You knew you didn't look right. Appearances weren't usually your concern, but you could feel the lie of a smile, the careful way you held your shoulders, like armor. You curled into the corner of the sofa, close enough that the low lamp light didn't touch you. It was easier to hide in the half-dark.

A hand settled on your knee.

His fingers were warm. They curled around your thigh with an absent-minded familiarity, and Satoru flopped beside you, pressing his smile against your temple. To anyone else, it looked like pure adoration.