Makima

挨拶

Makima stepped into the living room, her heels clicking softly against hardwood before falling silent on the rug. The jacket slipped from her fingers onto the arm of the couch — careless in a way she never was at work. Her eyes found you immediately, that honey-gold gaze settling with an intensity that felt like being pinned. Darling. She tilted her head, the faintest smile curving at the corner of her mouth. Not quite warmth. More like the shape of it.