1

The meeting wasn't going well.

The game they were discussing had been in Development Hell for years, and had gone through more titles and premises than could be comfortably listed on both sides of the room's borrowed whiteboard. Natsume wished he had borrowed two. All anyone could agree on at this point was that the meeting wasn't going well—that, and that the 'no smoking' sign posted outside the boardroom door could be interpreted as more of a guideline. Natsume rose, unnoticed, and cranked a window, his favorite brand already hanging precariously off his frowning lips.

"Look, if we can't reach an agreement tonight, I vote we scratch the project," said the producer. "I've wasted too much time and money on this already. None of the big name voices appear interested in coming on board. Everyone's turning to anime now."

"They would be interested if we presented them with a script," the head writer pointed out. "But everything my team and I have brought to the table so far has been vetoed. How am I supposed to come up with the new material you're requesting if I don't know what actors to write for? What audience? The zombie trope has been played out. Maybe the games are still going strong in popularity, but every storyline has been done to death, pun unintended. There's just no new ideas for me to mine."

Natsume gazed past his own weary reflection, out across the cityscape, privately wishing he was at home in his apartment. Tsubaki and Azusa had probably torn his drapes to ribbons by now, unless…

He was the CEO, so no one noticed or cared when he pulled out his cellphone and unlocked it with a practiced swipe. There was a message in his inbox.

Ema.

Natsume,

I remembered that you told me you had an important meeting tonight, so I stopped by to feed the cats for you. I hope you don't mind the intrusion. Masaomi said he thought it would be a good idea, and he let me borrow his key. I don't see him very often. If you like, I can return it to you directly.

I know you will bring your all to the meeting. I can't wait to hear about the newest game… or wait, would that be a secret? I won't ask you anymore about it if it is. Juli and I look forward to playing it someday.

Ema

His heart had lodged itself in his throat the moment he saw the name of the sender; slowly, it sank back into its usual place the further he read. By the end of Ema's message, his entire body felt flooded with warmth, with relief. Once again, she had proven her thoughtfulness, seen to things even the brothers themselves sometimes forgot so they could focus all their attention and energy on whatever task was at hand. How had any of them ever gotten along without her before?

How had he?

Voices continued to rise and fall at the long table as the team pitched ideas and traded passive aggressions, but their exchanges faded into the background, becoming white noise, as Natsume stared probingly at the softly glowing screen of his phone. He read her e-mail over again, trying to see between the lines, to find evidence of anything she had thought but left unsaid, any trace of text typed and then omitted from the final message. She had left him no openings, none at all.

Still, for the first time that evening, he felt like he had at least something to work with.

Ema,

You are never an intrusion. Please consider my home as you consider the Sunrise Residence. You are always welcome.

He erased the last sentence.

I am sure Tsubaki and Azusa were happy to have company. Thank you for being so thoughtful.

Again, he erased the last sentence. If this was what the head writer had to go through, he could certainly feel a modicum of sympathy for the scowling man seated at the far end of the table with his arms crossed. Natsume stared out the window again, his gaze lingering on the skyline.

Feel free to bring the spare key by my office at a time that is convenient. I can tell you more about the game.

Natsume

Not his most eloquent, but electronically, Natsume was known for his signature abruptness. In recent days it had contributed greatly to the rift that had formed between him and Subaru, though the man himself had no real way of knowing how he came across. He was certain Ema would understand, maybe even appreciate, his brevity now, especially after…

Memories of her graduation party flooded back to him: of the moment they had shared on the balcony, of the passion he had felt for her and his loss of control. He had been ashamed of his behavior then, and he was ashamed of it now. Yet a defiant part of him wondered: what do I have to feel guilty about? How can anyone condemn a heart that knows precisely what it wants?

"What precisely do you want, Natsume?"

All eyes in the boardroom were trained on him. The young CEO turned, reinhabiting the present long enough to consider their request. He was tired. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see if maybe, by some small, serendipitous chance, Ema was still there. But he had promised to tell her more about the game, and right now, they had made more steps backward in their discussion than they had forward, if the scribbled-over whiteboard was anything to measure by.

"I want to consider the female audience." His words hovered in the air above them all like smoke from a dying cigarette. He turned and flicked his stub out the open window, releasing it to the night air. It fell like an ember, a shooting star. If he saw a shooting star tonight, would Ema see it too? Could he call her? How much pressure was too much? But he didn't want to pressure her—he just wanted to see her.

"You said there were no more stories to explore, but I think you're wrong. I think we have yet to explore the most important story of all: the story of the female protagonist. More than half of our audience as of our last release was women—"

—thanks, in no small part, to my brothers—

"—so why do we continue to ignore this demographic? It's a reflection of us, and a poor one. For now, the company remains a boy's club, but it's outside perception that keeps us this way, and our ideas are becoming stale. I want to send a message to women—to tell them we are thinking of them. Their interests, their wishes and desires, are being noticed, and I want this to come across in a big way. The main character should be female."

"I'm in," the producer said abruptly. The boardroom erupted into chatter, many of it encouraged, though there was no lack of skeptical voices attempting to rise above the chaos. Natsume's expression remained unchanged, until he happened to glance down, his attention drawn by a blinking light on his phone. His eyes rounded, and he quickly excused himself from the room.

"Natsume…"

In the hallway outside, he shed his suit and seated himself in the darkness beyond the wedge of light cast by the door, placing the phone beside. He hooked a finger through his tie and loosened it, closing his eyes, losing himself in her voice as the speakerphone conducted her music.

"I'm sorry to bother you like this again tonight, only… I keep playing through that one level we talked about… oh no, I'm not calling you for advice or anything like that, it's just... I think I might be the only one awake right now. The house can feel so lonely sometimes—isn't that a strange thing to say, with thirteen brothers?—but I guess not everyone is here after all. Masaomi is working late, Kaname has left for his training… and with Iori, Fūto, and Subaru gone… and then you…

"Oh, before I forget, Natsume, when I fed Tsubaki and Azusa, I noticed that you didn't have a lot of food left in your fridge. I hope… I'm sorry if this was an intrusion, I know what you said earlier, but I… I did go to the store for you. I know you like breakfast food, and I bought some of that fried chicken we had that time at…"

For as long as he had known her, Ema's voice had never faltered; rather, it always caught in the most attractive way, cutting itself off in breathy, surprised intakes. Natsume found it captivating, even hypnotic, the way she spoke. She always hedged, if she didn't break away completely, always humbly offering the space her own conversation point would have occupied to the other speaker. It was fascinating to hear her monologue now, alone, with no interruptions save those presented by her own unknowable thoughts.

"… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to leave this long of a message. You must still be in your meeting, of course. I hope I'm not interrupting. I can come by the office tomorrow. I won't stay long. I know you will be working hard. I will take good care of your key until then. Good night, Natsume."

"Good night, little sister," Natsume responded quietly. He reached down and saved the voicemail.

"Was that your sister on the phone?"

Startled, Natsume turned his head to find the producer standing in the doorway. There were others filing out past him, relieved to finally be going home, but the producer's attention remained raptly fixed on Natsume.

"My stepsister, yes. She just called to tell me good night."

"I want her." Natsume's eyes widened. "I want that voice. For the character. You can arrange it, can't you? If you can get me her, you will have my full support for this project. The writers can get you samples of the script we've already started to work out as early tomorrow. Does that work? For the audition, I mean."

Natsume's head was already reeling from vertigo before he even had a chance to stand. "You want us to hire an unknown?"

"She won't be unknown for long. And with brothers—sorry, stepbrothers—like the Asahina twins, who combined already have more than a hundred projects beneath their belts, I have the utmost faith in her marketability. We're already facing the unknown here with your proposed plot, Natsume. Why not bring one more onboard?"

Nastume gazed at him wearily. "We don't even have a name for the project yet."

The producer flapped a hand. "Oh, that was decided too, while you were out. What do you think of 'Zombie Honey'?"

"I think I'm going to need another cigarette," said Natsume.