She came back late, carrying that confused lightness that comes after drinking a little too much.
She closed the door softly, or at least it seemed so to her. Her heels hit the floor with a sound too loud for the silence of the house.
In the kitchen, he was still awake. He was drinking a glass of water when that sound reached him.
He didn't move right away. Then, calmly, he approached and leaned against the wall, just outside the light, the cold glass in his fingers.
In her room, the sister heard everything. She slightly opened the door, holding her breath.
She bent down to take off her last heel, then straightened up.
She staggered a step.
She looked up.
She saw him.
For a moment the world seemed to stop there, in the overly silent entrance.
He remained leaning against the wall, immobile, observing her as if she were a scene that had happened by chance, but that he did not want to interrupt.
Then he looked away.
And smiled slightly.
Not because she was drunk.
But because, in that moment, in his eyes, there was something incredibly tender in the way she stood there, imperfect and real.
She felt the warmth rise to her cheeks.
Not because of the situation.
Not because of the alcohol.
But because that was the first smile she had ever seen from him.
She swallowed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
"I… well…" she stammered softly, avoiding looking at him for too long.
"I'm going to sleep."
She didn't wait for an answer.
She picked up her shoes, turned, and walked down the hallway, her heart beating stronger than she would have liked to admit.
Behind the half-closed door, the sister smiled.
She had seen everything.
He stayed there a moment longer leaning against the wall, the glass now forgotten in his hand.
Then he drank the last sip of water, turned off the light
and silence filled the house again.
The next day, the train slid quickly through the winter landscapes.
Bare fields, naked trees, low sky.
She was sitting by the window, her forehead resting against the cold glass. The reflection showed her a tired face, but her eyes were awake.
She would have liked to sleep.
She needed to.
And yet, every time she closed her eyes, images she had not invited came back:
the party, the way he had moved through the crowd,
and above all that smile.
A small smile. Almost stolen.
And yet enough to stay on her skin.
She tried to push it away, to think of something else.
But her mind went further, ran on its own, imagining what had not happened and what, perhaps, could have happened.
He was moving away and the more he moved away, the more she realized that something of him had stayed with her.
Arriving home, exhaustion finally won.
She lay down on the bed without even changing and slept for a few hours, a light sleep filled with broken thoughts.
In the evening, at dinner, her mother watched her carefully.
After a few routine questions, she inevitably got there.
"And… how is it going with your roommate?" she asked, pretending indifference.
She shrugged, absentmindedly poking her fork into her plate.
"Everything's fine. He's a good guy."
End.
Nothing else.
She closed the topic as if there was nothing more to say. And, in part, she really wanted to believe it.
With her friends, however, it was different.
"Okay," one of them said, sitting on the bed and crossing her arms.
"Talk."
She sighed, letting herself fall next to them.
She told them about living together, about his silence, about the way he always seemed distant.
She said she was attracted to him.
And immediately after, that he irritated her to death.
"He's unbearable," she burst out. "He always does what he wants, he doesn't consider me, it seems like he doesn't care about anyone."
The friends exchanged an amused look.
"Of course," one said laughing. "And meanwhile he's also gorgeous."
"And mysterious," another added. "The worst possible combination."
She snorted, but couldn't hold back a half smile.
She knew they were right.
They laughed, made comments, teased her.
But beneath that lightness, they all understood one thing.
Maybe she didn't yet.
But something inside her had already started to shift.
The day before the Christmas dinner, the sister convinced her brother to go out to buy gifts for their family.
They walked through streets lit by Christmas markets, breathing the cold air scented with mulled wine. The sister, with a sly smile, asked: "So, we're getting her a gift too, right?"
He didn't answer, continuing to look at the shop windows and the packages the sister picked up.
While choosing gifts for their parents and other relatives, he noticed a small object among the shelves, something that made him think of her. Without hesitation, he took it, placing it with the other purchases, almost like a spontaneous gesture, without thinking too much.
Shortly after, the sister stood in front of him holding two outfits and said: "So, which one do you prefer?"
He looked at both with his usual detachment, thought for a moment, then pointed at one of them. No extra words, no excessive emotion: his choice was clear and decisive, as always.
After finishing everything, they sat in a café to drink a coffee, chatting little, but enough to make the moment light. Then they resumed walking through the shops, finished the last purchases and, with bags full of gifts, went back home.
At home they set up the tree, arranged the decorations, and then went to the stove to prepare Christmas dinner, while the air filled with a warm and familiar atmosphere.
He was not as cold as usual: Christmas mattered, and the holidays had a special weight. In the kitchen, he moved calmly, cutting vegetables and stirring ingredients, while the sister chatted cheerfully, telling episodes from the day and asking questions here and there. He listened, answered with monosyllables or short sentences, closing the conversation naturally, without hurry or irritation.
"How is mom?" he suddenly asked, interrupting the sauce he was stirring.
"Everything's fine, don't worry," the sister replied, smiling.
"And for the rest? Everything okay?" he added calmly, his movements precise while stirring.
"Everything's fine." she answered with a smile.
After finishing preparing dinner, they sat at the table, the warm candlelight flickering on their faces. The air was filled with the smell of food and Christmas, a comfortable silence wrapping the room, interrupted only by the sister's light chatter.
While they were eating, the sister began asking more delicate questions, with subtle but evident curiosity.
"It would have been nice if she had been here too, right?" she said with a curious smile.
He slightly raised his eyes but did not comment.
"She's really a good girl, right? She's also very pretty," she insisted, trying to get a reaction.
"I don't know her," he replied simply. "And I don't care."
The sister made a face, trying to provoke him: "You wouldn't want to get to know her better, even just a little?"
"No." he said, continuing to eat. "And besides, from what I see, we're opposites. Different."
The sister sighed, both amused and frustrated: she knew her brother, she knew how stubborn and indifferent he was, but that silence was not indifference. It was him.
"You know," she said, leaning slightly toward him, "it wouldn't hurt you… to open up a little, sometimes."
He smiled slightly, a minimal smile that showed no emotion, but the candlelight made it appear warmer. His gaze softened a little, focused on the plate in front of him, while the ticking of cutlery seemed to mark the slow and reassuring rhythm of the evening.
They talked about other things, Christmas memories, small details of daily life, between bites. The sister watched him, trying to read between the lines, without really managing to know more. She knew that perhaps one day that girl would have her place in her brother's life… but not that evening.
The evening ended like this: between light laughter, discreet comments and the smell of food, the party continued to shine in the house. The intimacy between brother and sister made every gesture and word a small precious memory, a silent magic that only the two of them could perceive.
On the train, happy for the Christmas spent with family and friends, she returned peacefully, unaware of who and what would be waiting for her.
She came back late to the apartment. She placed her suitcase near the entrance and went to the kitchen to prepare something to eat. Meanwhile he came out of his room and headed to the bathroom; she saw him, greeted him softly. He did not react, continued on his way, as if nothing mattered.
Shortly after, the door opened: the sister came back in, saw her and went toward her, hugging her sincerely. She told her she had been missed at home, that it would have been nice if she had been there during those days. Then, almost naturally, she added that the next day would be the last they would spend together and asked if she wanted to go out with her.
She smiled and nodded, saying yes, she would like that.
The next day they went out shopping together. While walking, the sister began asking how the holidays had been. She replied with a sincere smile: she had had fun and missed her family.
After a moment of hesitation, she asked about him, almost casually:
"Why is he like that?"
The sister looked at her for a moment before answering, then explained: "He is like that because the way he lives and thinks has always been different from others. He has always wanted to remain alone, becoming emotionally independent. To be honest, I don't even know everything about him… if you really want to understand, you should ask him directly."
Then she added: "He hasn't always been like this. Over time he built himself this way. Even with family he is like this."
She stayed looking at her for a moment, a slight smile on her lips, surprised and curious, wanting to truly understand what he was like.
The two of them laughed together, letting go of curiosity and questions for a moment. They walked side by side through the lit shop windows, chatting and joking, enjoying the moment without thinking about anything else.
Before saying goodbye, the sister took out an envelope and handed it to her with a smile. She said it was her Christmas present and, almost casually, added that her brother had chosen it.
She remained surprised for a moment, holding the envelope in her hands, saying nothing. The sister watched her, as if she had said more than it seemed, then hugged her tightly, saying she was really happy to have spent that day together.
At the door, they said goodbye, and as the sister walked away, she stayed there for a moment, with that small certainty still spinning in her mind.
It is New Year's Eve night. She spent the evening with her friends, laughing and chatting, enjoying the sharp cold that lit up her cheeks and the distant sound of fireworks. When she returns home, tired but still cheerful, she changes and collapses on the sofa, her body relaxed but her mind too lively to let her sleep.
He spent the day as always: boxing training, a few anime episodes, familiar gestures and movements that made his routine almost ritual, as if even New Year's Eve were just another day.
When night falls, she cannot fall asleep. Sitting on the sofa, she tries to distract herself with a film, but thoughts keep running. He comes out of his room, dressed as always, headphones still around his neck. She notices him and, without much hope, asks if she can go with him.
He does not answer immediately, takes off his headphones, and with a simple look gives her a silent yes. Without a word, she stands up and gets ready. Then, together, they go out into the cold New Year's night.
After a while of silence, she begins to talk, as she always did, little by little. First with harmless statements: "Your sister is really nice, unlike you…" He did not respond. Then, slowly, the questions became deeper.
"Why are you like this?" she asked.
"Like what?" he replied.
"Why are you so empty? Why are you so cold and indifferent? Why… does it seem like you don't live your life?"
He paused for a moment and replied: "I don't know how to fake things I don't feel."
After that answer, she stayed silent for a few moments, thinking. The street was quiet, lit by streetlights, the cold forcing them to walk close, almost unintentionally.
"So… what do you feel now?" she asked softly.
"Nothing." he answered, looking her in the eyes.
She stayed silent for a moment, as if searching for something inside that answer.
"And when you do feel?" she then asked.
He made a small pause.
"It shows." he said.
"Always?" she asked.
He slightly shook his head.
"Rarely."
She smiled, a little amused, a little struck by his bluntness.
Silence returned, but this time it was different. It was not embarrassment, it was mutual understanding. They walked side by side, and slowly the conversation became lighter, but always with that subtle thread of truth between them.
She asked him a few more personal questions, innocent, curious about his thoughts and habits, while he answered in a sincere, dry, but unexpectedly gentle way. Every answer revealed his personality, his values, that way of seeing the world he did not show to everyone.
And so, step by step, word by word, the distance between them seemed to shrink, silent but evident. The night wrapped around them, the city slept around them, and that small walk became their space, intimate and personal.
They were crossing the street while talking, she distracted by his words and the sound of his voice.
She did not notice the car coming, too fast, too close.
He saw it immediately.
Without thinking he moved sharply, grabbed her and pulled her toward himself with decisive, instinctive force. The car sped past them a moment later.
She remained still, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath broken. Only then did she realize she was pressed against him.
She looked up.
His face was serious, focused. His jaw tense, veins slightly visible, muscles still contracted under the jacket. He was so close she could smell him: warm, clean, incredibly reassuring.
For a moment everything else disappeared.
She looked at him like never before, her eyes caught by every detail. The thought came naturally, spontaneously.
How beautiful you are.
He turned toward her at that exact moment.
Their gazes locked. She felt the words rising, ready to come out, but she stopped. She suddenly pulled herself together, lowered her eyes slightly, as if surprised by herself.
"You're crazy," she said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.
He shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "You were about to get run over."
It wasn't just protection. It was attention. The ability to act without hesitation, as if nothing could stop him.
And for the first time she truly saw him: not just as her usual roommate, but as someone capable of surprising and fascinating her.
She swallowed, feeling her heartbeat slowly settle. It was not only fear she felt. It was something different. Admiration. Safety.
"Thank you… really," she whispered.
"No need," he replied, letting her go naturally.
But this time she noticed it: his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual, and she felt a sudden warmth in her chest, a mix of shyness and attraction.
Silence returned, but it was no longer awkward. She felt a silent bond, a sweet and magnetic tension. Every step beside him made her feel closer, more curious, more involved. Every small gesture made him more real, more intense, more… irresistible.
They stayed there for a few minutes, in silence. She watched him, her heart beating fast, her hands slightly trembling, feeling every small detail of him imprint itself in her mind: the way he moved, the calm in his gestures, the focused gaze.
"Shall we go?" he finally said, as if nothing had happened, naturally.
She nodded, trying to control her breathing, but inside she felt a spark she could not turn off. They walked side by side toward home, the silence no longer heavy: it was filled with a subtle understanding, an attraction growing with every step, silent and irresistible.
Her heart kept beating fast, and her breathing was still uneven. She remained like that, close to him, unable to speak, as if every word was too difficult to say. The contact, even if only for a few seconds, had shaken her more than she expected.
He remained still for a moment, observing her without hurry. Then, with his usual calm, he spoke, almost as if nothing had happened:
"And you… how do you live your life?"
The question struck her, simple and direct, but at the same time intense. She felt surprised, not because she was curious about the answer, but because no one had ever asked her something like that in that way. Her voice trembled slightly as she tried to answer, looking away:
"I… I think I live it… as it comes, I guess."
He nodded slowly, without judgment, watching her carefully. Then he said, in that calm but penetrating tone:
"that's so you."
As he said it, he gave a small smile, barely noticeable, as if it were natural and spontaneous, without forcing anything.
She, a little nervous, gave a small forced smile. "What do you mean?"
"That it shows." he replied, simple, without adding anything else.
They stopped in front of the house door. He went in first, as always decisive and direct, leaving her one step behind. She stayed outside for a moment, staring at the floor, her heart still full of thoughts, of what had happened, of what they had said, of everything she had sensed about him.
The feeling that he was so present, so confident, and yet so enigmatic, stayed with her. And while he disappeared inside, she remained there, thinking, reliving in her mind every gesture, every word, every shared breath, until she decided to enter, while the night wrapped around her and her mind kept spinning.