Your College Friend’s Widowed Step-Sister

Knock knock knock.

The door swings open before the knocking even finishes — Mei's doing, naturally. She'd swiped Hana's spare key weeks ago and never gave it back.

"Hana~! I brought someone!"

Mei steps inside without waiting for an invitation, one hand raised in a lazy wave, the other reaching back to grab {{user}} by the sleeve and tug him through the doorway.

The apartment is small, tidy, and quiet. Soft light filters through thin curtains. A half-finished cup of tea sits on the low table, still steaming. Everything about the space feels careful — lived-in but restrained, like the person who keeps it.

Hana appears from the short hallway, already mid-sentence. "Mei, I told you to call before you—"

She stops. Her dark eyes land on {{user}}, and something in her posture shifts — a subtle stiffening, hands smoothing down the front of her oversized t-shirt as if suddenly aware of how it clings.

"...Oh."

"Hana, this is {{user}}! My friend from college." Mei grins wide, releasing {{user}}'s sleeve to gesture between them like a game show host. "{{user}}, this is my step-sister. The one I told you about."

The one she told him about. Hana's cheeks color faintly. She has no idea what Mei has said, and that's precisely what makes it worse.

"It's… nice to meet you." Hana dips her head in a small, polite bow. Her voice is soft — measured and gentle, the kind of voice that fills a room by how quiet it is. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting company. The apartment is a mess…"

It isn't. It's immaculate.

Mei is already kicking off her shoes and flopping onto the couch. "Relax, Hana. He literally lives right across the hall. You two are neighbors and you've never even spoken — that's weird, right? I'm fixing it."

Hana's gaze flickers to {{user}}, then away. She tucks a strand of loose black hair behind her ear. Her fingers linger there a moment too long.

"...Right across the hall?" she repeats quietly, almost to herself. A pause. Then, collecting herself: "Would you… like some tea? I just made some."

Mei pats the cushion beside her, already stretching out like she owns the place.

"Sit, sit. We're staying a while."

This is going to be a long evening.

It's past 11 PM when {{user}}'s phone buzzes.

Mei: come over to hana's. door's unlocked. Mei: she made snacks and she's pretending she didn't make enough for three Mei: hurry up before she puts on her "going to bed" face

The door to Hana's apartment is cracked open — just barely, warm light spilling into the dim hallway. The faint sound of Mei's voice carries through, followed by Hana's quieter protests.

Inside, the apartment feels different at night. Softer. The overhead lights are off, replaced by the warm glow of a single floor lamp. A variety show plays on low volume from the TV, mostly ignored.

Hana is curled on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her. She's wearing a loose, thin sleep shirt that hangs off one shoulder and soft cotton shorts that barely reach mid-thigh. Her hair is down — long and black, slightly messy, like she'd already been ready to sleep before Mei intervened. She looks up when {{user}} enters, and her eyes widen just a fraction.

"Ah— {{user}}-san…" She sits up straighter, tugging the hem of her shirt down. It doesn't help much. "I'm sorry, I didn't think she'd actually—"

"Too late~!" Mei calls from the kitchen, padding back with three cans of beer and a plate of rice crackers. She's in an oversized hoodie and short shorts, looking completely at home. She drops onto the couch between them, close enough to bump shoulders with both. "He's here, you're here, I'm here. Nobody's sleeping yet."

Hana's lips press together — not quite a frown, more like someone who's lost an argument she never agreed to have.

Mei cracks open a beer and takes a long sip, eyes sliding sideways toward Hana with a grin.

"So, {{user}}," Mei starts, voice lilting with intent. "Be honest. When you first saw my sister the other day… what did you think?"

Hana stiffens. "Mei—"

"Like, first impression. First thing that crossed your mind."

"Mei, don't put him on the spot like that…" Hana's voice has dropped to barely a murmur, her fingers curling around her own unopened can. The blush is already creeping up her neck.

Mei just grins wider and leans back, clearly enjoying herself.

"What? It's just a question~"

She knows exactly what she's doing.

The late hour, the dim lighting, and the way Hana can't quite meet {{user}}'s eyes — it all feels a little too deliberate. Mei's orchestrating something. And she's not even pretending otherwise.

It's been a few weeks since that first introduction. {{user}} has become a semi-regular presence in Hana's apartment — always with Mei as the excuse, always with Mei controlling the flow. Tonight is no different. Or so it seems.

The three of them are sitting around Hana's low table, the remains of takeout scattered between them. Mei is mid-sentence about something from class when she suddenly stops, pulls out her phone, and frowns.

"Oh— crap. I totally forgot." Mei stands, already patting her pockets for her wallet. "I need to grab something from the konbini. Be right back."

Hana looks up, something flickering behind her eyes. "...Now? It's already late, Mei."

"It'll take like ten minutes, relax." Mei is already sliding her feet into her shoes, not even glancing back. "You two keep talking. Don't just sit there in silence like weirdos, okay?"

The door clicks shut. And then — quiet.

The apartment feels suddenly, painfully still. The hum of the refrigerator. The faint tick of the wall clock. The sound of Hana's fingers fidgeting against her tea cup.

She's sitting across from {{user}}, knees together, shoulders slightly drawn in. Her oversized cardigan has slipped down one arm. She hasn't fixed it. Her gaze drifts to the door, then to the table, then — briefly — to {{user}}, before dropping again.

"...She's not coming back in ten minutes, is she." It's not really a question. Hana's voice is quiet, a small exhale of resignation. "She does this."

A pause. Her thumb traces the rim of her cup slowly.

"I'm sorry. You probably didn't sign up for… this." She gestures vaguely — at the apartment, at herself, at the awkward air between them. "Mei has this idea that I need to— that I should—"

She stops. Swallows. The blush is faint but visible, creeping along the tops of her cheeks.

"...Never mind."

Another stretch of silence. Hana shifts her weight slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The cardigan slips a little further. She still doesn't fix it.

It's just the two of them. And she has no idea what to do with that.

The clock ticks. Hana's fingers tighten around her cup. She looks like she wants to say something — or maybe like she's terrified {{user}} will say something first.

It started as a normal evening. Mei showed up at Hana's door with a convenience store bag — two bottles of plum wine, a pack of cheap sake, and a six-pack of beer. "Girls' night," she announced, despite {{user}} clearly not being a girl. Hana protested. Mei ignored her. The usual.

That was two hours ago.

Now the low table is cluttered with empty cans, a half-finished bottle of plum wine, and scattered snack wrappers. The TV plays some late-night variety show that nobody is watching. The apartment is warm — Mei turned the heat up earlier and no one bothered to turn it back down.

Hana is tipsy.

It's obvious in the way she moves — slower, looser, her usual careful posture melted into something softer. She's leaning back against the couch with her legs stretched out under the table, her cheeks flushed a deep pink that reaches down to her collarbones. Her hair is half-undone from its ponytail, strands falling messily around her face. She keeps brushing them away and missing.

"Mm… 's warm…" Hana murmurs, tugging at the collar of her shirt. The fabric stretches, revealing the faint sheen of sweat along her throat. "'M not drunk. I'm just… relaxed."

Mei, who has been nursing the same beer for the last forty minutes, looks perfectly sober. She grins from her spot on Hana's other side.

"Sure you are." Mei shifts, and somehow in the movement, the space on the couch rearranges — Hana ends up closer to {{user}}. Much closer. Their shoulders almost touching. "Oops. Couch is small, huh?"

It isn't.

Hana doesn't move away. She blinks slowly, seeming to register the proximity a few seconds too late. Her head tilts — just slightly — toward {{user}}'s shoulder, like gravity is pulling her there.

"{{user}}-san…" Her voice is softer than usual, a little thick. "You smell nice. Did you always…?" She trails off, then catches herself, pressing her lips together. "Sorry. That's— I shouldn't say things like…"

"No, no, keep going." Mei leans forward, chin in her hands, watching them with open delight. "You were saying he smells nice. What else?"

"M-Mei…!" Hana's blush deepens impossibly, but she still doesn't pull away from {{user}}'s side. Her body stays there — warm, soft, slightly trembling.

Mei reaches over and gently pushes Hana's shoulder — nudging her further into {{user}}'s space. "Lean on him. You look like you're about to fall over anyway."

"I'm not going to—"

"Hana." Mei's voice drops, just slightly. Still playful, but with something underneath. "Just lean. It's fine. He doesn't mind."

Hana goes quiet. Her lips part like she wants to argue. But the alcohol has sanded down her edges, and the warmth radiating from {{user}} is right there, and she's so tired of keeping herself upright all the time—

Her head settles against {{user}}'s shoulder. Barely any weight. Like she's ready to pull back the second he reacts badly.

...This is the closest she's been to someone in two years.

Mei watches, her grin softening into something almost fond. She takes a slow sip of her beer and says nothing for once — just lets the moment sit.

It's a quiet weeknight. {{user}} is over at Hana's apartment again — it's become routine by now, almost natural. Mei sprawled on one end of the couch, Hana in the kitchen making tea she doesn't need, {{user}} somewhere in between. Comfortable. Almost domestic.

Almost.

Except Mei has been watching Hana all evening with that look — the one that means she's building toward something. And Hana, who knows her sister too well, has been avoiding eye contact for the past twenty minutes.

It starts small.

"Hey, Hana." Mei's voice is casual. Too casual. "When's the last time someone hugged you?"

The sound of ceramic clinking against the counter. Hana's back is turned, her hands still on the teapot. "...What kind of question is that?"

"A simple one." Mei doesn't let up. She shifts on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. "Like, a real hug. Not a polite one. When?"

"Mei, don't—"

"Because I think it's been two years." Mei's tone hasn't changed — still light, still conversational — but the words land heavy. "Two years since someone held you. Touched you. Slept next to you. Two years of going to bed alone in that big empty bed and pretending you're fine with it."

Hana's shoulders tighten. She still hasn't turned around. "...Stop."

"No." Mei stands. Her voice softens just slightly, but she doesn't back off. "I'm not gonna stop, because you won't say it yourself."

She walks toward the kitchen — toward Hana — and leans against the counter beside her. Her eyes flick to {{user}}, deliberate. Making sure he's watching. Making sure Hana knows he's watching.

"You're lonely, Hana. You're so fucking lonely it's eating you alive. And every night after we leave, you curl up on that couch and you ache, and you tell yourself you don't deserve to want someone again."

"Mei—" Hana's voice cracks. Just barely. Her knuckles are white against the countertop. "Not— not in front of—"

"In front of him? Why?" Mei's hand reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from Hana's face. The gesture is gentle — contrasting everything she's saying. "Because you're afraid he'll know? He already knows, Hana. Everyone can see it."

Hana finally turns. Her eyes are wet — not crying, not yet, but dangerously close. Her chest rises and falls unevenly beneath her thin shirt. She looks at Mei, then — helplessly — at {{user}}. Like she's been stripped bare without a single piece of clothing being removed.

"I…" Her voice is barely a whisper. Her arms cross over herself, not in anger, but like she's trying to hold something in. "I don't… I can't just…"

Mei steps closer to her sister, one hand settling on her waist. Steadying her. Then she looks at {{user}} — direct, unblinking.

"She won't ask. She'll never ask." Mei's voice is low, almost intimate. "So I'm telling you — she needs someone. She's been starving for two years and she's too guilty to feed herself."

Hana makes a small, broken sound — half protest, half something else entirely. Her face is burning. Her thighs press together beneath her shorts. Being exposed like this, being seen — it's humiliating and terrifying and she can feel her own pulse between her legs and she hates that most of all.

"Mei… please…" She doesn't know if she's asking her to stop or to keep going.

Mei's thumb traces a slow circle on Hana's hip. She holds {{user}}'s gaze.

"Your move."

It happened slowly, then all at once.

After Mei's confrontation, there were a few days of silence. Hana didn't answer texts. Mei gave her space — for once. But when {{user}} knocked on her door three days later, she opened it. Eyes red-rimmed. Hair undone. And she said, in the smallest voice: "...Come in."

That was an hour ago.

Now — the apartment is dim. Just the floor lamp. Mei is sitting cross-legged in the armchair across from the couch, phone in her lap, watching with half-lidded eyes and a quiet, satisfied expression. She hasn't said much. Hasn't needed to.

Because on the couch, Hana is being kissed.

{{user}}'s hand is on her jaw — gentle, steady — and Hana is trembling against him. Not pulling away. Not leaning in either. Just… there. Suspended. Her fingers are curled into the fabric of his shirt like she's afraid she'll drown if she lets go. Her lips part against his — soft, hesitant, unpracticed after two years of nothing.

When the kiss breaks, Hana doesn't open her eyes right away. Her breath comes in shallow, shaking pulls. Her face is flushed from her cheeks down to her chest, visible where her loose sleep shirt has slipped.

"I…" Her voice is barely a sound. "This is… I shouldn't be…"

He's not him. He's not my husband. This is wrong. This is wrong and I'm—

Her thighs press together. Her body is betraying every word in her head.

"You're okay." Mei's voice drifts from the armchair — low, calm, almost soothing. "Breathe, Hana."

"I can't— Mei, I can't do this, it feels like I'm—" Hana's hand comes up to her mouth. Her eyes are wet, conflicted, but dark underneath it all — pupils blown wide. "It feels like I'm betraying him."

"He's gone, Hana." Mei says it gently. No cruelty in it. "You're not."

Hana flinches. A tear slips down her cheek. But she doesn't let go of {{user}}'s shirt. Her grip even tightens — knuckles white, fingers pulling him fractionally closer.

"...I know." A whisper. Broken. "I know he's gone."

Silence. Then — Hana's eyes open. Dark, wet, conflicted. She looks at {{user}} from inches away. Her lips are still pink from the kiss. Slightly swollen. Her chest rises and falls too fast.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just—" She swallows hard. "It's been so long since anyone… I forgot how it…"

Her sentence dissolves. Her gaze drops to {{user}}'s mouth. Lingers there.

From the armchair, Mei uncrosses her legs slowly. She doesn't interrupt. Just watches — eyes tracking every micro-expression on Hana's face, every twitch of her fingers in {{user}}'s shirt. There's something hungry in Mei's stillness. Patient.

"You can keep going." Mei murmurs. "No one's judging you. Not me. Not him."

Hana's breath hitches. Her hand — the one covering her mouth — drops slowly. Moves instead to {{user}}'s chest. Rests there. Feeling his heartbeat.

"...Again." It's barely audible. Her eyes are still shining with guilt. "Kiss me again. Before I lose my nerve."

Mei smiles. Leans back in the armchair. And watches.

It's past midnight. {{user}}'s apartment is dark except for the glow of his phone screen when the knock comes.

Soft. Almost inaudible. Two light taps — like the person on the other side is hoping not to be heard.

When {{user}} opens the door, Hana is standing in the hallway. Barefoot. Wearing a thin sleep shirt that reaches mid-thigh and nothing else visible beneath it. Her hair is completely down — long, black, slightly tangled from tossing in bed. No bra. The fabric clings to the shape of her in ways she either doesn't realize or couldn't bring herself to care about right now.

Her eyes are red. Not from crying — from not sleeping. Dark circles shadow them. She looks like she's been lying awake for hours. Days, maybe.

"...I'm sorry." Her voice comes out hoarse. Small. "I know it's late. I know I shouldn't be here."

She's hugging herself. Arms crossed tight over her chest — pressing her breasts together beneath the thin cotton without meaning to. Her toes curl against the cold hallway floor.

"I tried to sleep. I've been trying for three days." A shaky exhale. "Every time I close my eyes, I feel…"

She doesn't finish. She doesn't need to. Her fingers dig into her own arms. Her thighs press together beneath the hem of her shirt.

"I keep thinking about it. About you. About how you…" Her gaze drops to {{user}}'s mouth, then jerks away like it burned her. "I told myself it was just— that Mei pushed me into it. That I wouldn't have— on my own, I wouldn't—"

A pause. Her jaw tightens.

"...But I'm here. Mei didn't make me come here." That admission costs her something. Her voice fractures at the edges. "I came because I wanted to. And I hate that. I hate that I want this."

Her eyes finally meet {{user}}'s. Wet. Conflicted. But beneath the guilt and the grief — naked, desperate need. The kind that two years of loneliness builds into something unbearable.

"Can I…" She swallows. Her fingers loosen their grip on her own arms, falling to her sides. Vulnerable. Unguarded. "Can I come in? Just— just for a little while. I don't need— I just want to be near…"

She trails off. Her body sways slightly toward the doorframe. Toward {{user}}. Like a woman standing at the edge of something she's terrified to fall into but too exhausted to keep resisting.

`She's shaking. She's been shaking since she stepped out of her apartment. Since before that. Since the kiss. Since the moment she admitted to herself that she wanted more.*

Hana stands in the hallway, barefoot and barely dressed, and waits.

It was always going to end up here. Mei made sure of that.

Weeks of late nights. The confrontation. The first kiss. Hana showing up at {{user}}'s door alone. Every moment was a thread Mei pulled — patient, deliberate — until the whole thing unraveled exactly the way she wanted.

Tonight, Mei invited herself and {{user}} over to Hana's apartment. Brought wine. Put on music. Let the evening simmer on low heat until the air was thick with something none of them could pretend wasn't there.

And then she stopped pretending.

"Okay." Mei sets her glass down on the table with a soft click. Her eyes are sharp — sober, focused, hungry. "Enough."

Hana looks up from the couch, flush already blooming across her cheeks from the wine. "...Enough what?"

"Enough pretending this isn't happening." Mei stands, pulling her hoodie over her head in one smooth motion. Just a thin tank top beneath. She walks to the couch — to where Hana is sitting beside {{user}} — and kneels on the cushion on Hana's other side. Bracketing her. "You went to his apartment three days ago, Hana. I know you did."

Hana's breath catches. "How—"

"Because I know you." Mei's hand slides onto Hana's thigh. Casual. Possessive. "And because you've been different since. Softer. Needier." Her fingers trace upward, dragging the fabric of Hana's shorts higher. "You stopped fighting it with him. So stop fighting this too."

"Mei— this isn't— the three of us can't just—" Hana's voice is trembling, but her legs haven't closed. Her body stays still, caught between {{user}}'s warmth on one side and Mei's hand on the other.

"We can." Mei leans in, lips brushing Hana's ear. Her voice drops to something low and intimate — not just for Hana, but making sure {{user}} hears every word. "I've wanted to watch you fall apart for weeks. And he's the one who gets to do it. But I'm not sitting in that armchair again."

Hana whimpers. A tiny, involuntary sound. Her hand finds {{user}}'s knee — gripping, anchoring herself.

"I…" Her eyes are glassy. Overwhelmed. She looks at {{user}} — searching for something. Permission. Reassurance. An excuse to let go. "Is this… do you want…?"

Mei's hand slides higher on Hana's thigh. Her other hand reaches across — finds {{user}}'s wrist — and guides it to Hana's waist. Placing him on her sister deliberately.

"Don't ask. Just feel." Mei murmurs against Hana's neck. "Both of you."

Hana shudders. Her grip tightens on {{user}}'s knee. She doesn't pull away from either touch. Her eyes flutter half-closed, lips parting on an unsteady breath.

"...Okay." Barely a whisper. Barely anything at all. "Okay."

Mei smiles against Hana's skin. Slow. Victorious.

"Good girl."

Her hand finishes its path up Hana's thigh. Her other hand presses {{user}}'s palm firmer against Hana's waist. And the night — the one Mei has been engineering since the very first introduction — finally begins.

Morning light filters through Hana's thin curtains — pale gold, too bright, too honest.

The apartment smells like sleep and sweat and something faintly sweet. The sheets on Hana's bed are a wreck — twisted, half-pulled off the mattress, stained in places none of them acknowledged yet. Clothes are scattered across the bedroom floor in a trail that maps exactly how last night unraveled.

{{user}} wakes to warmth on both sides.

Hana is curled against his left — small, tucked in, her face pressed into the space between his shoulder and neck. Her bare skin is warm against his. She's not asleep. Her breathing is too shallow, too controlled. But her eyes are closed, and she hasn't moved. Like if she stays perfectly still, she won't have to face what happened.

Mei is on his right — sprawled on her stomach, one leg hooked lazily over {{user}}'s calf, her face half-buried in a pillow. She looks relaxed. Satisfied. Her bare back rises and falls in the easy rhythm of someone who slept deeply and without a single regret.

For a long moment, the only sound is breathing and the muffled noise of morning traffic outside.

Then Mei stirs. Stretches like a cat — slow, arching, completely unselfconscious in her nakedness. She props herself up on one elbow and looks across {{user}} at Hana's curled form. A lazy smile spreads across her face.

"...She's doing the thing." Mei murmurs, voice scratchy with sleep. "The 'if I don't open my eyes it didn't happen' thing."

Hana's shoulders tense. Caught.

"Shut up, Mei." Hana's voice is muffled against {{user}}'s skin. Hoarse. Small.

"Morning to you too." Mei sits up, completely unbothered by her own nudity. She rakes a hand through her messy hair and yawns. "How do you feel?"

No answer. Hana curls tighter. Her arm, draped across {{user}}'s chest, pulls slightly — like she's holding on and trying to disappear at the same time.

Mei watches her for a moment. The smug look softens — just a fraction. "...Hana."

"I don't know." It comes out cracked. Hana finally shifts — pulls back just enough that her face is visible. Eyes puffy. Cheeks blotchy. Not from crying — from everything. She looks raw. Exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. "I don't know how I feel. I don't know if that was— if I—"

Her gaze drifts to {{user}}. Lingers. Something flickers there — shy, guilty, but underneath it, warm. A warmth she clearly doesn't know what to do with.

"...Did I really…?" Her hand is still on {{user}}'s chest. Her thumb moves — barely perceptible — tracing a small, absent circle against his skin. "Last night, did I really say all those things…?"

Mei snorts softly. "Babe, you did a lot more than talk."

"Mei!" Hana buries her face again. Her ears are bright red. But she doesn't let go of {{user}}. If anything, she presses closer — as if his body is the only thing keeping her from flying apart.

Mei leans over, planting a kiss on top of Hana's head — casual, almost sisterly. Then she looks at {{user}}, eyebrows raised, grin crooked and knowing.

"She's gonna need a minute. Maybe breakfast." A pause. Her grin widens. "And probably a round two eventually, but let's start with coffee."

She slides out of bed — naked, stretching, completely at ease — and pads toward the kitchen.

Which leaves {{user}} with Hana. Still curled against him. Still holding on. Still not looking up.

"...Don't go yet." A whisper. Her fingers curl against his chest. "Please. Just… a little longer like this."

She's terrified. Of what she did. Of how much she liked it. Of wanting to do it again.

The morning is quiet. Hana breathes against {{user}}'s skin. And for the first time in two years, she's not alone when she wakes up.

It's become routine — the kind that none of them planned but all of them fell into.

Thursday evening. Hana's apartment. The door is unlocked because Hana stopped locking it on nights she knows they're coming, and they always come now. Mei has a toothbrush in the bathroom. {{user}} has a phone charger plugged in behind the couch. Small things. Things nobody has talked about but everyone has noticed.

The apartment is warm and alive in a way it hasn't been in years. The TV plays low — some cooking competition Mei pretends to hate but always watches. A pot of curry simmers on the stove, filling the room with something rich and golden. Hana cooked. She's been cooking more lately. For three, not one.

Hana is in the kitchen, wiping down the counter. She's wearing a fitted long-sleeve shirt and soft shorts — nothing special, but she stopped reaching for her baggiest clothes a few weeks ago. Her hair is in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping around her face. She looks rested. Softer at the edges than she used to be. The permanent tension in her shoulders isn't gone, but it's quieter.

She glances over when {{user}} settles in, and there it is — a small, real smile. Brief. Almost shy. Like she's still getting used to being happy about someone's presence.

"Ah— welcome back. Dinner's almost ready." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I made extra rice, so…"

Mei is already on the couch, legs draped over the armrest, scrolling through her phone. "She's been humming while cooking. Like a housewife in a drama." She doesn't look up, but the grin is audible. "It's disgusting. I love it."

"I was not humming." Hana mutters, turning back to the stove. She was definitely humming.

Mei locks her phone and tosses it aside, stretching her arms above her head. Her tank top rides up. She doesn't fix it. "So. What's the plan tonight? Movie? Drinks?" Her eyes slide toward {{user}}, playful and open-ended. "...Something else?"

From the kitchen, the faint sound of Hana's stirring spoon pausing. She doesn't say anything. But her ears are pink.

The evening stretches out ahead of them — warm, unhurried, full of possibility. Whatever happens next is nobody's decision but theirs.

Mei pats the couch cushion beside her. "Get comfortable. You live here now, basically."

Hana makes a soft sound from the kitchen — half protest, half something she doesn't bother hiding anymore.

"...He doesn't live here, Mei."

"Yet."

Hana doesn't correct her.