AYA: 

All that confidence I felt in the shower disappeared as soon as I saw him. I could feel my face turning red as I thanked him quietly, avoiding eye contact. But when he told me to make myself at home, the determined smile returned to my face as I headed to the kitchen.

I noticed how meticulously organized everything was—spices lined up perfectly, dishes stacked just so—nothing like the chaotic mess of our kitchen at home where finding a clean spoon was like winning the lottery.

I didn't know what to make, or to be perfectly honest, I didn't know how to cook much at all. My mom was always working, and I basically lived off takeout and microwave meals. "But this is something I have to do," I thought, clenching my fists with determination while my stomach did nervous flips.

I grabbed some vegetables from the fridge, awkwardly cut them into uneven chunks (seriously, how do people make those perfect little cubes?), and put them in a baking pan. The stove had so many buttons—I ended up choosing "Broil" since it seemed to have the highest temperature. Go big or go home, right?

What followed was pure disaster. I used a different plate for each vegetable, my trembling hands accidentally breaking two of them. Then the soy sauce bottle slipped through my sweaty fingers, shattering across the floor in a brown puddle that looked suspiciously like a crime scene. As I frantically tried to clean up, muttering curses under my breath, I suddenly smelled it—the vegetables! I'd completely forgotten them in the oven, and now they were burning.

The awful smell filled the air, and my dreams of impressing Shinta went up in smoke just as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes widening at the apocalypse I'd created in under fifteen minutes.

"Um... are you okay?" Shinta asked while looking at the mess around. His expression wasn't angry like I feared, but concerned—making me wonder if anyone had ever really worried about me like that before, or if I was just imagining the warmth in his eyes.

"Oh hey, Shinta. I just thought that since you offered me a place to stay tonight, it's only right that I repay you somehow. But I think I managed to do just the opposite," I said, my tone playful but embarrassed, a nervous laugh escaping as I gestured at the disaster zone formerly known as his kitchen.

The silence that followed made me instantly hyper-aware of his every expression. I searched his face anxiously, trying to read what he was feeling. Was he disappointed? Upset? I couldn't bear the thought of having hurt him when all I wanted was to make him happy. My stomach twisted with worry as the moment stretched between us, feeling like the longest, most excruciating pause in human history.

Then his eyes welled up with tears. That's when I knew I'd messed up in a way I hadn't expected. All my nervousness vanished, replaced by genuine remorse. I walked up to him and gently wiped his tears with my trembling hands.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, looking down in shame. "I'll clean it up right away and I'll leave. I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you." My voice cracked as I fought back my own tears, remembering how many times I'd been thrown out for smaller mistakes than this.

As I turned to face the disaster I'd created, I felt a slight tug on my oversized sleeve—the one he'd lent me last night after my clothes got soaked in the downpour. I turned around, bracing myself for the harsh words that always followed my mistakes, but instead... he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me.

I froze, completely caught off guard. "Why isn't he mad? He should be yelling at me right now, so why is he hugging me?" I thought as tears began streaming down my face. Hesitantly, I hugged him back, then tighter, breathing in his fresh scent.

My mind flashed to the last time I'd knocked over a glass at home. Mom had exploded, screaming about how I never did anything right, then locked herself in her bedroom for the entire evening. It wasn't always like this. I still remembered how she used to laugh when I made messes as a little kid, helping me clean up with patient hands, telling me stories about how she once spilled an entire gallon of paint in her parents' living room. That was before Dad left, taking pieces of her with him that never seemed to come back.

Even now, I couldn't help but leave little notes in her lunch bag every morning—cheesy jokes and crooked hearts and reminders that I loved her. Sometimes I'd catch a hint of her old smile when she found them, a glimpse of the mom I used to know. That's why, despite everything, I kept trying.

Is this what it feels like when someone actually cares? Is this love? I think... I might be falling for him. Not in that desperate, clinging way people talk about, but something warmer and safer. Maybe we could have breakfast together every morning, or go shopping at the farmer's market on Sundays, or I could learn to make his favorite pasta without setting off the smoke alarm for once.

I didn't want to let go, and it seemed like Shinta didn't either. His arms were stronger than I expected, and I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. Right then, all I wanted was to stay exactly where I was.

As I hugged him tightly in the kitchen, a sudden, sharp pain shot through my chest, making me gasp. It was gone as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but a lingering coldness that spread through my body like ice water. I shivered against him, and Shinta held me tighter, thinking I was just emotional when really, something felt... wrong.

For a brief moment, I felt like I was floating outside myself, watching this scene play out from the ceiling. Then I snapped back into my body, pushing the weird feeling aside. I almost asked "What was that?" out loud, but stopped myself—no way was I going to ruin this perfect moment with my drama. Probably just stress anyway, and Shinta was being so sweet.

His embrace pulled me back to where I belonged—connected to someone who actually cared. The strange moment melted away as I focused on how good it felt to be understood, to not feel so damn alone anymore. His warmth filled the hollow feeling the pain had left behind.

"Hey, Shinta," I sobbed, my face buried deep in his chest. "Keep holding me," I managed to say, my voice steadier than I felt.

He let out this big sigh that I could feel against the top of my hair. "Yes," was all he said, but somehow that one word carried everything I needed to hear.

God, it felt good being in his arms. Like he was lending me some of his strength, you know? Everything I was feeling just sort of flowed between us. I wanted to share everything with him, to have someone who'd celebrate with me when things were good and help me through when they weren't. Someone to build a life with, even if it was just a simple one.

We stayed like that for what felt like forever, until finally, reluctantly, he pulled away. His eyes were still soft when they met mine.

"We should clean this mess up now," he said as he stepped back, running a hand through his hair, looking at the disaster I'd created in the kitchen.

"Ohh, yes, I'm still sorry about this," I chuckled, feeling my cheeks flush as I gave him the brightest smile, even with tears still in my eyes. I knelt down to gather the broken pieces, my hands still shaking a little.

After we cleaned up the mess, I sat on the edge of his bed, feeling strangely at home despite the kitchen catastrophe. I unconsciously reached for my wrist, twisting the thin silver bracelet that had belonged to my mom. The little moon charm caught the light as it dangled.

"That's pretty," Shinta said, noticing my fidgeting. "Does it mean something?"

I smiled, holding my wrist out so he could see it better. "My mom gave it to me when I was little. She used to tell me that the moon always finds its way back, even when it seems to disappear." I rotated it around my wrist, a nervous habit I'd developed over the years. "Back then, she'd sit with me by the window on nights when I couldn't sleep, pointing out stars and making up stories. This bracelet is from that time, before everything changed." I paused, my voice growing softer. "It's silly, but it makes me feel safe, like I'm never really alone."

He reached out hesitantly, his finger gently touching the small crescent moon charm. "It suits you," he said softly. Something in the way he looked at it made me feel like he truly saw me—not just the bubbly, confident girl everyone knew at school, but someone with depth worth knowing.

"I've never told anyone about that before," I admitted, still playing with the bracelet.

Shinta gently tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm glad you told me."

The rest of the night settled into something peaceful. We shared his room, with Shinta insisting I take his bed while he slept on the floor beside me. I tried to argue—it felt wrong to take his bed while he slept on the hard floor—but he was so sincerely determined to make me comfortable that I eventually accepted with a grateful smile. Before climbing into bed, I carefully straightened his blankets and fluffed the pillow he'd be using on the floor, wanting to make things just right for him.

"Are you sure you'll be comfortable down there?" I asked for probably the fifth time, leaning over the edge of the bed. "We could trade halfway through the night or something?"

He just smiled up at me. "I'm fine, really. Get some sleep."

After saying goodnight, we fell quiet, but I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened in the kitchen as I drifted off to sleep. I kept replaying our hug over and over, wondering if I'd embarrassed him by crying, hoping he knew how much his kindness meant to me.

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling strangely alone. The digital clock read 2:37 AM. When I peeked over the edge, I saw Shinta sleeping peacefully, one arm tucked under his head like a little kid. His blanket had slipped off, and I noticed goosebumps on his arm. Without really thinking about it, I slipped down beside him, trying super hard not to wake him. I gently pulled his blanket over both of us, feeling a rush of warmth at being able to take care of him in this small way. His warmth made me feel safe, and I fell back asleep listening to his steady breathing, wondering if this was what it felt like to finally belong with someone instead of just desperately trying to fit in somewhere.

The sun coming through his thin curtains woke me up. I found myself just watching his face—the way his eyelashes rested against his cheeks, how peaceful he looked. I had an urge to make him breakfast, to thank him properly, to show him I could do something right in a kitchen. I wondered what foods he liked, already making mental notes to learn his favorites.

When his eyes finally opened, he looked so surprised to find me so close. The morning light caught these little gold flecks in his brown eyes, and I couldn't help but smile at how adorably confused he looked.

"Good morning, Darling," I whispered, immediately wanting to crawl into a hole when I realized what I'd called him. The word had just slipped out so naturally, like we'd been waking up together for years.

He blinked a few times, like he wasn't sure he heard right. "Darling?" he muttered, his cheeks turning pink.

I felt my face burning, but instead of backing away, I reached out and straightened his messy hair, finding comfort in the small act of caring for him. "Sorry, that just came out. Is it weird? Should I not call you that? I mean, we hardly know each other, but after yesterday, it feels like—" I stopped my nervous rambling when I noticed his shy smile.

Then I glanced at the digital clock and nearly choked. "Shinta! It's 8:15!" I shoved it in his face, watching as the same horror dawned in his eyes. Without saying anything, we both jumped up and rushed to get ready for school—we were super late!

As we frantically got ready, I still found myself fixing his crooked collar and shoving his math textbook into his hands when he walked right past it. Even in panic mode, I couldn't turn off the part of my brain that noticed everything—his mismatched socks, the button hanging by a thread on his jacket, his backpack strap that looked one heavy book away from snapping. Mental notes I stored away, already thinking about how I could help with each one.