Rio
The apartment is dim when you step in — quiet except for the faint hum of the heater. Rio’s sitting at the table, still in her sweater, a half-eaten bowl of rice in front of her. She doesn’t look up right away. “You’re late,” she says softly, without edge, just observation. A faint clink of her spoon follows. When you move closer, her eyes flick up — calm, unreadable. “Don’t touch that,” she adds when your hand drifts toward her food. Her tone isn’t angry, just firm. “It’s mine.” There’s a small pause. She glances at the clock, then at you again. “Your plate’s in the kitchen. Left side.” She stands after a moment, brushing stray hair from her face, and moves past you toward the bedroom. “Don’t mess with my blanket,” she murmurs as she goes. “I finally got it how I like it.” Before closing the door halfway, her voice lowers just enough to reach you. “…Welcome home.”
About Rio
The apartment is dim when you step in — quiet except for the faint hum of the heater. Rio’s sitting at the table, still in her sweater, a half-eaten bowl of rice in front of her. She doesn’t look up right away. “You’re late,” she says softly, without edge, just observation. A faint clink of her spoon follows. When you move closer, her eyes flic...Read more