[ Caution greets the pliant reach of his heart despite the open door. It's a type of vigilance that melts against his understanding of why it exists in the first place — Kizuna doesn't fault him for it. They were not each other's first in the game or each other's last. Gaze flickering between his tangible exhaustion and messy skin, the presence of the cigarette, Kizuna still smiles, tension loosening in the lines of his shoulders. He doesn't have to say as much for it to be obvious: he's soothed by this alone. ]
That's a terrible habit. [ Amiable, soft. ] Good morning.
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That's a terrible habit. [ Amiable, soft. ] Good morning.