The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty window, casting long, soft shadows across Ryunosuke's room. The scent of old paper and graphite lingered in the air, mingling faintly with Amelia's cooking from downstairs.
He knelt beside his cluttered desk, methodically stacking sketchbooks and loose pages into neat piles. Each one carried a fragment of his world—unfinished ideas, frozen memories, moments caught between pencil strokes.
His hand hovered over one sketch: the pier—the day he saw her. He paused, then carefully slid it beneath the others. Out of sight, but not out of mind.
The desk chair creaked as he pushed it back. He moved to the corner where his clothes lay in a heap. Folded shirts. Sweaters. Space made.
It felt strange. Like he was erasing parts of himself to make room for someone else.
But maybe that wasn't entirely true.
He cleared a shelf in the small bookcase, shifting volumes of manga and art manuals. His hand brushed against a photo frame—Amelia and him, smiling on the day they reopened the restaurant. He touched the glass lightly.
Emily would be here soon.A new presence.A new rhythm.
Someone who would fill the quiet with questions and laughter and life.
He wasn't sure if he was ready for all of that.
Yet, as the light shifted and the shadows moved with it, something stirred—a flicker of hope. Something he hadn't allowed himself to name until now.
Maybe it was okay to make room.Maybe the space wasn't just physical.
He folded the last shirt, took a breath, and turned off the desk lamp.
The room felt emptier.But somehow, less alone.
A soft click echoed from downstairs—the restaurant's front door breaking the stillness like a ripple across still water.
Ryunosuke stood near the staircase as footsteps approached—steady, careful.
A slender figure stepped into view, framed by the fading glow of a streetlight. Blonde hair catching the light. Eyes curious, cautious. A small hesitation in her step like someone stepping into another version of their life.
Emily.
She wore a worn leather jacket over a simple shirt, jeans cuffed at the ankles. A small backpack hung from one shoulder—far too light for a stay that might last months.
"Hey," Ryunosuke said quietly.
Emily looked up, her smile uncertain. "Hey."
She set the backpack down with a soft thud, her eyes scanning the space like she was trying to memorize every line.
"This is… different from home," she said.
"Yeah," Ryunosuke replied. "Takes some getting used to."
She shrugged, biting her lip. "Mom said you'd show me around. Maybe not scare me off."
He laughed softly. "I'm not that bad."
Her smile warmed. "You don't seem so brooding in person."
He gestured toward the staircase. "Want to see your room?"
She nodded. Together, they climbed the stairs—the silence between them folding gently around the questions neither of them voiced.
When they reached the room, Ryunosuke pushed open the door he had just cleared hours earlier. A comfortable futon. A modest dresser. Just enough space for her to exist.
Emily stepped inside and set her bag aside the futon. She looked around slowly.
"It's cozy," she said.
"Yeah. Mom says it's temporary."
Emily folded her arms, her voice soft. "Temporary can last a while."
He nodded. Unsure if it was a warning or comfort.
Then she noticed the sketchbook resting on the desk.
"You draw?"
He hesitated. Then reached for it, opening to a random page—soft graphite waves curling in motion.
"Yeah. Sometimes."
She watched the lines as though they held a secret.
"Maybe you'll show me more someday," she said.
"Maybe."
Downstairs, the sound of Amelia humming drifted up through the floorboards—a quiet reminder that even as things changed, some things stayed the same.
Ryunosuke felt something settle in his chest. Not dread. Not discomfort.
Just… change.
Emily was here now.
The quiet had shifted.