The week passed gently, as if the city itself had decided to hold its breath.
Ryunosuke had grown used to Emily's presence—the soft sound of her footsteps on the floor above, the quiet hum of her music leaking from earbuds while she studied. He found comfort in those small rhythms. They were subtle reminders that he was no longer alone.
Amelia noticed, of course.
She saw it in the way Ryunosuke smiled more easily at breakfast, in the way his sketches now held hints of color—blues, yellows, a soft red he hadn't touched in months. She observed quietly, choosing not to say much. Just grateful for the fragile peace blooming in their small world.
Emily adapted quickly to the restaurant's rhythm. She found her place in the kitchen's clatter—the hiss of the pans, the steam rising from pots, the slap of dough against the counter. She still teased Ryunosuke, especially after the infamous flour incident that left him coated in white like a powdered ghost. The laughter lasted all afternoon.
Lucas and William visited often, their voices bouncing through the apartment like chimes caught in a breeze. Stories of school, terrible jobs, and exaggerated gossip filled the air. Amelia would roll her eyes behind the counter, though her smile always betrayed the affection she never quite voiced.
One lavender evening, as twilight poured gold across the rooftop, Ryunosuke and Emily found themselves sitting alone again.
The city lights flickered below, timid against the slow arrival of night.
Emily leaned back against the rooftop wall, legs stretched out. "This is nice. It's like the world forgot to be noisy."
Ryunosuke sat beside her, sketchbook balanced on his knee. "It doesn't happen often."
She glanced at him, eyes glittering. "Does this mean we're friends now?"
He shrugged, hiding a smile. "I suppose it does."
"Good." She nudged his shoulder. "I was getting tired of pretending to tolerate you."
He chuckled. "The feeling was mutual."
The city murmured quietly below as the two sat in that rare, companionable silence—the kind that didn't need to be filled.
Days blurred gently into one another.
Mornings began with prep—Ryunosuke helping Amelia chop vegetables while Emily lingered nearby, sometimes sneaking slices of radish or pieces of fruit when she thought no one was watching.
They made daily stops at a tiny tea stall in Japantown, run by an older woman with silver hair and a memory sharp enough to recall their orders after two visits. Emily insisted on collecting strange little trinkets from nearby gift shops—tiny glass animals, old keychains, things she'd name and line up along her side of the bedroom shelf like a bizarre parade.
At night, they cooked together.
Emily made guesses; Ryunosuke made corrections. Amelia, watching from the hallway, always smirked like she was witnessing a story unfold in real time.
Some afternoons were louder—like the day they helped Lucas carry paint buckets for a mural. William blasted music from his phone while Lucas balanced on a crate, ranting about "vibe control" and "expressionist funk." Ryunosuke had laughed so hard he nearly dropped a gallon of paint.
And some nights were quieter.
On those, Ryunosuke and Emily returned to the rooftop, sitting beneath a sky that felt just out of reach. Sometimes they talked about nothing. Sometimes they didn't talk at all.
It was enough just to be.
One morning, Ryunosuke stood alone in the kitchen, rhythmically peeling vegetables. The motion soothed him—steady, simple, clean. For a while, his mind floated, detached from worry.
He didn't hear Amelia enter until she spoke.
"You look content," she said softly, like she didn't want to startle the moment.
He paused mid-peel. "Maybe I am."
She leaned against the counter, eyes watching him. "Emily's been good for you."
He looked up and met her gaze. "I think she's been good for both of us."
Amelia's smile was faint, edged with a relief she didn't try to hide. "We deserved a little good."
He glanced down at the vegetables, then back at her. "It's strange how quiet it's been."
"Strange?" she asked.
"Not bad. Just… different."
He hadn't realized until now how heavy the silence used to be. How much lighter everything felt with Emily's noise—her clatter and chaos—woven into the background.
The quiet between them now wasn't empty. It was peaceful.
Ryunosuke returned to peeling, the blade scraping softly across the skin of a carrot. His fingers moved with certainty.
For now, the stillness held.For now, the world was kind.