The snow had thickened outside, blanketing the world in a hushed white. Winter break had begun, and the city had slowed, exhaling into its frozen rhythm. Hana's house was unusually quiet, her parents away on a business trip for the week. Normally, the silence would've felt hollow, but today—she didn't mind.
Her phone buzzed.
Ren: "You sure you're okay cooking solo?"
Hana: "Nope. That's why I'm inviting you. You coming or not?"
Ren: "On my way."
---
Hana stood in the kitchen, tying a red checkered apron around her waist. Ingredients were scattered across the counter: flour, eggs, milk, chocolate chips. She double-checked the pantry and fridge again, a little nervous but excited.
The doorbell rang.
Ren stood outside, wearing his usual beanie and scarf, with snowflakes melting on his shoulders. "You look serious," he said, stepping in and glancing at the counter. "What're we making? Pancakes?"
She nodded. "Thought I'd keep it simple."
"You're trusting me in the kitchen?"
"No," she said, grinning. "You're just here to look pretty and reach high shelves."
He chuckled, and they set to work. The kitchen warmed quickly with the sound of sizzling batter and light banter. Ren cracked the eggs with surprising finesse, while Hana whisked the mixture.
"You've done this before," she said, impressed.
"I used to cook a lot. It's cheaper than takeout."
There was a flicker of something unspoken in his voice, but Hana didn't press. She handed him the spatula and took over chopping strawberries.
---
As the pancakes cooked, the sweet aroma filled the room, mingling with the hum of conversation and occasional clatter. They moved easily around each other—no awkward bumps, no hesitations.
"Try this one," Hana said, sliding a pancake onto a plate and adding whipped cream.
Ren took a bite and raised an eyebrow. "This is dangerously good."
"Dangerously?"
"Yeah. Like, I might show up at your door every morning demanding pancakes."
She laughed, the sound light and genuine.
She turned to grab the chocolate chips from behind him, but in her rush, her socked feet slipped on the tiled floor. "Whoa—"
She stumbled forward—
—and fell straight into Ren.
More specifically, onto him. Her hands pressed against his chest as she landed with a soft thud, knocking them both back a step.
For a moment, neither moved.
Hana blinked, suddenly aware of how firm his chest was beneath her palms. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink.
Ren didn't say anything. His hands had instinctively caught her by the waist, steadying her. Their faces were close—too close.
"I—uh—sorry," she stammered, pulling away quickly. "I didn't mean to…"
"You okay?" he asked, voice quieter than usual.
She nodded, eyes fixed on the pancake batter. "Yeah. Just slippery socks."
He let go slowly, his warmth lingering. "Maybe don't run in the kitchen next time."
She busied herself at the stove again, heart racing.
---
Later, they sat at the small dining table with their stack of pancakes, syrup drizzling down like golden snow. The tension had softened back into something comfortable, though Hana still found herself sneaking glances at Ren.
He caught her once, and she quickly looked away.
"You're staring," he said.
"No, I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm just making sure you don't steal the last pancake."
He pushed the plate toward her. "All yours."
She smiled, more to herself than to him.
---
As the sun began to set, painting the snow outside in orange and rose hues, Ren stood up and stretched. "Thanks for the pancakes."
"Thanks for not burning the house down," she replied.
He paused by the door, glancing back at her. "You should cook more often."
"Only if you're around to taste-test."
He gave her a look, unreadable but not cold. "Deal."
Then he stepped out into the snow, disappearing down the street.
Hana leaned against the doorway, watching his silhouette fade. Her heart was still doing that stupid fluttery thing.
She smiled.
Inside, the house smelled like sugar and something unspoken.
Outside, winter deepened, quietly.
—————