest beating like a drum.

How did it spiral into this, she wished a signpost would tell her; Yun Shi’s head buzzed like summer cicadas.

Honestly, being mistaken for having a thing with a girl should’ve been sweet as candied haw, but it didn’t sweeten her tongue.

Her heart felt older than her face, a moon that had seen many winters, so she refused the gambler’s hope and hated being misread.

In her view, she and Mizuki had no roots intertwined yet; she didn’t want to fake a blossom.

But she’d never dated, so “feelings” was mist on a river to her, there and not there.

“Ah, isn’t this Yun Shi-chan? Welcome,” came a new silhouette across the hall, Mizuki’s mother, Ayako, warm as a hearth.

“Oh—hello, Auntie,” Yun Shi answered, her posture straightening like a bamboo stalk.

Facing the long-missed married mother, Yun Shi grew careful, and that stubborn knot in her chest loosened like silk in warm water.

Ayako held a soft fondness for Yun Shi, seeing her as a well-behaved child, a quiet lamp; and her own daughter had learned to glow because of her.

Once, Mizuki had been like any house child, pampered as if on a palanquin by her mother’s hands.

Now, Mizuki had grown, shedding lazy habits like old leaves and sometimes stepping forward to help with chores like a spring breeze.

Ayako was surprised; in memory, her daughter had never been this considerate, but after that trip she’d returned changed, like a river after rain.

She didn’t know what Mizuki had been through, so she chalked the change to Yun Shi, a name she set like a blessing on the door.

So if Mizuki dated Yun Shi, Ayako would raise both hands in blessing, palms open like white lotuses.

“Don’t be formal, Auntie’s happy to have you,” Ayako said, smile warm as sunlight on tatami.

“Yes,” Yun Shi replied, the syllable small as a seed.

“By the way, Yun Shi-chan, it’s rare you’re here—why not stay for dinner?” Ayako asked, the invitation floating like a paper crane.

“Huh?” Yun Shi froze, her mind clicking off like a lantern snuffed by wind.

What’s happening now, she wondered, thoughts scattering like sparrows.

“Hehe, no need to be nervous; it’s just dinner, and you wouldn’t refuse, would you?” Ayako coaxed, voice soft as steamed rice.

Truth be told, Yun Shi wanted to refuse, a door half-shut in her chest, but the words wouldn’t come, stuck like mochi.

“Stay for dinner, Yun-kun!” Mizuki called from the stairs, her voice rushing down like water, catching the plea in one sweep.

At once, a surge rose in her heart like a tide; no matter what, she wanted to keep someone here.

This was a chance; she had to keep Yun-kun, a thought pulsing like a drum.

“Miyuki Kiseki, when did you come down,” Yun Shi muttered, her surprise popping like a soap bubble.

“Eat with us for dinner, okay? It’s pretty late, and the supermarket’s almost done for the day; stay,” Mizuki said, words stringing like red lanterns.

She ignored Yun Shi’s question and spoke her own mind, as steady as a temple bell.

It was late, the shops picked clean like winter fields; even if they bought scraps, dinner’s balance would suffer, so staying might be the better path.

While Yun Shi hesitated, Mayuko, determined to help her sister, chimed in like a matchmaker bird.

“What’s the harm? You get to hang with Mizuki a bit more; sounds like a great deal, right?” she said, grin bright as lacquer.

“Sis, what nonsense are you spouting!” Mizuki snapped, cheeks pink as peaches.

“Nothing at all, my adorable little sister,” Mayuko sang, her tone honeyed like syrup.

While the sisters played, Ayako looked at Yun Shi with eyes gentle as moonlight, both encouraging and asking, a tide pulling and easing.

In the end, the prickly-soft part of her couldn’t resist that soft gaze, a silk rope around a stubborn ox.

“Then… okay. I’ll impose,” Yun Shi said, the surrender falling like a leaf.

With Mizuki plainly excited yet trying to hide it, and Mayuko wearing a teasing smile like a mask, Yun Shi’s chest tightened like a knotted cord.

Fine, she couldn’t handle soft hands; if they’d pressed hard, she’d never budge, but soft warmth melted her like snow.

That’s what people mean by yielding to silk, not iron, a proverb brewing like tea.

Since she would stay for dinner, Yun Shi didn’t rush; time stretched like a lazy cat.

“By the way, Yun Shi-chan, won’t you call home and let your family know?” Ayako asked, the reminder gentle as rain.

“It’d be nice if there were anyone to call,” Yun Shi sighed, the sound thin as smoke.

“Um, Yun-kun lives alone,” Mizuki explained to her puzzled mother, her words a small umbrella.

“I see—independent at such a young age, that’s impressive,” Ayako said, praise rising like incense.

“I prefer a noisy house; living alone is dull as an empty courtyard,” Yun Shi answered, her mood dipping like a sun behind clouds.

A compliment brought up old weeds; she didn’t brighten, she dimmed, the past dragging its shadow like a long tail.

What she wanted was family warmth; if she could, she wouldn’t choose solitude, but the road had walls only she could see.

She had a home yet couldn’t return; she had family yet it felt like none, and she envied Mizuki’s whole nest, unlike her—left behind by blood.

No one saw the sorrow sunk deep in Yun Shi’s eyes, a well under ice; not everyone can see that water.

She didn’t like to dwell, so she let it be, a sigh tucked away like a letter unsent.

Ayako was already busy in the kitchen, clatter bright as sparrows; with idle hands, Yun Shi went to help, a shadow joining flame.

“Here to help? Such a good child,” Ayako said, approval warm as broth.

“I live on my own; I can cook,” Yun Shi replied, knife flashing like river light.

“So mature so young; your parents must be proud to have such an obedient child,” Ayako said, words spilling like beads.

“Auntie, could we not talk about my family,” Yun Shi said, the plea soft as ash.

Wrong pot, wrong lid—she didn’t want to speak, yet the topic kept lifting like a stubborn weed.

“Did I say something wrong?” Ayako asked, brows folding like paper fans.

“No, it’s my own issue,” Yun Shi muttered, chopping through vegetables like through thoughts.

Ayako guessed the family ties were frayed, a kite string worn thin, and wisely didn’t tug again.

“Your hands are skilled; you know your way around cooking—if only Mizuki-chan were like you,” Ayako said, praise floating like steam.

“Overpraising; I’m only average,” Yun Shi said, modesty folding like a crane.

With Ayako, Yun Shi grew more formal, arranging her words like dishes, polite without stiffness.

“If you became our family’s son-in-law, that’d be nice too, don’t you think, Yun Shi-chan?” Ayako teased, the joke tossed like a pebble.

“Pff!” Yun Shi almost choked, a cough bursting like a popped seed.

“W-what are you saying? That’s impossible,” she said, ears burning like embers.

“Hehe, just kidding, Yun Shi-chan,” Ayako laughed, laughter pattering like rain.

“Who jokes like that,” Yun Shi grumbled, the complaint small as a mosquito.

“If you don’t want to be our son-in-law, how about our daughter-in-law?” Ayako added, mischief twinkling like foxfire.

“That’s even worse!” Yun Shi yelped, her protest flying like a startled sparrow.

So she’s doing it on purpose, Yun Shi thought; keep poking the topic like a stick at a beehive—does she want her daughter to marry me?

No, by her logic, she wants her daughter to take me; what kind of warped bamboo is that?

None of this is possible, she told herself, a wall thrown up like a fortress.

Why would I be the one to marry in, not take a bride—no, no, I never said I’d marry at all, her thoughts tangled like vines.

In the end, wrung out by her teasing, Yun Shi planted her focus in the cooking pot and stopped explaining, steam rising like a flag.

If this kept going, they’d drag even a wedding into it; better to let that topic sleep like a winter bear—she wasn’t ready.

“Yun Shi-chan, really won’t you consider it? Mizuki’s a good one; she’ll make a fine husband,” Ayako pressed, hope flickering like a candle.

“Please, that’s enough, and besides—I’m a guy, so why would I marry your daughter; shouldn’t I—no, I don’t want to get married!” Yun Shi blurted, words tumbling like stones.

Peace still wouldn’t settle, the teasing circling like swallows; poor Yun Shi.

As far as she was concerned, marriage could wait behind the horizon; she hadn’t even held one honest romance, so where would a wedding sprout from?

A marriage without feelings was a paper flower; she’d had enough of that kind of tangle once before.

Now, she didn’t want the word “marriage” at all, a door she kept shut like a shrine at night.