The faint chime of the alarm broke the silence of dawn. A pale wash of morning light pressed against the curtains, and Kaein stirred reluctantly from the comfort of his bed. He groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and sat up. The apartment was still unfamiliar in some ways — new sounds, new echoes — but today it carried something different.
A soft clink reached him from beyond his door, followed by the sound of running water and the faint scrape of a chair. Someone was awake. Kaein blinked. Lior.
Dragging himself up, he pushed the door open. The hallway was faintly lit with morning sun, and in the kitchen, Lior was standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, hair still messy from sleep. He was stirring eggs with quiet focus, humming under his breath as though this had always been his kitchen.
Kaein leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely. "You cook this early?" His voice still held the heaviness of sleep.
Lior glanced back, startled at first, then smiling. "Habit. I usually make something before heading out. Didn't think it'd be fair if I just let us skip breakfast on our first morning."
Kaein raised an eyebrow, moving to sit at the table. "First morning, huh. Roommates, then." He muttered it casually, though inside the word didn't quite sit right. Roommates — it was too light, too simple.
Still, the warmth of the scene made something in him relax. He hadn't woken to a sound like this in years.
Lior placed a plate in front of him, scrambled eggs and toast, with tea still steaming in mugs. "Eat while it's hot."
They shared breakfast in a comfortable rhythm, the kind that needed no chatter to feel complete. The clink of forks against plates, the quiet sound of Lior sipping tea, the gentle hum of the fridge — all of it wrapped around Kaein with a surprising ease.
"Not bad," Kaein said between bites, nodding toward the food.
Lior smirked faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment. Means you'll survive my cooking for the next two months."
The words slipped out lightly, but Kaein felt the echo of them long after. Two months. Just two months, and yet… it already felt like he didn't want to measure the days at all. He wanted them stretched, quiet and ordinary like this.
Once the dishes were done, the apartment shifted into the pace of morning routine. Kaein grabbed his jacket, tossing it over his shoulder as he slid on his shoes. He paused by the door, glancing back toward the kitchen where Lior was wiping down the counter.
"Don't forget to lock up," he said.
Lior waved him off with an easy grin. "I'll be fine. Just go before you're late."
Kaein let out a soft exhale through his nose, smirking as he left. But as he walked to work, through the bustle of streets and the weight of daily hours, something lingered at the back of his mind: the image of Lior standing there in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, light falling on his hair. It was simple, painfully ordinary — and yet, it pulled at him like gravity.
The day at work stretched long, filled with the usual demands. Conversations blurred, tasks piled. Normally, Kaein would count down the hours with irritation. But today, there was a quiet thread running through every moment. A thought that, once work ended, he wouldn't just be returning to an empty place.
When the sun dipped low and the streets filled with evening colors, Kaein finally made his way back. His steps quickened without his permission. And then — turning the corner — he saw it.
The faint glow of light spilling through his window.
Something in him eased, tension uncoiling in his chest. The door unlocked with a soft click, and warmth greeted him even before sound did.
The living room lamp glowed softly, throwing gentle shadows against the walls. A pair of slippers sat neatly by the wall — not his own. The faintest sound of humming drifted from the kitchen, blending with the smell of something warm cooking.
Kaein lingered by the door for a heartbeat too long, hand still resting on the knob.
It wasn't just about sharing space. It was this. The light already on, the sense of someone inside, waiting. The hum of another life moving in rhythm with his.
When Lior's voice floated from the kitchen — "You're back?" — Kaein felt his throat tighten for reasons he didn't name.
"Yeah," he answered, stepping in at last.
The scene was simple, but it wrapped around him like a truth too deep to ignore. For the first time in years, the word home didn't feel like walls and doors. It felt like warmth, like lights left on. It felt like someone.
---
The clinking of cutlery and the warm aroma of food filled the small dining space. It wasn't anything extravagant—just a simple meal they had prepared together, one chopping, the other stirring, shoulders brushing now and then in the narrow kitchen. Somehow, the simplicity made it feel… whole.
Kaein glanced up as Lior talked about something he had read on the news, his voice animated but soft, a spark of excitement lacing his tone. The light from the overhead lamp cast a gentle glow across his face, and for a fleeting second, Kaein wondered if it was wrong to think this way. That maybe home wasn't a place at all, but a person sitting across the table, talking about the world with unguarded sincerity.
Lior laughed suddenly, catching Kaein's stare. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Kaein's lips tugged into a faint smile as he shook his head. "Nothing. Just… it's nice."
The words lingered in the air, quiet but weighty. Lior didn't ask further; instead, his expression softened, as though he understood without needing more.
They ate slowly, without the rush of deadlines or the pressure of schedules. It was strange how time seemed to stretch in such moments, unhurried, as if the world outside had agreed to pause for them.
After the plates were cleared, they lingered a little longer at the table, sipping tea in companionable silence. The glow of the lights wrapped around them like a cocoon, shutting out the noise of everything beyond those four walls.
Kaein leaned back, letting his eyes wander over the faint flicker of the lamp. "Feels… different," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Different?" Lior tilted his head.
"Yeah," Kaein said after a pause, glancing back at him. "Like… coming home and seeing the lights on. It feels like someone's waiting."
The words slipped out before he could catch them, but he didn't regret them.
For a long heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't heavy—it was gentle, laced with an understanding neither dared put into clearer words.
Lior's fingers brushed the rim of his cup as he looked down, a quiet smile curving his lips. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing," he said softly.
The moment folded into the evening itself—quiet, unspoken, but deeply alive.
And in that silence, both of them realized—without needing to say it—that this was more than just sharing space. It was the beginning of something they had both longed for but hadn't dared name.