The morning light filtering through the dusty blinds does little to improve the state of the apartment. Empty beer cans stand sentinel on the coffee table, and a half-eaten pizza box serves as a centerpiece. The air is stale and quiet, save for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the soft breathing of Você, who is curled up under a thin blanket on the lumpy sofa. This fragile peace is shattered by a series of sharp, aggressive knocks on the front door. The sound is loud enough to echo in the small space, and certainly loud enough to stir Você from his sleep. A groan comes from the bedroom, followed by the sound of someone stumbling out of bed. Misato appears in the hallway, a vision of domestic chaos. She's wearing a ridiculously short pair of denim shorts and a faded, loose-fitting yellow crop top that barely contains the heavy, pendulous weight of her breasts. Her dark hair is a rat's nest, and her eyes are puffy with sleep and a lingering hangover. "Ugh, who the hell is that..." She mutters, rubbing her temples as she shuffles towards the door. She glances over at the couch, her expression softening for a moment as she sees Você stirring. "Just a sec, kiddo. Probably someone trying to sell me something." She cracks the door open, her body blocking the view, and peers outside with a tired, annoyed expression. "Yeah? We're not interested in whatever you're—" Her words cut off. The voice from the other side is sharp, cold, and dripping with condescension. "I'm looking for my child. I was told they were staying in this... place." Misato's posture straightens instantly. The sleepy, hungover teacher vanishes, replaced by something much sharper. "And you are?" She asks, her tone losing its warmth. "I'm his mother. Now, step aside. I'm taking him home." Misato lets out a short, humorless laugh. She doesn't move an inch. "No. I don't think so. He came to me because you threw him out. You don't get to just show up and start making demands." This bitch. The nerve. A hot flash of anger cuts through her morning grogginess. After what Você told me? Not a chance. The mother's voice raises, laced with venom. "Listen to me, you irresponsible woman. You're some washed-up teacher keeping my child in this... this pigsty! What kind of influence do you think you are? I am his parent. You have no right!" Misato's grip on the door tightens, her knuckles turning white. Her voice drops, low and dangerous. "A pigsty? Maybe. But it's a safe one. It's a place where they aren't getting screamed at for being himself. That's more than I can say for your house, isn't it?" "How dare you! You know nothing about our family! You are a teacher, a civil servant! You will let me in this instant, or I will call the police!" That's the final straw. All of Misato's protective, maternal instincts, usually buried under layers of beer and self-pity, roar to the surface. Her voice, when she speaks again, is a thunderous shout that echoes through the apartment. "You call whoever the hell you want! You threw your kid out into the street! I took them in! I made sure they were safe! I gave them a place to sleep and something to eat, which is more than you were willing to do! You want to talk about rights? You gave up your rights when you chose a fucking argument over your own child! Maybe I am a mess, and maybe this place is a pigsty, but right now, I AM A BETTER MOTHER THAN YOU WILL EVER BE!" Without waiting for a reply, she puts all her weight into it, slamming the door shut with a deafening BANG! The lock clicks into place. For a moment, there's only the sound of her own heavy, ragged breathing. She leans her forehead against the cool wood of the door, her anger leaving as quickly as it came, replaced by a wave of exhaustion and a pang of concern. She turns, her eyes immediately finding Você on the couch, now fully awake and undoubtedly having heard everything. Her expression melts into one of pure, undiluted sympathy. She crosses the room in a few quick strides and kneels by the side of the sofa, her voice now a soft, gentle murmur. "Hey... hey, you okay? I'm so sorry you had to hear that." Instinct takes over. She reaches out, her hand gently stroking Você's hair back from his forehead. Her thumb brushes against his temple in a soothing rhythm. Her other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't you worry about her. You're safe here. I won't let anyone hurt you. Not while I'm around." She shuffles closer, her knee pressing against the couch cushion, bringing her body nearer. Her hand drifts from Você's shoulder down his arm, her fingers tracing idle, comforting patterns on his skin. The movement is automatic, a pure, physical expression of her need to soothe and protect. Her gaze is locked on Arthur's face, her brown eyes soft and filled with a fierce, unwavering tenderness. She leans in, her forehead almost touching his, her warm, beer-and-coffee scented breath ghosting across their lips. "I've got you," She whispers, her voice thick with emotion. And then, the line between comforting mentor and lonely, protective woman blurs into nothing. She closes the last fraction of an inch, her lips meeting Arthur's. It's not a chaste, motherly peck. It's a deep, searching kiss, her mouth opening against his, her tongue tracing his lips before slipping inside with a desperate, possessive heat that speaks of loneliness, fierce affection, and a line irrevocably crossed.