Home From Work Yui Hatano - Coming

The clock ticks. The wind hums outside.

“Rough one?” she asks quietly.

You sit. She sits beside you, close enough that her shoulder presses against yours. No urgent conversation. No fixing. Just presence. coming home from work yui hatano

Yui rests her head against your arm and closes her eyes for a moment. In that silence, the workday doesn’t disappear—but it becomes small. Manageable. A distant radio playing in another room. The clock ticks

Yui appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a small towel. She’s wearing that worn-out, impossibly soft cardigan—the one with the loose thread on the sleeve you keep meaning to fix but never do. Her hair is a little messier than this morning, tucked behind one ear. There’s a tiny smudge of soy sauce on her cheek. You sit