The gray fog of Port Osea pressed against the glass of the bedroom window. It rolled thick and heavy off the harbor, muffling the morning light into a soft, diffused haze. Inside the apartment, the air held a gentle warmth, calming silence far removed from the roar of twenty thousand Salesbia fans.

  Himeko opened her eyes.

  She lay still for a moment, a dull ache hummed in her quadriceps. She stretched her legs under the duvet, feeling the muscles protest and then release.

  Her hand drifted to the nightstand. Her fingers brushed the cold metal of her phone.

  She picked it up. The screen lit up, blinding her slightly in the dim room.

  One new notification. Kewkvin145.

  Himeko blinked the sleep away. The memory of the previous night rushed back: the bus ride, the adrenaline, the momentary lapse in judgment where she sent a cat emoji.

  She tapped the notification.

  Kewkvin145: Am I seeing what I'm seeing? Did the Iron Maiden just send a cute cat? Is the world ending? Should I call the emergency services? ????

  Himeko stared at the heart emoji. It pulsed on the screen as if mocking her for her foolishness.

  She dropped the phone.

  It bounced on the mattress. She grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it, letting out a muffled groan of regret. Why. Why did she send the sticker? A simple "thank you" would have sufficed. Now he had ammunition.

  She lay there for a full minute, suffocating herself with the pillow until the heat in her cheeks subsided.

  "Ugh."

  She tossed the pillow aside and sat up. The day wouldn't start itself.

  She padded barefoot to the bathroom. The tiles were cool. She tied her hair back, sweeping the dark strands away from her face. She turned the faucet. Cold water splashed against her skin, shocking the nerve endings awake, washing away the lingering drowsiness. She patted her face dry with a fluffy white towel, staring at her reflection. She looked rested and ready to start a new day.

  Himeko walked to the kitchen. Her favorite black cat mug sat on the drying rack. She put it on the table and filled it with dark roast, the steam rising in a curling ribbon, smelling of earth and energy.

  She took a sip. The silence of the apartment felt restful, untroubled. She enjoyed the bittersweetness of her coffee for a moment.

  Himeko set the mug down as she looked at it. She thought of the text and frowned.

  The coffee helped, but her mind remained noisy. She needed a task to organize her thoughts.

  Himeko tied her dark hair back. She pulled the apron over her head, tying the strings tight around her waist.

  She pulled a daikon radish from the crisper drawer. She washed it under cold water, the dirt swirling away down the drain. She peeled the skin in long ribbons.

  She picked up her knife. It was a bit heavy, balanced perfectly in her hand.

  Tak.

  The blade sliced through the white root.

  Tak. Tak. Tak.

  The rhythm took over. A meditative mechanical keyboard-like sound. She sliced carrots into perfect half-moons. She chopped scallions into fine green rings. The pile of vegetables grew on the wooden board, vibrant mosaic of orange, white, and green.

  She turned on the stove. Blue flame licked the bottom of the heavy pot.

  She added a splash of sesame oil. It shimmied in the heat. She tossed in the pork belly slices.

  Szzzzzzzzz.

  The scent of rendering fat and toasted sesame oil rose up, hitting her in the face with a wave of savory warmth. She stirred the meat, watching it turn from pink to golden brown.

  She added the vegetables. She poured in the dashi stock. The liquid swirled, clouding as the ingredients mingled. She lowered the heat, letting the pot settle into a gentle, rolling simmer.

  She stood there, watching the steam rise. It spiraled up into the vent hood, carrying the smell of ginger and miso.

  Fifteen minutes passed. The soup thickened. The smell was rich, deep, a cure for the Osea dampness outside.

  Himeko turned off the heat.

  She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a ceramic bowl, deep and white. She ladled the steaming soup into it, arranging the ingredients so the colors popped.

  Himeko stepped back from the stove. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked down into the pot.

  The miso pork soup bubbled gently. The rich, savory steam rose in a thick cloud. Chunks of pork belly, carrots, and radishes danced in the broth.

  She blinked.

  The liquid line sat dangerously close to the rim of the heavy Dutch oven (this is a pot, not an actual oven). She grabbed a ladle and stirred. The spoon hit resistance immediately - a dense mountain of ingredients.

  She looked at the lone ceramic bowl sitting on the counter. Then she looked back at the pot.

  Calculations ran through her mind. She had essentially made a portion that could feed half of her team.

  Himeko frowned. She tapped the ladle against the rim.

  "Dinner," she muttered to the empty kitchen. "Meal prep."

  She sat down at the dining table, holding out her chopsticks. She brought the bowl closer, savoring the aroma.

  BZZZZZZT.

  Himeko froze. Her chopsticks hovered inches from the broth.

  She set the chopsticks down with a sigh. She padded across the living room to the wall monitor. She pressed the video button.

  The screen flickered to life.

  Kevin Marvant stood in the hallway.

  Today, he wore a simple, heather-gray hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and loose black joggers. He leaned against the wall, checking his phone, looking casual and carefree.

  He looked up at the camera lens and waved.

  "Yo. Break day," Kevin's voice boomed through the speaker. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood."

  Himeko stared at the screen. Her apartment was miles away from the city center, nestled in a quiet residential zone. No one just "happened" to be in this neighborhood unless they lived here or were lost.

  She pressed the talk button.

  "You live two hours away, Kevin."

  "Details," Kevin dismissed the geography with a waving hand. "Anyway, I was thinking. I'm hungry. You're probably hungry. How about Round Two?"

  "Round Two?"

  "Huzebip," Kevin said, his eyes lighting up. "I think I've built up an immunity. I want to try Level 6 spice this time."

  Himeko glanced at the clock. 11:30 AM.

  "Kevin. It is eleven-thirty in the morning. No one eats Huzebip before noon."

  "I live on the edge, Himeko! Come on, I need a guide."

  Himeko looked at him. He looked hopeful, rocking back on his heels.

  She looked back toward her kitchen direction, her mind imagined the giant amount of broth that almost filled up to the brim.

  It would take her three days to eat all of that. By day three, the vegetables would be mush. To throw it away would be very wasteful.

  She looked back at the monitor.

  He was annoying. But he was here, and conveniently, looked hungry.

  Himeko pressed the button.

  "Wait there," she commanded. "Don't ring the bell again."

  "Wait? What do yo-"

  Click.

  She cut the feed.

  Himeko moved fast.

  She sprinted to her bedroom. She stripped off her oversized sleeping shirt and threw it into the hamper. She grabbed a clean, navy blue knit sweater and a pair of straight-leg jeans.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She pulled them on, hopping on one foot to get the denim over her hips.

  She ran to the bathroom. She grabbed a brush and ran it through her hair, smoothing the flyaways. She looked in the mirror, her cheeks were flushed from the rush. She looked... normal, domestic.

  She walked back to the front door. She took a deep breath, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled it open.

  Kevin was leaning against the doorframe, inspecting his fingernails, clearly preparing a second speech to convince her to leave the apartment.

  He looked up. He opened his mouth to speak.

  "Come in," Himeko said.

  Kevin froze. His mouth stayed open. He blinked once. Twice.

  "Excuse me?"

  Himeko stepped back, holding the door wide.

  "I said come in," she repeated, turning her back to walk toward the kitchen. "I... made too much food. It is wasteful to throw it away. Remember to lock the door on your way in."

  Kevin stood in the hallway for a full three seconds. He looked at the open door as if it were a trap lurring an innocent animal in. He looked at the number on the apartment to make sure he was at the right place.

  Then, a slow smile spread across his face.

  He stepped over the threshold.

  "Coming in," he said.

  He closed the door gently behind him. He knelt down and untied his sneakers, placing them neatly on the mat next to her shoes.

  He stood up in his socks. He looked around as he walked in.

  The apartment was warm. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, illuminating a bookshelf packed with novels and volleyball manuals. It was quiet, organized, and personal.

  And underneath it all, the rich, heavy scent of miso and pork filled the air.

  "Smells amazing," Kevin said softly. "Better than Huzebip."

  Himeko moved to the cabinet above the sink. The hinges creaked slightly as she pulled the door open, revealing a stack of mismatched plastic containers. She grabbed a large, square one and set it on the counter with a hollow clatter.

  "I can put this in Tupperware for you," she said, reaching for the ladle. "It holds heat well."

  Kevin stood by the kitchen island, leaning his hip against the granite. He looked at the plastic container, then at the steaming pot of miso pork soup.

  "Wait," Kevin said, raising a hand. "Take it to go? Himeko, it's soup."

  "I don't have any utensils." He gestured vaguely. "Trying to drink chunky pork soup out of a square plastic box while driving... that sounds like a safety hazard."

  Himeko paused, the ladle hovering over the pot.

  She imagined the scenario. Kevin tilting the container, a piece of radish splashing into his lap, the car swerving... knowing Kevin, the reality would likely be even more catastrophic.

  She lowered the ladle. She looked at the empty seat across from her at the small dining table.

  "Fine," she sighed, putting the plastic container back. "Sit down."

  Kevin grinned, pulling out a chair. "Thanks, Captain."

  Himeko filled a second ceramic bowl. She arranged the pork belly and vegetables with the same care she had used for her own portion, ensuring he had good amount since he's a big man. She placed the bowl in front of him, along with a pair of lacquered chopsticks and a spoon.

  She sat opposite him.

  The apartment fell quiet. The only sounds were sounds of the refrigerator and the gentle clink of ceramic against wood. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the table. It felt intimate, enclosed, a world away from the noise of the outside world.

  Kevin picked up his spoon. He blew on the steam rising from the surface, creating ripples in the dark broth. He took a sip.

  He swallowed, closed his eyes for a brief second, and let out a long, contented exhale. He took a piece of the simmered radish with his chopsticks, eating it slowly.

  He lowered his utensils and looked at her. His expression was slightly serious.

  "This is amazing," he said softly. "You are really talented in this cooking stuff huh?"

  Himeko felt a sudden, sharp heat rise in her cheeks. She focused intensely on her own bowl, picking up a scallion slice with unnecessary precision.

  "It is just soup, Kevin," she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. "Don't be dramatic."

  "Truly. I can eat this every day of my life."

  "Eat your food quietly," she snapped, pointing her chopsticks at him. "Or I will kick you out immediately."

  Kevin chuckled, a warm, low sound. He held up his hands in surrender and went back to eating.

  They finished the meal in a comfortable silence. The tension that usually defined their interactions - the challenge, the banter, the professional distance blended into the steam of the soup.

  Kevin placed his empty bowl on the table. He leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach.

  "That," he declared, "was infinitely better than everything I had in months."

  Himeko stood up to clear the bowls. "I would rather you not saying anything about my cooking."

  "Hey just being honest."

  Kevin reached down to the floor where he had dropped his bag. The zipper rasped loudly in the quiet kitchen.

  "I actually... picked something up earlier," Kevin said. He rummaged around for a moment. "I was walking past a shop window downtown this morning, and I saw this. It reminded me of you."

  Himeko paused at the sink, the water running over her hands. She turned off the faucet and dried her hands on a towel, turning around slowly.

  "There's nothing that I need right now."

  "Oh you are going to love this."

  Kevin pulled a small object from the bag.

  It was a plushie. A black cat, round and soft, sitting on its haunches. But unlike the fox she had given him, which wore a mischievous grin, this cat looked entirely unimpressed. Its eyes were two flat, white half-circles. Its mouth was a straight, neutral line. It radiated an aura of stoic judgment.

  Kevin held it up next to his face.

  "See the resemblance?" he asked.

  Himeko walked over. She took the plushie from his hands. She looked at the cat. The cat stared back with indifference. She looked at Kevin.

  "I don't look like this," she stated, frowning.

  "You looked exactly like that when you opened the door ten minutes ago," Kevin laughed. "The 'why are you here' face. It's identical."

  Himeko looked back at the toy. She gave it a tentative squeeze. It was high quality, firm but soft.

  She walked over to the kitchen counter. Her favorite black cat mug was sitting on the drying rack. She placed the plushie next to it. The resemblance between the mug, the plushie, and the owner of the apartment was really undeniable.

  "I will keep it," Himeko said, keeping her back to him to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. "Out of politeness."

  "Politeness. Right."

  Kevin stood up, sliding his chair back. The afternoon light caught the side of his face, softening his features. He looked at her, and then at the cat on the counter.

  "Thanks for lunch, Himeko."

  "You are... welcome," she replied softly.

  ...

  "I'll see you around, Himeko," he said, stepping into his shoes.

  "Drive safe," she replied, her hand lingering on the doorframe.

  She watched him walk away, the grey hoodie blending into the shadows of the corridor. She closed the door and leaned her forehead against the wood. She thought about the soup, the laughter, and the comfortable silence. She pushed off the door and headed back to the kitchen.

  She had told him once that no one should spend time on a stranger...

  ...Good thing he wasn't one anymore.