Yako coughed lightly and pushed herself up into a sitting position, movements clumsy and slow. Her cheeks were painted a bright red and she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from the bedspread beneath her. While this wasn't the first time she had been in such a position after one of those horrible days--the aftermath of the Mrs. ShinRa debacle would not be forgotten any time soon--it alleiviated exactly none of the tension strung in her shoulders.
Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, as if to say something, but closed it again soundlessly. What could she say? Yesterday was too...raw. Too close. Too intimate.
Even if you kill me, I'll still love you.
Yako swallowed thickly, throat paper-dry from the combination of stress, crying her heart out, and a strange bit of fear. What she had said to her...to the man she had believed to be Sai was something she hadn't even been sure she could admit to herself. He had suffered, and she was far too gentle-hearted and empathetic to hate him. But the shapeshifter had still killed their father.
And seeing Naoya like that was painful; he was usually so reserved and pleasant. To think that all that agony and rage laid bubbling beneath was both heart-wrenching and terrifying. A part of her, still half-asleep, was demanding that she just curl back up with Brother and calm down. Thankfully, the larger, fully-lucid faction of her mind nipped that option in the bud.
Naoya was most certainly not her brother, no matter what they had said to each other last night. It would be totally improper for her to do that, even if they were roommates, and had just been caught in the crossroads of snuggling and mistaken identities.