#friendscore

☆

The apartment had traces of the birthday weekend — a stray streamer caught behind the radiator, glitter embedded in the grout by the sink — but mostly, it was back to normal.

Monica was chopping vegetables at the counter, hair half-tucked behind one ear, flour dusting her shirt. A saucepan simmered gently on the stove.

It smelled like garlic and something comforting.

"You want to help?" Monica asked.

Not bossily. Not expectantly.

Just openly.

Kayla nodded before she even realized she was doing it.

Monica handed her a knife and a cutting board.

"Just slice these mushrooms," she said. "But like— friendly slices. Not tiny stressful slices."

Kayla laughed.

"I'm not sure I've ever made a mushroom feel emotionally supported before."

"You'll learn," Monica said seriously.

☆

They worked side by side in easy silence.

Kayla felt herself relax into the rhythm — slice, slide, breathe.

She didn't have to fill the air. Didn't have to be cheerful. Didn't have to pretend anything.

After a while, Monica said softly,

"You've been quieter the last couple of days."

Kayla froze mid-slice.

"...Sorry. I'm trying not to be a downer."

Monica shook her head.

"You're not. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Kayla swallowed.

The truth that came out was small, but real:

"It's been a weird week."

Monica nodded.

"Yeah. Big changes... they hit in waves."

That sentence landed.

Warm. Understanding.

Not prying.

Kayla exhaled slowly.

For the first time in days, she didn't feel like she had to force the air out of her lungs.

☆

Kayla wiped her hands on a towel, still focused on the mushrooms, when a knock sounded at the door.

Monica blinked. "Oh! That must be—"

She opened it, and Richard stepped inside, carrying a small grocery bag and wearing that calm, comfortable smile he seemed to always bring with him.

"Hi," he greeted Monica, and then his eyes shifted to Kayla.

They had crossed paths once — at that dinner with the whole group two nights ago — but barely more than a polite hello had been exchanged. He had been mostly focused on Monica, the rest of the friends had filled the room with noise, and Kayla had stayed close to Joey like a shadow learning a new space.

Now, without the chaos of the group, the introduction felt new.

"Kayla, right?" Richard said warmly. "We met the other night."

Kayla nodded, returning a small, shy smile.

"Yeah. Hi. Nice to... actually talk this time."

Richard chuckled softly.

"Trust me, trying to have a conversation at one of Monica's group dinners is basically a competitive sport."

Monica shot him a look.

"What? It is," he added, unbothered.

Kayla snorted before she could stop herself — and Monica looked secretly delighted that they were getting along.

Richard held up the grocery bag.

"I, uh... brought the good coffee. The stuff Monica pretends isn't better than her coffee because she's stubborn."

"I am not stubborn," Monica protested.

Richard and Kayla exchanged a conspiratorial glance like two people who both absolutely knew Monica was stubborn.

It was small.

But it was the first moment Kayla felt something warm settle —

a sense of being included not as Joey's cousin, not as the new girl,

but as herself.

☆

While Richard unpacked coffee and bread onto the counter, Kayla went back to slicing mushrooms, more at ease now.

Richard's calmness filled the room in a way that didn't ask anything of her.

He wasn't loud like Joey, or sarcastically perceptive like Chandler, or high-voltage like Monica.

Just steady.

"By the way," Richard said casually as he set down the bread, "Chandler mentioned you yesterday."

Kayla froze again — but less dramatically now, more surprised.

"Oh? Uh... in what way?"

"Just said the apartment feels different with you around," Richard said.

He shrugged lightly.

"In a good way."

Kayla's face warmed.

"Really?"

"Really," Richard said with a soft, fatherly sincerity.

"You're good for them."

And even though they had barely spoken before this moment,

Kayla believed him.

☆

Richard had just stepped into the living room to let the coffee brew when Monica returned to the kitchen — and stopped.

Kayla was halfway through slicing the mushrooms, carefully arranging them in impossibly neat rows. Far neater than Monica had asked for.

Monica blinked.

"Wow," she said. "Those are... symmetrical."

Kayla froze, knife mid-air.

"Too symmetrical?"

"No!" Monica rushed in. "They're perfect. They're—God, they're beautiful."

She leaned over the counter, inspecting them as if they were gemstones.

Kayla exhaled with a small laugh.

"You, uh... like neat things."

"LIKE?" Monica put a hand dramatically on her chest. "Sweetheart, neat things are my love language."

Kayla snorted.

"I kind of guessed."

Monica caught the sound, her face softening in a way Kayla hadn't earned before.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"I know it's only been a few days," she began, "but... you're really helping me tonight."

Kayla blinked.

"I'm just slicing mushrooms."

"That's the thing," Monica said earnestly. "You're slicing mushrooms. And you're steady. And you're calm. And you didn't run when I went full birthday-hostess panic earlier the week."

Kayla smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Well... I've lived with Italian aunts. You're practically soothing compared to them."

Monica laughed, loud and delighted.

"Oh my God, you HAVE to tell me everything about that."

She grabbed another cutting board and stood beside Kayla, the two of them working in a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural — Monica fast and precise, Kayla methodical and careful.

After a few quiet minutes, Monica spoke again, softer this time:

"You know... you remind me a little of Rachel when she first moved in with me."

Kayla's eyebrows rose.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," Monica said, slicing peppers with frightening speed.

"She was overwhelmed. Scared. Trying really hard not to be a burden. And she didn't realize she already wasn't one."

Kayla's throat tightened unexpectedly.

"I... guess I relate to that."

Monica put the knife down, turning to face her fully.

"Hey."

Her voice was firm in the way only Monica could be: comforting and commanding at the same time.

"You're not a burden. Not even close."

Kayla stared at her hands.

"Sometimes it feels like I'm just... drifting through everyone else's lives."

"Well, drift into mine anytime," Monica said with a soft scoff.

"I like having you here. You're sweet. And funny. And you don't judge my labeling system."

Kayla let out a breathy laugh. "Should I?"

"NO," Monica said immediately. "It's a sacred ecosystem."

Kayla pretended to zip her lips, and Monica grinned at her — one of those genuine Monica smiles, the kind that squeezed her eyes a little.

Then Monica nudged her shoulder like a sister might.

"You know," she said, "I've seen a lot of people try to fit into this group. You're... one of the easy ones."

Kayla went still, warmth blooming under her ribs.

"Thank you," she said, barely above a whisper.

"No need to thank me," Monica waved off, but her eyes were warm.

"You belong here. You really do."

Kayla's voice wobbled before she steadied it.

"I'm really happy to be here."

Monica slid the last of the veggies into a bowl and looked at her — really looked at her.

Then she did something unexpected.

She stepped forward and wrapped

Kayla into a quick but tight hug.

Warm. Careful. Familiar.

Kayla stiffened in surprise — then melted into it.

When Monica pulled back, she cleared her throat aggressively.

"Okay," she said briskly, wiping her hands on a towel as if the moment hadn't just happened. "Break's over! We have sautéing to do!"

Kayla laughed.

"Commander Geller, yes ma'am."

Monica smirked, pointing her spoon at her.

"Careful. You're gonna make me like you too much."

Kayla couldn't hide the smile that spread across her face.

"Good," she said softly.

"I want you to."

Monica didn't respond right away — but her smile said everything.

Monica was chopping vegetables at a speed that could absolutely take off a fingertip, when she suddenly paused, looked over her shoulder and said:

"Hey... come keep me company. I chop better when someone's talking at me."

Kayla laughed softly and hopped up onto the counter, swinging her legs like she belonged there.

"So what should I talk about?" she teased. "My favorite carbonated beverage? Socks? The meaning of life?"

"Food," Monica said immediately. "Always food."

Kayla smirked.

"Okay... food. Uh— my grandma used to smack my hands with a wooden spoon if I touched her sauce before dinner."

Monica stopped mid-chop.

Her eyes widened.

"Your family hit you with spoons too?!"

Kayla burst into laughter.

"What do you mean too?!"

"My grandmother," Monica said dramatically, "had perfect aim. I once cried because she smacked me for touching her roast, and she told me, 'If you're gonna cry, cry with better posture.'"

Kayla nearly fell off the counter laughing.

"Oh my God," she wheezed. "I LOVE her."

Monica grinned.

"Right?! So what else did your family make?"

Kayla's smile softened, her eyes turning warm.

"Well... Sundays were pasta days. Loud, messy, flour everywhere. Everyone talking over each other."

Monica sighed dreamily.

"That sounds like heaven."

Kayla tilted her head.

"You seriously like that? The shouting? The chaos?"

"I thrive on chaos," Monica said confidently.

"I just want it to be organized chaos."

Kayla laughed.

"You would've hated my family kitchen."

"Oh no," Monica said firmly, "I would've taken over."

Kayla snorted.

"Yeah, that's why they would've hated you."

They both laughed again — big, bright, honest laughter.

A moment passed.

A quiet one.

Then Kayla said softly:

"You cook like someone who wants everyone to be safe."

Monica froze mid-stir.

No one... ever put it that way.

"...I do?" she asked, voice small.

Kayla nodded.

"My mom cooked that way too. Food was her love language. Her way of fixing bad moods or bad days."

Monica swallowed.

"That's... exactly how it feels for me."

Kayla smiled, gentle and knowing.

"You're a fixer, Monica. Just like me. Just... with better knife skills."

Monica laughed — a short, shaky one — and blinked a few times too quickly.

"Don't make me cry," she muttered. "I hate crying in the kitchen."

"You'd cry with perfect posture," Kayla smirked.

"Oh absolutely," Monica said.

Their shoulders bumped lightly as Monica handed her a spoon.

"Here," she said. "Taste this."

Kayla tasted.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh my god. That's insane. Teach me."

Monica lit up like Christmas.

"You want me to teach you?! Really?!"

Kayla shrugged casually, smiling.

"Only if you promise not to spoon-smack me."

"No promises," Monica said with a straight face.

They both dissolved into laughter again — the easy, rolling kind that signals something real has clicked into place.

Something that wasn't forced.

Or planned.

Or emotionally heavy.

Just... two women finding each other in the noise.

☆

The afternoon stretched into something gentler than any of them expected.

Monica insisted they all sit at the kitchen table — "because chairs exist for a reason" — and served pasta she'd sworn wasn't "anything special," even though Kayla was positive it could win a culinary award in at least three countries.

Richard sat opposite Kayla, sleeves rolled up. He looked completely at ease in Monica's kitchen, which already told Kayla more about him than any biography ever could.

Monica chattered happily while loading their plates.

"Kayla likes chaos," she explained, gesturing with the serving spoon. "Like — actual, real chaos. Not my definition of chaos, which apparently is... not chaos."

Richard smiled.

"I can imagine the difference."

Kayla laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Monica's version of chaos is one crooked napkin."

Monica gasped dramatically.

"Kayla! I'm right here."

"Exactly," Kayla teased. "That's why I said it."

Richard chuckled, low and warm.

"I like her," he said simply, glancing at Monica in a way that made her blush — just a little.

Kayla grinned into her fork.

They talked about everything and nothing:

Richard's first attempt at cooking ("The fire department was involved.")

Monica's childhood kitchen memories

Kayla's stories from growing up in Italy

— not the hard ones

— just sun and food and noise

Monica leaned in, chin propped on her hand, fully invested.

"I love how you describe things," she said sincerely. "Like they're... alive."

Kayla shrugged, a little shy.

"That's how it felt. Everything was loud. Even the food."

"That," Richard said, raising his fork, "is the definition of a good childhood."

Kayla smiled, touched — because it wasn't exactly true anymore, not in every chapter.

But hearing it framed that way made something inside her unknot, even if just slightly.

They ate until the plates were empty and the kitchen smelled like basil and laughter.

Monica nudged Kayla with her shoulder.

"I'm really glad you came today," she said softly.

Kayla looked at her — at the honest warmth in her eyes, the kind that wasn't polite or performative, but real.

"I am too," she admitted. "You're... easy to be around."

Monica blinked, surprised and moved.

"So are you."

Richard stacked the plates, and when Kayla reached to help, he shook his head gently.

"No, no. Guest's privilege."

"But I live across the hall," Kayla grinned. "Does that count as being a guest?"

Richard gave her a thoughtful nod.

"That depends. Are you planning to steal leftovers?"

Kayla pretended to consider.

"...yes."

"Then you're family," Richard said, and Monica laughed out loud.

Kayla's cheeks warmed — not from embarrassment, but from something softer, steadier.

A sense that she was in a room she belonged in.

At a table she was welcome at.

With people who weren't just tolerating her presence, but choosing it.

When the sun began dipping toward the windows, Richard and Monica exchanged a soft smile — one Kayla politely pretended not to notice.

Kayla stood and stretched her arms.

"Thank you for lunch. For... all of this."

Monica wrapped her into a quick, sincere hug.

"You're part of this now, okay? You don't need a reason to show up."

Kayla smiled into her shoulder.

"Okay."

Richard squeezed her shoulder gently on her way out — calm, warm, respectful.

"If you ever want a recipe for Monica's favorite dessert," he said, "I can give you the one she doesn't let anyone else have."

Monica gasped.

"Richard!"

Kayla laughed, feeling light — truly light — for the first time since the birthday-party chaos.

When she crossed the hallway and opened the door to the guys' apartment, she paused.

Looked back.

Saw Monica laughing as Richard stole another piece of bread off the table.

Felt something settle deep in her chest.

Belonging.

A real, quiet, steady belonging.

And she let the door close behind her with a smile.

_____________________

He walks in the garden. And watch where and what corners of garden starts to expanse. His world is always on expanse.

And there are little doors to another such a worlds. But he lives in this one world. So, there is a field here. Where he plays. It can be a little rain. He is smiling. And it was recently a raining. It is refreshing and little wet. This is funny. And I was as guest at this place.

We drink a tea. And discuss videogames. Nes. And it was simply fun time. I watched little flowers in a garden. How high grass is here. And not bad garden he has.

So, this kind bug lives in a garden.

Dima Link is making retro videogames, apps, a little of music, write stories, and some retro more.