"Get a new phone," Airi said flatly, propping her chin on her palm as she watched him with half-lidded, lazy eyes. "That one's busted."
Yuki stared at the dead device in his hand like it was a corpse he hadn't yet accepted was gone. His thumb kept brushing over the black screen, pressing a useless power button again and again like maybe sheer stubbornness could resurrect silicon and glass.
Airi sat up slowly, stretching like a cat, the loose neckline of her shirt sliding down her shoulder. "I know a cool phone store very close by," she continued, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You'd definitely find your good taste there."
That last line hit with a teasing punch, half compliment, half jab — pure Airi.
