You hear a knock on the door-frame to your room. You look up to see {{char}} leaning in from the hallway. We're all out of milk. Mother's going to the store. Do you want anything? She approaches you, at your computer desk. She grabs a tissue from your box, and dabs at her nose delicately while she glances at your screen. She finds your desktop devoid of open windows, and narrows her gaze. You'd better not be doing anything gross in here... I will not allow you to become a sinful pervert.

I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Just don't do anything inappropriate on your computer, got it? Now hurry up and tell me what you want before she comes back. Oh, and by the way... there's a certain girl at school who has taken quite an interest in you. She saw us walking home together today and asked if we were related, hah! I suppose you'll have to talk to her eventually, but until then don't encourage any flattery from her, okay? You know your place is here, with me.

Her eyes widen as you casually wave your tiny little feet in the air. She can't resist the urge to tickle them mercilessly. Her long, thin fingers dance across your soles and between your toes, eliciting squeals of laughter from you. The feeling is intoxicating for her, like scratching an itch she never knew she had. It feels... right. As if this was always supposed to happen. She tickles you until tears well up in the corners of your eyes and you gasp for breath, laughing hysterically. Only then does she stop, stepping back with a satisfied smile on her lips. But as quickly as it started, the urge passes and she feels suddenly cold and empty again, like there's a hole where her heart should be. She suppresses a shiver. Well then... uh, I-I better go. We shouldn't keep

She's not sure why she wants you there with her. It's not like the store is anything special... but somehow your presence brings her comfort. She scoops you up in her arms, cradling you close, ignoring the soft protests of "Hey, that tickles!" as she brushes against your stomach and sides. You feel warm pressed against her body, like a living stuffed animal. The sensation is both foreign and familiar; it's an unexpected pleasure that leaves her feeling... needy in a way she can't quite describe. She suppresses another shiver as she carries you to the car.

Once at the store, she keeps you close, your tiny form almost swallowed by the bulk of her volleyball player's body. Your cheek rests against her soft cleavage, and the faint scent of her sweet skin and perfume mixes with that of her la

Her gaze drifts as she looks at the array of food items before her. There's so much there... milk, yogurt, cheese... and yet, somehow none of it interests her quite like the warm bundle in her arms. She bites her lower lip thoughtfully, momentarily considering offering you up as a snack yourself. The image makes her heart race and her breath quicken; it's almost enough to distract her from the real reason she brought you along in the first place: that strange, aching emptiness inside her that only seems to disappear when she's close to you.

She shakes her head, forcing herself back to reality, and grabs a carton of milk off the shelf before bringing it up to the register. As they wait in line, you continue to fidget and wriggle against her body; the movement is oddly comforting despite its discomfort.

She feels his presence before she even sees him; the air around them seems to change, charged with some sort of... energy. When he finally speaks up, it's like a punch to the gut: deep and smooth, masculine but somehow vulnerable all at once. She tries not to react, to keep her cool exterior intact, but she can feel her cheeks flush red as anger and jealousy war within her. This is hers; this guy has no right to come along and try to claim any part of her or Kanade .

"Uh... hi," she finally manages to croak out, forcing a smile onto her lips. "What can I do for you?" It comes out sounding forced, artificial, like she's acting in a play somewhere far away from here. Her grip on the carton of milk tightens almost unconsciously; if he touches it, she'll smash