The warmth from the pancakes and Ren's lingering presence hadn't faded even after he left. Hana sat at the kitchen table long after he'd gone, her hands cradling a half-empty mug of cocoa. Outside, snow dusted the windows in soft layers. Inside, her heart was too loud in the silence.
She traced invisible patterns on the tabletop with her finger, thinking about how close he'd been. The way he caught her. The way his hands had held her waist—not awkwardly, not forcefully, but gently, like she was something he didn't want to drop.
The memory played on repeat. Again. And again.
She shook her head, cheeks warming all over again. "Get a grip," she muttered to herself. But there was a smile tugging at her lips she couldn't quite get rid of.
---
Naoki leaned against the rail of his apartment's rooftop, bundled in his hoodie and jacket, with Popcorn curled in the pocket of his coat like a little ball of heat. The kitten's gentle purring was the only sound he heard besides the distant city hum and occasional gust of wind.
He looked up at the sky—clear tonight, stars scattered freely.
He wasn't used to peace. It felt… fake. Temporary.
But the quiet mews of Popcorn grounded him.
"Guess it's just you and me again," he whispered. "Mom's sleeping. And I'm not gonna cry in front of her anymore."
Popcorn pressed her head into his chest.
He laughed softly. "You get it, huh?"
The wind picked up, but he didn't move.
---
The next morning, Hana stood in front of her closet, holding up two different scarves. One was pastel blue. The other, plain black.
Why did it matter?
She groaned and threw both on the bed.
Her phone buzzed.
Ren: "Outside. Wear something warm."
Hana blinked. She hadn't even said anything about plans. She grabbed the pastel scarf without thinking, threw on her coat, and hurried out.
Ren leaned against the gate, hands in his pockets. He looked… comfortable. Like always. But there was a small curve to his lips that felt more noticeable than usual.
"Morning," she said.
"Morning." He nodded toward the street. "Wanna walk?"
They didn't have a destination. The streets were quiet, the city still half-asleep under a thin sun. Snow crunched beneath their boots.
"Thanks for yesterday," Hana said, breaking the silence.
"For not letting you fall face-first into the stove?"
She nudged him with her elbow. "For coming over. I don't usually invite people."
"I know."
She glanced at him. "How?"
"You just seem like the type," he replied simply. "Careful with who you let in."
She didn't respond to that. It felt too accurate.
They turned a corner into a park dusted in frost. Empty benches. Bare trees. Kids' swings frozen mid-tilt.
"Do you ever miss being little?" Hana asked.
Ren looked at her. "What brought that on?"
"I don't know. Just… back then, things felt easier. You didn't think too hard about people leaving. Or how to make them stay."
Ren's gaze lingered on her. "Yeah. I get that."
They stopped by one of the benches. Hana sat. Ren stood beside her, kicking a patch of snow with his boot.
She looked up at him. "Do you ever think about what's next? After school, I mean."
"Sometimes," he said. "But it's like… there's this fog in front of everything. Like I'm driving with headlights that only show the next five feet."
She nodded slowly. "Same."
They sat in silence again. But not the empty kind.
---
Later, they passed a small bookstore tucked into the corner of an old alley. Hana stopped.
"I haven't been in there in ages," she said. "Wanna go in?"
Ren shrugged. "Sure."
The bell chimed softly as they entered. Inside, the air was warm and smelled like old paper and cinnamon. The kind of smell that felt like a hug.
Hana wandered to the art section, fingers brushing familiar spines. Ren hovered nearby, scanning covers without much interest.
"Here," Hana said suddenly, pulling out a thin volume. "This reminded me of you."
Ren took it. "A poetry book?"
She nodded. "Read the back."
He did.
'For the ones who carry quiet like armor, and feel everything all at once.'
He was quiet for a long moment.
"…Thanks."
She smiled. "You don't have to read it. I just thought it suited you."
"I will."
They walked out together, the poetry book tucked under his arm.
Snow had started falling again—small, slow flakes.
And Hana felt something strange, something warm threading between their footsteps.
A beginning.
---
At home, she flipped open her sketchbook. The one she'd retrieved from school with Ren.
She drew the pancakes. The syrup. The moment she slipped.
Then she paused… and started sketching something else.
A scarf. A book held between two hands. A bench dusted with snow.
And Ren.
Always Ren.
The boy who showed up without being asked.
The boy who always walked beside her.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
But inside, something was blooming quietly.
And Hana wasn't afraid of the quiet anymore.
—————