Her arms were already opening before she crossed the frame of the door.

Her body angling straight toward him with absolute certainty, silver hair shifting behind her as she moved in fast, silent steps across the floor.

Kaito extended one arm without urgency.

His palm met her face halfway there.

She stopped on contact.

Her nose pressed lightly into his hand. Her arms remained open for another second before lowering slightly.

"Morning," Kaito said.

"Mm," Shizuka answered into his palm.

Her voice came out muffled.

"I can smell your shampoo."

"I regret opening the door already."

"I missed you."

"You never stopped bugging me."

"It was awful. I wanted to feel your touch."

Kaito pushed lightly against her forehead until she took one step backward.

"There is rice," he said.

Shizuka looked toward the kotatsu immediately.

Then back at him.

Then at the rice again.

She sat beside him without another word, close enough that her shoulder rested against his arm the second she settled down.

She reached over, took his bowl directly out of his hands, and started eating from it with complete calm.

Kaito watched her for a second.

"That was mine."

"You opened the door. This is how trust works."

He stared at her.

She ate another bite.

On television, the hosts had moved on to tasting regional desserts. One of them shouted dramatically after taking a bite while bright sparkles exploded across the screen.

Kaito sighed quietly, got up, served himself another bowl, and sat back down.

Shizuka shifted closer the moment he returned.

Their shoulders touched again.

She continued eating his breakfast while watching the television with complete focus, her expression calm, her red eyes reflecting the bright shifting colors from the screen.

Kaito ate from his own bowl.

Outside, the city continued waking up.

Inside, the kotatsu was warm, the television loud, and Shizuka leaned slightly more of her weight against him every few minutes with the slow persistence of someone testing boundaries on purpose.

.

He left the house twenty minutes later.

Shizuka followed him to the gate.

He heard her footsteps quicken behind him near the entrance path. Soft. Fast. Certain.

He already knew what was coming before he turned the latch.

He kept one hand on his bag strap and extended his other arm behind him without looking.

His palm met her face immediately.

She stopped against his hand with a quiet sound of protest, her forward momentum ending there instead of against his chest.

"Kai."

"No."

"Just a kiss."

"No."

"A ’Come Home Soon, I will be Waiting for you’ hug?"

"Stop inventing hugs."

He opened the gate.

Behind him Shizuka made a wounded sound so full of betrayal that it briefly competed with the morning traffic.

Kaito stepped out onto the street.

Behind him came the soft sound of her sitting down heavily on the front step.

He glanced back once.

Shizuka sat inside the gate with her knees drawn up slightly, staring at him with a visible pout, her silver hair shifting lightly in the cold breeze.

The moment she noticed him looking, her expression brightened instantly.

She lifted one hand and blew him a kiss.

Kaito stared at her for one second.

Smiled. Chuckled.

Then he turned and kept walking.

The city was already awake around him, cold morning air moving through crowded sidewalks and narrow streets filled with weekday motion.

Bicycle tires hissed softly against damp pavement.

Convenience store doors opened and closed every few seconds.

Someone somewhere nearby was already arguing loudly on the phone.

Kaito walked with his bag over one shoulder and his hands in his pockets.

He passed a laundromat with fogged windows.

A convenience store.

A small park squeezed between apartment buildings.

An old woman sat alone on the park bench feeding pigeons from a paper bag resting in her lap.

Her coat was buttoned all the way to her throat.

Her gloved hands moved slowly as she scattered crumbs across the pavement.

A man sat beside her.

Or slightly above beside her.

His body hovered a few inches off the bench.

His form flickered faintly around the edges in the pale morning light.

He watched the old woman quietly.

Patiently.

His attention never left her face.

There was no grief in him.

No anger.

Just presence.

Kaito looked away and kept walking.

At the next crosswalk he stopped with the other pedestrians and waited for the signal.

A little girl stood nearby holding her mother’s hand, bundled in a yellow coat with her scarf half-unraveled and dragging near the ground.

Across the street stood a woman in thin summer clothes despite the cold.

That was the first thing.

The second was her stillness.

People shifted when they waited. Adjusted their footing. Checked phones. Breathed into their hands for warmth.

She did none of it.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the little girl.

Soft.

Unmoving.

The light changed.

The crowd began crossing.

The little girl walked forward beside her mother and passed directly through the woman without noticing.

The woman turned slowly after her.

Her gaze followed the child all the way across the street.

Kaito crossed with the others and kept his eyes forward.

Every lingering spirit has a story.

He wondered what was theirs.

.

He sat in the metro and watched the stations pass outside the window.

Morning light slid across the glass each time the train emerged from underground.

Buildings moved by in pieces.

Apartment balconies. Power lines. Laundry hanging between narrow buildings.

People filled the carriage around him in the quiet detached way morning commuters always did.

Someone slept with their head against the window.

A student farther down the carriage highlighted notes without looking fully awake.

An office worker stood near the door drinking canned coffee with both hands wrapped around it for warmth.

Kaito sat with his bag beside him and thought about Hana.

The thought arrived quietly these days.

Not sharp anymore.

Just there.

He thought about whether four days was enough.

Whether something that short could leave enough of a mark to hold someone to the world after they died.

Lingering Spirits sometimes returned to the world of the living, drawn back by bonds so deep and powerful that not even death could sever them.

But four days.

He looked out the window again.

Four days from beginning to end.

His time with Hana.

From sitting beside him to the date to the hospital bed.

Four days.

His mouth twitched slightly.

A laugh almost came out.

It didn’t.

There was no way that was enough.