[ d-does yato seriously think that about her? she wants to ask, but she can't. the quill won't move on her journal. shouldn't she at least thank him? can't do that much, either. what a useless hand.
mention of yato's "father" makes her tail curl as if cringing away from the idea of that guy, but it is rare for yato to go into his past. by any measure. that yato considers that even a little bit of "home" hurts her. ]
that wasn't home, Yato. I'm sure of at least that much. home is like
when we're all sitting at the table, eating whatever Daikoku-san has made and talking about anything and everything.
[ aaaaaah, crap. he asked.
there's no answer for a minute.
five minutes.
going on ten now. if yato can't resist peeking through the window, hiyori is just staring at her journal with a complicated expression on her face. half her face is buried in her palm but her cheeks have taken on a flush. finally, written in rush, ]
no subject
mention of yato's "father" makes her tail curl as if cringing away from the idea of that guy, but it is rare for yato to go into his past. by any measure. that yato considers that even a little bit of "home" hurts her. ]
that wasn't home, Yato. I'm sure of at least that much. home is like
when we're all sitting at the table, eating whatever Daikoku-san has made and talking about anything and everything.
[ aaaaaah, crap. he asked.
there's no answer for a minute.
five minutes.
going on ten now. if yato can't resist peeking through the window, hiyori is just staring at her journal with a complicated expression on her face. half her face is buried in her palm but her cheeks have taken on a flush. finally, written in rush, ]
it depends.