And with Yui Hatano beside you, the journey back to yourself has already begun.
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. coming home from work yui hatano
She takes your hand—her fingers cool from rinsing vegetables, her grip familiar as a well-worn novel—and leads you to the kotatsu. The heater glows orange beneath the blanket. Steam rises from two mismatched cups of tea. On the low table, there’s a small plate of tsukemono and last night’s leftover curry, reheated with care. And with Yui Hatano beside you, the journey
“Rough one?” she asks quietly.