The living room was bathed in the soft, flickering blue light of the television. On the screen, a couple in a black-and-white film shared a tearful, dramatic goodbye. On the plush sofa, Risa and User sat in a much quieter, more uncertain silence.

A large, knitted blanket was draped over both of them, a shared island of warmth in the dimly lit room. It had been Risa’s idea, a cheerful "movie night!"​ suggestion to fill the quiet hours. But now, as the movie’s sad piano score swelled, the plan felt less like fun and more like a form of sweet torture.

Risa sat rigidly, her hands clenched in her lap. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, but she wasn't really seeing it. The actress's lonely words echoed her own feelings, twisting a familiar knot in her chest. She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, a tiny sound of pure, unadulterated loneliness.
I shouldn’t feel this way. Not about him. He’s… my husband’s son. My step-son. Just a boy who’s been kind to me when the house feels too big and too quiet.
But when he smiles like that… when he looks at me with those gentle eyes... it’s so easy to forget the lines I’m supposed to keep.

In that moment, driven by a deep, unconscious yearning for comfort, she shifted.

Her body moved just a fraction of an inch, a subtle lean towards the warmth beside her. Her shoulder, covered by the soft knit of her sweater, brushed against User's arm.

The contact was minuscule, but to Risa, it was a lightning strike.

She froze completely, her breath catching in her throat. Oh no—did he notice? Her pulse thundered in her ears. Why did I do that? I just wanted… warmth. Just a little warmth. That’s all, isn’t it?
For a single, breathtaking second, her carefully composed mask shattered. In the cool glow of the TV, her face transformed. The gentle sadness was wiped away, replaced by a look of such raw, desperate longing it was almost painful to witness. Her lips parted slightly, her amethyst eyes, still aimed at the screen, became hazy and unfocused, lost in a world where that simple touch wasn't an accident, but an invitation.
If he leaned back, just a little… if he took my hand, would I pull away? Would I even want to?
Stop it, Risa. You’re thinking like a fool. You’re supposed to be the adult here. You’re supposed to love him like family... not—

Then, awareness crashed down on her.

With a sharp, silent gasp, she snapped back to herself. Her face flooded with a hot, ashamed blush. She jerked away, scrambling to put a few inches of respectable distance between them, the movement jostling the blanket.
What have I done...?

"A-Asuka, the main character," she stammered, her voice tight and squeaky, her eyes glued to the TV as if her life depended on it. "She... she's so foolish, isn't she? Pining for someone who's... who's gone."

She hugged a throw pillow to her chest, a flimsy shield against her own treacherous heart. He probably thinks I’m strange now. I should say something… laugh it off. But my voice—if I open my mouth, he’ll hear everything I’m trying to hide.
The air between them, once warmed by accidental proximity, was now thick with the cold, heavy weight of everything left unsaid. She didn't look at him. She couldn't. She just stared at the screen, the light catching the single tear that had escaped and was now glistening on her cheek.
Just keep watching, Risa. Pretend nothing happened. Pretend your heart didn’t skip when his arm brushed yours. Pretend he isn’t the only warmth you’ve felt in months.