The evening air was cooling down, the heat of the day slowly fading as streetlights flickered to life one by one. Haru stood outside the office building, her little bag slung over her shoulder. She was scrolling through the menu of the nearest tea shop on her phone, lips pursed in thought.
"Hmm… Zion probably wants an oolong milk tea… but she did say she wanted to cut down on milk…" Haru murmured to herself, serious as if she were making an important decision.
Just then, two young men came around the corner. One of them spotted Haru, his eyes lighting up. He walked straight toward her, grinning a little too confidently.
"Hey, waiting for someone? How about we get to know each other? Give me your number?" he said.
Haru blinked, taken aback. She shook her head politely. "No, thank you. I'm waiting for a friend."
But he wasn't ready to give up. "C'mon, it's fine. We could hang out sometime—"
He didn't get to finish.
Footsteps approached softly from behind Haru. The man froze when he looked up.
Zion had just walked out of the building, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, still carrying that faint air of weariness from work. Her violet eyes, however, were sharp and cold, cutting through the stranger like a blade. She didn't say a word, but that single glare was enough.
"Uh—sorry! Didn't mean to bother you!" The man stammered and pulled his friend away, practically running.
Haru watched them retreat, then burst into laughter. She tilted her head up toward Zion. "You're way too scary, you know that?"
Zion's expression softened slightly as she looked down at her. "I just don't like people bothering you."
The words were simple, almost casual, but they made Haru's heart warm. She grinned, slipping her arm through Zion's. "Alright, my protector. Let's go get some tea, then."
---
The tea shop was bright and smelled faintly of roasted leaves. Haru ordered her usual lemon green tea and picked out a less-sweet oolong milk tea for Zion.
"You said you wanted to cut back on milk, remember?" Haru teased as she handed it to her.
Zion took a sip, unbothered. "I wanted it today."
Haru bit her straw, eyes shining in triumph. "Knew it. I guessed right."
---
Back home, the two changed into comfortable clothes. Haru tied an apron around her waist and peered into the fridge.
"Let's keep it simple today. We've got tomatoes, eggs, and some beef left from yesterday."
"I'll chop," Zion offered, rolling up her sleeves again.
"Then I'll stir-fry." Haru nodded, the division of labor effortless, practiced.
Soon, the sizzle of the pan and the rich aroma of garlic and oil filled the kitchen. When a bit of hot oil splattered, Haru yelped and jumped back.
Zion immediately caught her hand, checking it with quiet intensity. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Haru assured her, sticking her tongue out sheepishly. Her hand didn't hurt much, but the way Zion's brows knit in worry made her heart flutter.
---
Dinner was ready soon: tomato and egg stir-fry, beef with greens, and a pot of rice. Nothing fancy, but the kind of meal that warmed from the inside out.
"This is so much better than eating out," Haru said between bites. "Next time, let's do hotpot. When the weather gets colder, it'll be perfect."
Zion nodded. "Sounds good."
After cleaning up, they curled up together on the sofa. Zion set up the projector, and Haru picked out an old movie. Their little gray cat hopped onto the couch, snuggling into the blanket between them, its soft purr adding to the coziness.
The glow of the screen washed over their faces. Haru had a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and at some point, Zion's hand found hers and stayed there, warm and steady.
"Zion," Haru murmured.
"Mm?"
"When you glared at that guy earlier… you looked really cool."
Zion turned her head, expression calm. "Next time, don't talk to strangers."
Haru giggled and leaned against her shoulder, eyes curving into crescents. "Okay. I don't need anyone else anyway. Just you."
The cat purred. The movie played softly. And in that quiet living room, surrounded by warmth and light, it felt like the whole world had shrunk down to the simplest, most precious thing: just the two of them, sharing an ordinary evening that was, in its own way, extraordinary.