Knock. Knock.
"…Who's there?"
Takahashi, having just finished the last spoonful of porridge, quickly got up and went to open the door.
The door creaked open—
"...!?"
Chihiro stood there.
A thin coat draped over her shoulders, her hair falling freely, and the hallway light cast a calm, almost unnervingly composed expression across her face.
"…May I come in?"
Takahashi's mind froze for a moment.
—Huh? She… she just left, didn't she? Why is she suddenly back…?!
"…Ah—uhm…"
His voice dropped low.
"Y-yeah… come in."
He stepped aside, letting her enter.
Chihiro walked in casually, as if she had only returned to retrieve a forgotten item. No explanation. No hesitation.
Her calmness made Takahashi even more flustered.
The door closed quietly behind them.
Chihiro took a few more steps into the room—and then froze.
"…."
The room before her left her speechless for a few seconds.
Half-eaten takeout boxes lay on the table with lids askew, a plastic bag untouched on the floor. A shirt draped over the back of a chair, while the sofa was entirely occupied by a messy heap of blankets and pillows.
Not dirty, but definitely the signature mess of a man living alone.
"…Uh—"
Takahashi cleared his throat, stepping partially in front of her as if trying to shield the "crime scene."
"I… I was going to clean it up," he muttered, glancing at the boxes, then added weakly, "…just didn't get around to it yet."
Chihiro didn't respond.
She placed the thermal bag on the table, scanning the room one last time—then calmly turned and murmured:
"…You really don't know how to take care of yourself."
She sighed softly, then tied her hair back with deliberate, fluid movements—so precise, so natural, that Takahashi couldn't move.
She turned to him again, voice even:
"Have you taken your medicine yet?"
"…Ah?" Takahashi blinked.
"I—yeah, I have."
"Good."
Chihiro nodded lightly, then pointed toward the sofa.
"Rest there. Or the bed, if you want."
"…Huh?" Takahashi flinched.
"Wait—how can I let you—"
He shook his head frantically.
"Having a guest—uh, I mean, you—clean my room is—"
"Don't misunderstand."
Chihiro cut him off, her tone as even as if she were discussing office tasks.
"I'm just repaying the favor from the other day."
"And…"
She pointed at him directly.
"I don't want to owe anyone anything."
The words were clear, decisive. No room for argument.
Takahashi opened his mouth to protest—then fell silent.
"…I understand."
He exhaled and obediently went to the sofa, lying down awkwardly.
Chihiro ignored him.
She rolled up her sleeves and carried the boxes to the small kitchen.
The crinkling of plastic echoed in the quiet room.
Takahashi lay there, watching her back.
Her tied-back hair, straight shoulders, each movement deliberate and precise.
"…Strange."
He muttered under his breath.
The room, once filled only with the smell of medicine and solitude, now held something different.
No noise.
Yet somehow… it unsettled his heart.
Once the living room was tidied, she moved to the kitchen.
A few dirty dishes remained. A cold coffee cup with melted ice left a faint ring on the counter.
Chihiro glanced around.
"…Typical single life."
She turned on the faucet.
Whoosh—
The water gurgled softly in the quiet apartment. She placed the dishes in the sink, added soap, and scrubbed each one with methodical care.
Small, ordinary sounds.
Yet Takahashi, lying on the sofa, noticed every single one.
Not intentionally, just… subconsciously.
Her back reflected faintly in the metal sink. Straight posture. Efficient, precise motions.
What am I even looking at…?!
He closed his eyes briefly.
But the clinking of dishes drew his awareness back.
Chihiro finished washing, stacked the dishes to dry, and turned to the counter.
A few crumbs remained. She grabbed a cloth and wiped them clean, carefully attending every corner.
Not too fast, not too slow.
Then she retrieved the vacuum from the lower cabinet.
Vuu—
The deep hum filled the apartment.
Chihiro bent down, sweeping the nozzle across the floor.
Past the table legs.
By the edge of the sofa where Takahashi lay.
The nozzle brushed against his foot lightly.
He instinctively pulled his foot back.
Chihiro glanced at him.
"…Stay still!!"
Her voice calm, even.
"…Okay."
He stayed put.
Vacuum off.
She grabbed the mop, wrung it dry, and wiped from corner to corner.
Thin streaks of water reflected the light, then vanished.
Takahashi opened his eyes, watching her every step.
Nothing remarkable.
Yet—
his everyday space was slowly becoming orderly through her small, deliberate motions.
A strange feeling.
Like… having a girlfriend.
He subconsciously glanced at her and muttered under his breath.
Then—
Chihiro turned her head.
Eyes sharp, catching him in the act.
"…Were you thinking something?"
"…Huh?!"
"You can tell by your face."
She frowned, voice cold:
"Don't even think about it.
I can read your thoughts just by looking at you!"
She went back to cleaning.
Takahashi blushed, heart racing wildly, lying there with eyes half-shut.
After finishing the cleaning, Chihiro noticed the bedroom door slightly ajar.
"…I'll finish tidying the bedroom too."
"…What!?…"
Her voice sounded so natural.
"Wait a sec—!!!"
Too late.
The bedroom door was already open. Chihiro stepped inside.
Takahashi froze, rushing toward the room—
But when he arrived at the doorway—
He stopped.
Chihiro stood in the middle of the room.
In her hands… a glossy magazine.
Bright colors. Illustrations… not modest at all.
"…."
The room went still.
Chihiro's face fell, expressionless. No frown. No smile. Just… terrifyingly calm.
"…This—!"
Takahashi panicked.
"It's not what you think!"
"…."
"I-I just… collect them!"
Even he could feel how ridiculous it sounded.
"Collect them?"
Chihiro repeated, voice calm, with a slight tsundere edge.
She lowered her eyes to the magazine.
Then—
Rustle.
She opened it.
Rustle… rustle…
Flipping through carefully, slowly.
No blushing. No embarrassment.
The more she flipped… the more Takahashi's heart felt like it was about to explode.
Don't look—don't look—don't stay so calm!!
"Wait—wait, Chihiro!"
"Seriously—!"
BANG.
She slammed the magazine shut.
The sound echoed through the quiet room.
Takahashi jumped.
Chihiro looked at him.
Eyes sharp, cold—but the corners of her lips curved slightly.
"…Hmm."
She tilted her head, voice stretching lightly.
"So—"
She lifted the magazine a little.
"Just collecting, right~?"
"…."
Takahashi froze.
Ears red, mind blank.
"…Y-yeah."
Voice so low he could barely hear it himself.
Chihiro stared at him for a few seconds.
Then put the magazine back in its place, neatly.
"…Then~"
She turned back, face calm again.
"I didn't see anything!"
"…Huh?"
"And you don't need to explain either."
She walked out of the bedroom, speaking as she went:
"Anyway—"
She paused briefly, without looking back.
"You're an adult man."
Takahashi froze.
A crushing blow…
Chihiro continued cleaning as if nothing had happened.
Only Takahashi remained in the bedroom, heart racing.
What was this feeling…
Embarrassment. Panic.
Yet—
…Why did it feel like she was teasing him?
A while later, Chihiro carried the remaining trash out.
When she returned, the room was noticeably tidier.
She wiped her hands, looking around.
"…Done."
She approached the bedroom, speaking as she went:
"I've finished cleaning, if you still want—"
Her words trailed off.
Takahashi was asleep.
Breathing even.
Forehead slightly furrowed from fatigue, but the tension on his face had eased.
The cold medicine seemed to be working.
Chihiro stood for a moment, watching him.
"…You sleep fast."
She stepped closer, pulling the thin blanket over him.
Very gently, careful not to wake him.
"…Good night."
Her voice was so soft it almost melted into the air.
Unconsciously, Chihiro glanced at the clock.
The wall clock showed it was quite late.
She looked at Takahashi, sleeping soundly, then at the quiet room.
"Just for a little while…
I'll stay until he's better."
She convinced herself.
"…Just a little while!"
She placed a hand on the edge of the bed, climbed up quietly, careful not to make a sound.
The mattress dipped slightly.
The blanket had shifted to one side.
Chihiro pulled it over, just enough to cover him slightly, sharing a bit of warmth.
She lay on her side, back to Takahashi, maintaining a clear boundary.
No contact.
No crossing any lines.
Just… close enough to feel the faint warmth through the blanket.
"…Just a little nap."
Chihiro closed her eyes.
The exhaustion of the long day finally pulled her under.
In the quiet room, only two breaths remained—
Slow, steady, unconsciously syncing with each other.
END
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