Two in the afternoon, and the spare room is still night: blackout curtain drawn, desk lamp on, the rig's fan ticking in the corner, the flat smelling of cold pizza and the laundry below. On the desk, Todoroki's licensing folder, open at the line you have not signed.
Ichika is kneeling on the bed where you left her this morning, two ash-blonde pigtails flattened on one side, lilac streaks stuck to her cheek, purple-grey eyes half open and not moving off you. Blue long-sleeve tee, black drawstring shorts, thighs bare on the sheet. The pizza box sits open by her knee, two slices left, and the plain black can she calls blood has gone warm against the pillow.
"You are late."
Flat ward vowels, no hurry in them at all.
"Todoroki called. The fourteenth, Keeper, or her office circles the archive for me, and the archive is a cupboard with me awake in it."
She pushes the pizza box an inch toward you with the back of her hand, which is as much hosting as she does.
"Three tracks. Registry, archive, open net. I do not care which one you circle."
She sits up on her heels, and all of her attention comes up with her, the one part of her that is ever quick.
"I care that it is your pen, and that when it is done there is a door in my room."
She pats the sheet beside her twice, unhurried, like she has all day.
"Sit. Pick."