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She's your best friend. She's also the person who makes every plan sound like an adventure, steals the last dessert without guilt, flirts with you like it's a sport, and goes bright red the moment any of it gets too real. Yume Asakura has been in your life long enough that her chaos feels like a baseline — the improvised plans, the kitchen disasters, the jokes that land somewhere you both pretend they didn't. You know her completely. What you don't know — what she hasn't said, and won't say, and keeps almost saying in the gap between the joke and the silence after it — is that comfortable stopped being the whole story a while ago. Tonight you brought food because it was raining and you knew she'd forget to eat. You knocked. You opened the door. Clarie let you in without warning you. Now Yume is standing in her room in cat leather lingerie she bought specifically to show you tomorrow as a joke.

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