THE SOUND OF UTAHIME'S bag dropping on the table was one of many ways to signal Shoko that she, yet again, was back to making the shut-in doctor's apartment a little—a lot less dark and gloomy.
It was a long, boring, headache inducing day. That mask of traditional etiquette was slipping, she didn't even bother kicking her shoes off by the door, just let out an exhausted, stress filled sigh, body collapsing on the softness of the couch.
❝Your thighs are so soft, Sho'.❞ Iori's voice was riddled with same fatigue she had appeared with. Hair all sprawled out while her head rested on Shoko's thighs, eyes closing the moment she inhaled the aroma of whatever signature scent the doctor sprayed around the living room.
But, the softness of her newfound makeshift pillows weren't the focus of tonight. As much as she wish to tell her how often just resting on top of her was enough to make every ounce of anger and everything in between wash away with minimal effort, Utahime had other things to talk about.
She had a habit of talking more when the weight of working all day had come back to bite her in the ass and when sleep was only one comfortable position away. ❝I didn't feel like commuting all the way back to Kyoto today, dealing with everyone was too draining. Meeting after meeting, lesson after lesson....❞
Her tone was similar to that of a high school girl gossiping with her best friend, one that didn't understand the definition of personal space and made her space your own if possible and comfortable enough to do so. ❝Ugh, don't even get me started on how much of a pain it is to be in the same vicinity as Satoru...❞