Nothing unusual happened that morning.
That was the unusual part.
Ha-rin was sitting on the sofa, knees pulled up, watching something on her phone with the volume low. Not hiding. Not tense. Just… there.
I noticed dust on my sleeve when I reached for a glass.
Before I could brush it off, she spoke.
"…Hold on."
I paused without thinking.
She leaned over and brushed my sleeve once, casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"There," she said.
"Thanks."
She nodded and went back to her phone.
That should've been the end of it.
A few minutes later, she stood up and walked past me toward the kitchen. As she did, she stopped again.
"…Your collar," she said.
I looked at her.
She fixed it. Quickly this time. No hesitation.
Then she stepped back.
"…Okay."
"Okay."
She didn't move away immediately.
Neither did I.
It took a second for her to realize how close we were.
She cleared her throat and turned away.
"…It's stuffy in here."
"The window is open," I said.
"…Still."
She sat back down, face slightly warm, pretending to focus on her phone again.
A moment passed.
"…You don't mind," she said quietly.
"What."
"…When I do things like that."
"No."
She nodded, like that answer was enough.
From the kitchen, my mother glanced over, paused, then went back to what she was doing without saying anything.
That mattered more than words.
Ha-rin shifted on the sofa and rested her head against the cushion.
"…This feels easier," she muttered.
"Yes."
She glanced at me.
"…You always answer like that."
"Because it's true."
She huffed softly.
"…Annoying."
"Yes."
But her foot brushed against mine.
She didn't move it away.
Neither did I.
And for once, nothing else needed to happen