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Ethan pushed his chair back and let out a long breath, stretching until his joints cracked. The game lobby music was still playing faintly through his headset, but the match timer had already hit zero.
He peeled the headset off and set it on the desk, leaning back until he was staring at the ceiling. His apartment was quiet enough that he could hear the hum of his PC fans winding down.
"…I probably should've stopped two hours ago," he muttered.
The clock on the corner of the screen confirmed it — 12:17 a.m.
He slid the mouse aside and shut the computer down, the sudden darkness from the monitor making the room feel oddly still.
In the kitchen, the fridge light washed over him as he grabbed a bottle of water. He leaned against the counter and took a slow sip, eyes drifting to the window. The city was alive out there — a scatter of neon signs and streetlamps cutting through the night. Somewhere in that sprawl, people were working, partying, fighting… living.
And here he was.
It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
Tomorrow's the date, he reminded himself.
His phone buzzed against the counter. Without thinking, he picked it up.
Unknown number.
The message was short:
Heard you're still alive. Good. Don't get comfortable.
Ethan stared at the words for a long moment, thumb hovering over the reply button. Whoever it was didn't sign off, didn't give context. Just… a poke. A reminder.
He locked the screen without answering and set the phone face-down.
"Not tonight," he murmured.
Morning came fast.
Sunlight pried its way through the blinds, cutting the room into stripes of gold and shadow. Ethan groaned and sat up, rubbing his face. His phone said 8:04 a.m.
Two hours until he had to pick up Samantha.
He moved through his routine on autopilot — shower, shave, brush teeth, coffee. Steam curled around him as he stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry.
The mirror caught him mid-motion. For a split second, it wasn't this apartment staring back — it was an alley in Orario, the stench of monster blood thick in the air, his dagger dripping red.
He blinked, and the reflection was just him again.
"…Great. I'm hallucinating over breakfast now."
The closet offered him three choices: casual T-shirt, hoodie, or something that said I put effort into existing today. He went with a clean dark button-up and fitted jeans — simple, but not "gamer hermit" simple.
By the time he pulled up in front of Samantha's place, the early breeze had already shaken off the morning chill. She was waiting outside, one hand shading her eyes from the sun.
When she spotted him, her lips curved into a slow smile.
"Wow," she said, walking up as he stepped out of the car. "Look at you. Trying to impress someone?"
Ethan opened the passenger door for her. "Yeah. The coffee shop barista."
She laughed, shaking her head. "I missed this. The sarcasm."
Once she was in, Ethan circled back to the driver's seat, starting the engine. The soft hum of music filled the silence between them.
"You been up long?" he asked.
"Not really. My cat woke me up at six because she decided breakfast was more important than my REM cycle." She sighed dramatically. "I swear she's plotting my demise."
"She's a cat. Of course she is."
Samantha smirked. "Y'know, most people say 'aww' when I talk about her. You go straight to conspiracy theories."
"That's because I'm realistic."
The way she smiled at that made something in his chest loosen.
They started at her favorite café — the kind of place that had plants in the window, tiny mismatched tables, and the faint smell of cinnamon baked into the walls.
Samantha ordered a chai latte and a slice of banana bread. Ethan stuck with a flat white and one of the croissants that looked like it had been made five minutes ago.
She drummed her fingers lightly against the table as they waited. "So… what've you been up to lately?"
Ethan's gaze wandered toward the street outside. "A lot of nothing. And a little of… other stuff."
"That's vague as hell."
He smirked. "You'd be surprised how often that works."
Samantha narrowed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "One of these days, I'm gonna make you actually answer a question straight."
"Bold of you to assume I'm capable of that."
Their drinks arrived, and the conversation drifted to safer topics — a new restaurant opening in town, her coworkers, a ridiculous news story about someone trying to rob a bank with a frozen fish.
At one point, she laughed so hard she nearly snorted chai out of her nose.
"You're imagining it now, aren't you?" Ethan asked.
She wiped her eyes. "Shut up. I am."
After coffee, they wandered through the park. Sunlight filtered through the trees, and the pond at the center reflected the sky like glass. Samantha stopped to watch a pair of ducks bicker near the water's edge.
"See? Even ducks have relationship problems," she said.
Ethan gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Probably arguing about whose turn it is to find bread."
They found a bench and sat, letting the quiet stretch for a while.
Samantha glanced sideways at him. "You really do seem different, y'know. Since last time we hung out."
"How so?"
"Less… restless, maybe? Like you're not constantly halfway out the door in your head." She tilted her head. "It's not bad. Just… noticeable."
Ethan rolled the thought around in his mind. "Guess I've been keeping busy."
She didn't push. Instead, she smiled faintly and looked back at the pond.
Lunch was at a small family-owned place she loved — the kind where the staff recognized her instantly. They shared a plate of pasta and a pizza neither of them could finish.
Between bites, Samantha asked, "Do you ever think about… what's next? Like, for you?"
Ethan stabbed a piece of pasta and gave a lopsided grin. "Tomorrow, I think about breakfast. Next week? Who knows."
"Such a planner."
"I like to keep the suspense alive."
When he drove her back home, the sun was already low, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks. She lingered by the door after getting out.
"Thanks. Today was… really nice."
Ethan leaned on the steering wheel. "Yeah. I had fun."
She gave him a half-smile. "Don't vanish for months again, okay?"
"No promises," he said, but softer than usual.
She waved once before slipping inside.
Ethan sat in the car for a long moment, watching the street. Then he started the engine and headed home.
The apartment felt different when he walked in — too quiet after a day of constant conversation. He tossed his keys on the counter and collapsed onto the couch.
Tomorrow, he'd start packing for Orario again.
The peace was almost over.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the message from last night still lingered.
---
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