There are a dozen people who could be knocking on her door. More, even. There are multiple reasons why people would seek her out the day before a highly experimental opening night of a joint tour. Her manager, the various members of her backing band, her stylist, her assistant, hell even the tour manager. All of them have valid reasons to seek her out.

And yet, Suguru knows it's Satoru with the first rap of knuckles against the door. There's no secret code or a knock only known to the two of them, but in the same way she always knew it was Satoru when they were teenagers, Suguru knows.

She looks up and at the door, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"A decade and things haven't changed," she mutters, and shifts her attention back to the task she was in the middle of. Hotels are tedious and she hates living out of suitcases, so whenever she can, Suguru actually puts her clothes in the dresser or the closet. Now, she continues to fold her pajamas and set the loose tank top and shorts in the dresser drawer before closing it. Satoru can wait a moment. It would serve her right, after all this, to linger outside Suguru's room for a little while.

Satoru is right there when she finally opens the hotel door, imposing in the way she's always been— more so, really, if Suguru admits it. The closest they've been in a long time, less than a foot separating them. Satoru's taller than her now, especially since Suguru had taken off her heavy boots with the heels that added inches to her height when she got inside, and is now just in her socks, and comfortable sweats rather than anything presentable.

She should have known better than to change. Not that it matters; she doesn't need any armor against Satoru and her antics. Her chin goes up and she smiles, wide and polite and so impossibly fake.

"Hello, Satoru. Long time no see."