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Echoes

Kawakami Lynn x Male Reader

Fluff

A/N: This is a two parter and I just thought of uploading this so I could make the second part longer.

Also tried out a new writing style, yay or nay?

[Part 1, Part 2, Part 3]

Life sucked.

Life sometimes had those rough patches where it seemed like everything wasn't going your way but as people say, it isn't how hard you fight to get back up or something like that.

Whoever said that clearly never got fired from a job on short notice.

Not just any job, either, it was the job. The one you built your entire routine, self-respect, and sleep schedule around. It was more or less the only job for someone who grew up learning how to fight other kids and staying at the back of school with a bunch of other delinquents.

You sat back up from what seemed like hours of looking at the blank ceiling of your cramped up apartment. Grabbing the letter from the coffee table, you reread it again and again until you felt reality hit.

You were fired.

There it was in perfect, polite corporate phrasing

“Your services are no longer required.”

No thank-you for the late nights, the near-misses, or the time you took a thrown water bottle to the face from a drunk fan. Just a signature at the bottom and a cold stamp from the agency.

You snorted.

“Professional restructuring,” they called it. That was a fancy way of saying, you’re disposable.

The pay had been good. The schedule? Miserable. The person you guarded? …complicated.

She was every kind of trouble wrapped in expensive perfume and late-night filming schedules. The kind who smiled at the cameras like she was born for it, but left her phone in every dressing room known to mankind.

And you were the one who picked up after her.

Until you weren’t.

You tossed the letter aside and rubbed your eyes. The ceiling hadn’t changed, and neither had your bank balance. You were out of a job, out of options, and two weeks away from being out of rent.

Then you heard your phone ring and vibrate against the table.

A part of you wished it was the company calling and saying that they'll take you back but another part didn't exactly agree. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

You looked at the screen and groaned, it was only your sister.

Rei is calling!

Staring at the screen for another second, you finally swiped on the green button and pressed it against your ear.

“What do you want?” You said, trying to not sound as miserable as you already were.

“Jeez, what happened to you? You sound grumpier than usual.”

“I got fired,” you said bluntly, letting the words hang in the air like wet laundry.

There was a pause on the other end. Then, your sister sighed, long and exaggerated. “Figures. Figures it had to be that job. Honestly, you were probably too good at it. Agencies hate competent people.”

You raised an eyebrow, even though she couldn’t see it. “Too good? I got tossed aside like yesterday’s leftovers.”

Her laugh echoed through the speaker, warm and teasing. “Well since I'm sure you have nothing else to do today, why don't you head over to the dojo? Dad has been looking for you, y'know. Says you've been ignoring his messages again.”

You groaned, rubbing your face with the heel of your hand. “The dojo. Right. Because getting hit by strangers with a wooden stick is exactly what I needed in my day.”

“You say that like you didn't do it for fun back then,” She teased. “Anyways, while you’re at it, maybe swing by the diner too. I'm short on delivery staff, well delivery man and honestly, you moving around a bit beats lying on the couch looking miserable.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Delivery man now? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!” She said, her voice sharp with that unmistakable mix of sisterly nagging and amusement. “You can still use your. . .unique skills. Think of it as still being a bodyguard. Only instead of protecting someone’s life, you’re protecting miso soup and bento boxes from falling on the street.”

You leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling again. From bodyguard to food courier. Fantastic.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll do it. Happy?”

“Ecstatic!” she said, laughing. “I knew you’d see reason. Now go before I come over there myself and drag you out.”

“But.” You said into the phone, standing up from the couch slowly. “As long as I still get pay.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'll reward my younger brother handsomely, whatever. Just come over once you're done with Dad’s place.” Rei replied before the call beeped and ended in his hands.

By the time you finished your morning routine, if you could call it that, the sun had finally risen high up in the sky. You squinted your eyes as you stepped foot outside and tapped your foot on the floor to fit in the old pair of sneakers you wore.

The trip wasn't that long, just a brisk walk through the city and a stroll through quiet neighborhoods and you finally reached the wooden building that stood out like a sore thumb between houses.

You pushed open the sliding door, and the familiar scent of tatami mats and polished wood hit you immediately. The dojo was quiet—too quiet—and for a moment you wondered if your father had gone on one of his legendary early-morning walks without telling anyone.

“Oi! You finally decided to show up!” a gruff voice called from the back. Your father emerged from the shadows, wooden practice sword in hand, clearly looking far too enthusiastic for this hour.

“Morning, Dad,” You muttered, trying to sound casual while secretly questioning every life choice that led you here.

“Didn’t think you'd actually come by again. Last I heard you were really busy. Is it your day off today?” He said, jabbing the air with his sword.

You gulped, nodding your head reluctantly. “Guess you could say that.”

He snorted, clearly unconvinced, and waved you toward the back room where some of your old sparring partners were warming up. You took one last deep breath and reminded yourself this wasn’t the worst part of your day. That honor still went to the pile of delivery orders waiting at your sister’s diner.

By the time you finished your half-hearted practice, dodging, blocking, and occasionally taking a deliberate hit to your ribs just to get it over with, you were drenched in sweat and vaguely miserable. But at least the dojo portion of your day was done.

You sat down on the floor, heaving in and out breaths of air that came in heavily. You felt someone sit beside you and looking over, it was your father who sat down cross-legged.

“I got fired today. Just got the letter in the mail earlier.” You said, in one breath.

Your father didn’t respond right away. He simply let out a low hum, eyes fixed on the floorboards ahead, the kind of silence that filled every inch of the dojo. For a man who could break a shinai over your head without blinking, he was oddly careful when it came to words.

“Welcome to life.” He said, stifling a laugh.

You turned your head, unsure of what he just said.

“What? You're not mad or anything?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” your father said, tilting his head slightly with that same unreadable calm that used to scare your childhood friends. “You’re not a kid anymore. You got fired, so what? Happens to everyone at least once. Twice, if they’re stubborn.”

You blinked at him, sweat still clinging to your hairline. “You’re taking this way too well. I thought you’d lecture me about responsibility or some crap.”

He chuckled, the sound low and unhurried. “If you’re waiting for a lecture, you're about ten years late. I used to waste my breath on you back when you thought punching things solved everything.”

You groaned. “That was one time.”

“That was many times,” he corrected, pointing a calloused finger your way. “But look, you’ll be fine. You’ve still got your health, both your arms, and an annoying sister who actually cares enough to drag you out of bed. You’re already ahead of half the guys I trained with.”

You snorted and ran a hand through your hair. “That’s a low bar, Dad.”

He grinned, that rare, fleeting thing that softened the wrinkles around his eyes. “Low bars are easier to jump over. Anyways, maybe you could take time for yourself since your time isn't so occupied. Maybe even—”

“Help out Rei with her diner?”

“Yeah, that could work too.” He groaned out. “You know how much of a hard worker your sister is but unfortunately she only has one set of hands and feet so sometimes you have to step in and help.”

You let the silence stretch out with a nod before your father spoke with a nudge to your side.

“What happened during your last time out anyways? I thought you were doing an alright job, surely you didn’t cause that much trouble, right?”

Your eyes found the mat below you before your shoulders shrugged themselves. “That was what I also thought until I got the letter in the mail. And nothing happened during my last shift. . .it’s just that.”

Your father tilted his head slightly, noticing the drop of your tone.

With a sigh, you decided to say what you could remember during your last time out.

.

There were cameras, lots of them.

Camera flashes going off and camera shutters springing into the night air as the red carpet lit up.

You remembered the chaos first — that sharp, electric hum that came whenever Kawakami Lynn stepped out of the car.

The crowd roared, a wave of sound crashing over you the moment her heels hit the red carpet. You stood a few steps behind her, eyes scanning the crowd for movement, every muscle wired tight. Flashbulbs went off like lightning strikes, each one catching her smile, her wave, the glint of her earrings.

You’d seen it a hundred times before, but it still amazed you how easily she slipped into that persona. The actress. The star.

Not the woman who once nearly burned down a set trying to make instant ramen in her dressing room.

She laughed at something a reporter said, the kind of effortless laugh that made everyone around her lean in. You didn’t look. You couldn’t. Your focus was on the crowd, on the man in the front row who looked a little too eager, on the fans pushing past the barriers.

That’s supposed to be your job. Or was.

You remembered how it all went downhill after that.

One of the paparazzi had gotten too close, shoved his camera into her face, nearly tripping her heel. Before she could even flinch, your hand was already on the guy’s shoulder, shoving him back a few steps. Nothing major. Just enough to make a point.

Except someone caught it on video.

By the next morning, the clip was trending online:

“Bodyguard Assaults Photographer — Actress Silent Amid Controversy.”

You could still picture the way the agency rep wouldn’t look you in the eye during your final meeting.

“Your. . .enthusiasm for protecting our client has become a liability.”

You’d wanted to argue, to say you were doing your job, but what was the point? The decision was already made.

You blinked yourself back to the present, exhaling through your nose. “That’s pretty much it,” you muttered. “Didn’t even get to explain. Guess it’s easier to fire someone than admit the industry’s full of vultures.”

Your father didn’t say anything right away. He just grunted softly, the kind of sound that carried a mix of sympathy and reluctant amusement. “So you got fired for doing your job too well.”

You gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, tell that to my landlord.”

He pushed himself to his feet with a groan, dusting his palms off. “Then stop moping and do something useful. Rei’s gonna chew your ear off if you don’t show up soon.”

VRRRT! VRRRT!

“Speak of the devil.” You mumbled, glancing at your phone on the mat beside you and then at the contact that was calling.

You picked up the phone again and pressed it to your ear.

“Are you done over there?!” The loud voice of Rei shouted out through the phone.

You flinched and held the phone an inch away from your ear. “Good morning to you too,” you said dryly.

“Morning, my ass! You were supposed to be here an hour ago!” Rei barked. You could practically hear the sound of frying oil and clattering pans behind her, the diner in full chaos.

“I was sparring,” you replied. “Dad insisted.”

“Oh, please. The only thing Dad insists on is people not bleeding on his mats. You can spar anytime, I’ve got customers who actually pay me.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re really selling this job, you know that?”

“Do you want a medal or a paycheck?” she shot back without missing a beat.

Your father chuckled beside you, clearly enjoying the show. “Tell her I said hi.”

“Dad says hi,” you said.

“Tell him I said he owes me lunch,” Rei snapped.

“Rei says you owe her lunch,” you relayed, and your father just laughed louder.

You sighed and rubbed your temple. “Look, I’m on my way, alright? Just give me like… ten minutes.”

“Make it five, unless you want me to send Haruto to get you.”

You froze. “Haruto? The new guy?”

“Yeah. He’s eager, cheerful, and terrifyingly punctual. You’d hate him.”

“Right. Five minutes,” you said quickly and hung up before she could say anything else.

Your father smirked. “She’s got you on a leash.”

“She’s got everyone on a leash,” you muttered, standing and grabbing your jacket.

He gave a small nod and leaned back against the wall. “You could do worse than working for your sister. Keep yourself busy, clear your head. Who knows — maybe life’s just setting you up for something interesting.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, not even pretending to believe him.

But an hour later, when you found yourself in front of Rei’s diner, hair still damp from another rushed shower, you had to admit, “interesting” wasn’t the word.

“Pathetic” was closer.

The bell over the diner door clanged like an accusatory clock. Heat and steam hit you the second you stepped inside, the scent of frying garlic, soy sauce, and a chorus of voices calling orders. Rei’s diner was small and loud and exactly the kind of chaos you’d once managed with military precision. Now you were in the back, fumbling with an apron two sizes too small and trying not to look like you’d just been dragged out of bed.

“About time,” Rei barked before she even looked up. She had that way of making everything sound like an announcement, orders, insults, compliments, none of them optional. Her hair was tied into a quickly tied bun, a streak of flour across one cheek, and she wielded a spatula like a conductor’s baton. It suited her.

“Nice to see you too,” You said, dropping into a stool by the counter. Your sister, already in motion, threw a scooter helmet which you caught, barely.

“Stay right there while I fix those orders for you, okay?” She said, as if she was ordering a puppy. Then, she disappeared into the steam of the kitchen.

You sighed looking around the place.

The walls were cluttered with faded photographs and old posters—half nostalgia, half distraction. One showed your dad in his prime, holding a trophy with a crooked grin. Another showed you and Rei as kids, standing in front of the same diner back when your mother was still the one running the counter. You almost smiled. Almost.

“Don’t just sit there looking dramatic,” Rei’s voice snapped from behind you. You turned to see her carrying two plastic bags over the counter, barely breaking a sweat. “The addresses should be written on the receipt inside and the scooter should just be outside too. You do know how to drive, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking that like you didn’t teach me how to when I was thirteen.”

“Yeah, and you almost drove into a mailbox,” She said flatly, shoving the bags into your hands. “So excuse me if I have trust issues.”

You rolled your eyes and took the handles, feeling the familiar weight dig into your fingers. “I was thirteen, Rei. My legs barely reached the pedals.”

“And yet here you are, still making excuses. Touching.” She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded toward the door. “Go on. First one’s a couple of blocks away. Don’t drop anything or I’m docking your pay.”

“You’re not even paying me yet,” You muttered, stepping toward the door.

“Exactly,” she called back with a grin. “So don’t mess up.”

The bell clanged again as you pushed out into the street. The noontime sun was sharp but not exactly unbearable, glinting off the rows of scooters parked by the curb. You spotted yours easily, a battered thing with a dented fender, the delivery food container sticking out the back and a paint job that already peeled off the side.

It wasn’t glamorous.

It wasn’t even remotely close to what you used to do.

But as the city air hit your face, weaving between cars and storefronts, a small part of you felt… free. No schedules, no body earpiece crackling in your ear, no one barking “eyes front” every ten seconds. Just you, the hum of the motor, and a paper bag of noodles fighting gravity in the backseat.

You made the first few deliveries without incident — a salaryman who barely looked up from his phone, a tired office worker who tipped in coins, an elderly lady who insisted you take a pack of seaweed snacks “for energy.”

Little did you notice that you had somehow spent almost the whole afternoon weaving through traffic to get back and forth from the diner and back to the city.

By the time you returned, the sun was already melting into the horizon, the light outside soft and orange like it couldn’t decide whether to stay or leave. You parked the scooter, muscles sore, legs buzzing, and shoulders still tense from a day of balancing trays and dodging pedestrians.

Rei was at the counter when you stepped back in, wiping her hands on a towel. The diner had quieted down, only a couple of regulars left slurping noodles at the far end. She looked up when the door chimed.

“You’re late,” She said automatically.

You stared at her. “You realize I’ve been gone all day, right? Delivering your food.”

She shrugged. “And now you’re back. Which means you can do another one.”

You groaned. “You’re seriously trying to kill me.”

“Not yet,” Rei said, reaching under the counter and pulling out another plastic bag, tied neatly with the receipt stapled to the side. “Last one for the night. Building’s not far, just a few blocks from the train station. After that, you can go sulk at home all you want.”

You squinted at her. “You mean sleep?”

“Depends how you take it.” She slid the bag across the counter. “Go on. Chop-chop.”

You sighed, grabbed the bag, and glanced at the address. The name of the building caught your attention immediately — Crystal Garden Residences.

You frowned. That name sounded way too familiar. You’d driven past it a few times, one of those shiny glass towers that seemed allergic to people like you. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place that ordered takeout.

“Fancy place,” you muttered. “Hope they tip.”

Rei didn’t even look up. “Hope you don’t get lost.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped outside again. The air had cooled down, carrying that faint hint of rain and exhaust that always hung over the city at night. You strapped the food in, started the scooter, and headed off.

The streets were quieter now, traffic lights reflecting on the wet asphalt as you passed convenience stores closing up and couples walking home. A long day, but at least this was the last one.

When you reached the building, you had to double-check the address just to make sure you hadn’t wandered into the wrong dimension. The place looked even more absurd up close — tall, sleek, and gleaming with gold accents that probably cost more than your entire apartment.

You parked near the curb, straightened your shirt, and walked into the lobby. The air conditioning hit you like a wall, carrying the faint scent of citrus and money.

The receptionist glanced up from her desk. “Delivery?”

“Yeah,” you said, showing the bag. “For. . . uh, Unit 1502.”

She checked something on her screen, then smiled politely. “You can head up. The elevator’s on your right.”

You nodded and made your way to the elevator, the polished floors reflecting every scuff on your sneakers. Inside, you caught sight of your own reflection in the mirrored walls — messy hair, tired eyes, shirt half-wrinkled. Definitely not the look of someone who used to stand in the background of red carpets.

When the elevator doors opened, you stepped into a quiet hallway lined with gold-trimmed lighting and expensive-looking art. Looking down on the receipt for another time, you glanced over the instructions left by the customer.

“Leave it at the door and ring the bell.”

You nodded, replaying the words in your head before you found the door and placed the bag of food before the door. With a satisfied breath, you walked back down the hall with only the thought of laying down on your bed after a long day.

Then it hit you.

You forgot to take a picture of the food on the door.

You froze mid-step, staring blankly at the hallway carpet. “Shit.”

The word came out like a sigh, half defeat, half disbelief. You turned back around, muttering to yourself as you jogged a few steps. “One job. Literally one damn job.”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket, already opening the delivery app, ready to snap the proof photo and be done with it. You crouched, lined up the shot when the door opened.

The sudden click and swing of it nearly made you drop your phone.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding—”

“. . .(YN)?”

You blinked up, heart skipping once, twice, like your brain needed a second to process the sight in front of you.

There she was.

Hair loosely over her shoulders, still damp from a shower, wearing an oversized hoodie that probably cost more than your scooter.

Barefoot.

Familiar.

Unmistakably familiar.

Of course it had to be her.

Kawakami Lynn.

Her eyes widened.

So did yours.

And with each of you putting a hand over your lips in dramatic fashion, the both of you shouted.

“You again?!”

Your voice echoed down the pristine hallway, bouncing off marble walls and framed abstract art, a perfect stage for your mutual disbelief.

Lynn blinked first, lowering her hand but keeping that incredulous look. “You’re— wait, you’re delivering my dinner?!”

You stood up slowly, dusting off your knees with a groan. “Trust me, this isn’t my idea of a reunion.”

She crossed her arms, still standing in the doorway with that same movie-star posture, even in an oversized hoodie and pajama shorts. “I thought you were doing. . .I don’t know, actual security work? Important stuff?”

“I was,” You said, rubbing the back of your neck. “Until someone’s management decided they didn’t need ‘extra muscle’ anymore.”

Her lips parted. “Oh.” Then, after a second, “So it’s my fault?”

You gave her a flat stare. “Did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to,” She shot back, though her tone carried the tiniest edge of guilt. “You’re looking at me like I personally took your badge and handed you a takeout bag.”

You exhaled sharply, trying not to roll your eyes. “Relax. I’m not blaming you. Just. . . ironic timing, I guess.”

Lynn looked you over for a moment, taking in the wrinkled shirt and tired eyes before muttering under her breath, “So you were the one who got laid off.”

“What?” You raised your head up from the food to look at her.

“I was curious when the managers were talking about laying someone off today, guess I got my answer.” She explained.

You groaned, “Great, even the whole company is talking about me.”

Lynn leaned against the doorframe, crossing one leg over the other, looking way too casual for someone who just blew up your week without lifting a finger.

“Well, what did you expect? You were kind of hard to miss,” she said. “The guy who barely talks, always in a suit, always hovering around me like a shadow? People notice when the shadow suddenly disappears.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Glad to know I left such a legacy.”

She tilted her head, studying you. “You really didn’t see it coming?”

You gave her a look. “Would I be standing here holding takeout if I did?”

Lynn hesitated, eyes darting briefly to the floor before returning to you. “It wasn’t personal, you know. The agency’s cutting down—budget stuff, PR image, all that nonsense.”

You shrugged, not quite trusting yourself to answer without sounding bitter. “Doesn’t matter now. You got your dinner, I got my tip, hopefully.”

That made her frown a little. “You’re seriously doing delivery work?”

“Bills don’t pay themselves.” You met her gaze, voice flat but steady. “Besides, it’s honest work. No one throws bottles or screams at me for blocking their camera angles.”

Lynn’s lips pressed together, and for a brief second, she looked less like the celebrity plastered across billboards and more like a person, unsure, maybe even guilty. “I didn’t know it got that bad.”

You smirked faintly. “You weren’t supposed to. My job was making sure you didn’t.”

That shut her up for a moment. The hallway hummed softly with the sound of the building’s air conditioning. She shifted her weight, the expression on her face caught somewhere between guilt and curiosity.

Then, her tone softened. “Do you… want to come in for a minute? You look like you’ve been running around all day.”

You blinked. “You’re inviting your delivery guy inside?”

Her brow furrowed, and she crossed her arms again. “I’m inviting someone I know inside. Don’t make it weird.”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re assuming I want to come in.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “You’re standing there like you might collapse if I don’t let you sit down.”

You looked down at yourself, damp hair, sweat still clinging to your collar and sighed. She wasn’t wrong.

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping past her into the apartment. “But I’m only staying for five minutes.”

“Sure,” she said, closing the door behind you with that faint, knowing smile. “Five minutes.”

You removed the helmet slowly while you looked around the place. It was just your run of the mill apartment, white wallpaper and some furniture scattered throughout.

The apartment looked clean, maybe a bit too clean. There wasn't any sign that it had been lived in for a while, it all looked artificial the way everything seemed to be where they were like a showroom.

You looked into the plastic again, picking out the receipt and at the name of the customer who ordered, it wasn't hers.

Lynn made her way past you and walked to the couch in the small living room. She turned on the TV and watched some soap opera that was on as if you weren't there.

She shifted on the couch, pulling one knee up and resting her chin on it, eyes still flicking between you and the TV. The soap opera couple was arguing about betrayal in the background, dramatic music swelling under every line.

“Wow,” you muttered, setting the delivery bag on the coffee table. “Didn’t expect your place to look this… normal.”

Lynn didn’t look away from the screen. “Sorry to disappoint. Were you expecting velvet curtains and a champagne fountain?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “Something less empty.”

That made her glance at you, before her gaze went back to the TV. “Empty’s easier to keep clean.”

You studied her for a moment. Her tone was casual, but there was something about the way she said it, quiet, automatic, like she’d said it to herself too many times before.

“Guess that explains why you ordered takeout under someone else’s name,” you said, tapping the receipt. “You hiding from the fans or the food delivery app?”

She shot you a look, half amused, half annoyed. “You really check customer names?”

“Only when it’s suspicious.”

“The place isn't mine, a friend told me I could stay here so might as well use her name too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A friend, huh? Must be nice having ones who lend you luxury apartments.”

Lynn gave a soft, humorless laugh, her gaze drifting back to the TV. “Yeah. She’s overseas for work. Doesn’t use the place anymore, so she said I could stay until I figured things out.”

“Figured things out?” you echoed, leaning against the counter. “That doesn’t sound like the Lynn I remember. You used to have everything figured out.”

Her lips twitched at that, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. “Yeah, well. Turns out life didn’t get that memo.”

You watched her for a beat. The actress on the TV was still crying, begging someone to stay, and Lynn’s reflection flickered faintly across the screen, the same glossy expression, except hers looked real.

You crossed your arms. “So what’s a C-list actress doing crashing in a friend’s apartment, eating takeout under a fake name?”

She glanced at you, that familiar sharpness flashing in her eyes again. “You really don’t know when to stop asking questio-wait what did you call me?”

“Nothing.” You shrugged your shoulders.

Lynn clicked her tongue before settling back down to watch her show, dodging your question too.

You helped yourself to the kitchen that was devoid of anything besides the stove and the heater.

“I'll just grab a glass and I'll get going.” You said, opening the cupboards.

Lynn didn’t look up from the TV, but you could feel her eyes on you, faint and calculating.

“Water?” she asked finally, her voice low, careful. Not polite. Not exactly concerned. Just… offering.

“Yeah, thanks,” you said, grabbing a glass and filling it at the tap. The faucet clinked against the metal, loud in the otherwise quiet apartment.

You turned back toward the counter to lean against it, trying to act casual. But the apartment felt strange now, too empty, too quiet, yet somehow weighted. It wasn’t just the lack of furniture or decoration. It was her. The way she’d softened just enough, the way she hadn’t asked for company directly, but clearly wanted it.

Once you finished your glass, you placed it back in the sink and turned the faucet just long enough for you to rinse it.

You rinsed the glass and set it on the counter, wiping your hands on your pants before turning around. “Alright, five minutes are up. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Good,” She said immediately, eyes glued to the TV.

You smirked. “Wow, no hesitation at all.”

“I mean—” she straightened up slightly, her tone sharp but too quick, too defensive. “You said five minutes, didn’t you? I’m just respecting your schedule.”

You leaned a shoulder against the wall, watching her. “Right. Respecting my schedule.”

Her grip on the remote tightened, like she was trying to look casual but forgot how.

Then, just as you were about to grab your helmet, she blurted out, “You didn’t even eat anything.”

You blinked. “Was I supposed to?”

“No, I just—” She frowned, searching for a good excuse, “—you look like you’re starving, that’s all. I don’t want you passing out in the elevator or something and ruining my image when people find out my old bodyguard died outside my door.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your image, huh?”

“Don’t twist it!” She said quickly, crossing her arms again and looking away. “I just don’t want to deal with the guilt, okay?”

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “You really haven’t changed.”

Lynn huffed, trying to hide the smile tugging at her mouth. “And you really still talk too much.”

You walked back to the counter, eyeing the delivery bag. “You ordered enough food for two people, anyway.”

Her shoulders stiffened, almost imperceptibly. “That’s—it’s called variety, okay? I like having options.”

“Right,” You said, pulling out one of the smaller containers. “Then you won’t mind if I try one of your options.”

“Hey!” She snapped, sitting up straight. “That’s mine!”

But she didn’t actually stop you. She just watched, indignant but flustered, as you took a seat on the arm of the couch and ate a piece of dumpling. You could feel her glare burning into the side of your face.

“It’s cold,” you said between bites. “You should’ve eaten earlier.”

She scoffed, grabbing the remote and pretending to change the channel. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime,” You replied with a smirk.

Lynn rolled her eyes, but she didn’t tell you to leave again.

Instead, she adjusted the cushion beside her, almost like she was making space, though she’d probably deny it if you pointed it out.

When you finally sat down next to her, she muttered, “You’re sitting too close.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” she said, leaning back with her arms crossed, cheeks faintly peek, “but then you’d probably make a scene about it. And I don’t have the energy.”

You bit back a grin. “So, you want me here?”

She turned her face toward the TV, voice just a touch softer.

“Don’t push your luck.”

.

Five minutes turned into ten. Ten turned into twenty.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you were halfway through a box of noodles by the time you realized the clock on the wall had crept past eight.

“Thought you said five minutes,” Lynn said suddenly, though her tone was more lazy than sharp now. She had turned sideways on the couch, legs folded up beneath her, chin propped on her hand.

“I did,” you said, twirling a noodle around your chopsticks. “You didn’t kick me out.”

She clicked her tongue. “I was being nice.”

You looked over at her, unimpressed. “You? Nice? I must’ve missed that.”

Lynn tossed a cushion at your head. You caught it midair, smirking.

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll change my mind.”

“About being nice or letting me eat your food?”

“Both.”

You laughed quietly, the sound earning her reluctant smile — the kind that looked like it surprised even her. She quickly hid it by taking a sip of water.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. The TV played on, some melodramatic scene about a forbidden love triangle, but neither of you were really watching. The faint hum of the city outside filled the room instead, soft, steady, almost too peaceful.

You leaned back, setting the empty box down. “So. . .has this always been your life? Soap operas and cold takeout?”

She made a face. “You make it sound pathetic.”

“I didn’t say pathetic,” you said with a teasing grin. “Just. . .quiet.”

She sighed, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Quiet’s not so bad.”

You turned your head toward her. “You always hated quiet.”

That made her pause, just barely. You could see it in the way her shoulders stiffened. “People change,” she said finally, her voice lighter but not quite convincing. “Besides, quiet means no one’s yelling at you to fix your hair or smile more.”

You studied her in the dim light. No cameras, no stylists, no fake smiles. Just her, in a hoodie too big for her frame, barefoot and trying way too hard to look unaffected.

“So this is why you ordered under a fake name,” you said softly. “Didn’t want anyone to know where you were.”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone showing up.”

You smiled faintly. “Except me, apparently.”

Lynn turned her head sharply, cheeks flushing just a little. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t ask you to show up.”

“No, but you didn’t slam the door either.”

She shot you a look. “You’re impossible.”

“Admit it,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “You missed me.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and you swore you saw the tiniest spark of panic flicker across her face.

She scoffed, turning back toward the TV. “You wish.”

You grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you want,” she muttered, curling up tighter on the couch. “Just. . .shut up. The show’s finally getting good.”

You settled back, arms crossed, hiding your smile. “Sure, Lynn.”

Neither of you spoke again after that. The drama played on, voices echoing faintly in the background, but you could feel the air shift, softer, almost warm.

Her shoulder brushed yours once when she reached for the remote, and she didn’t move away this time.

Five minutes turned into an hour.

And somehow, neither of you seemed in a hurry to end it.

Yet when it was time to go, she walked you to the front door. You carried the helmet under your arm while she trailed behind you.

Once you stepped out, you turned to her and nodded your head, a quiet gesture that told her that you were on your way.

But after a few steps away from the door, she cleared her throat.

“I'll be ordering again. Tomorrow, that is.”

You turned back, halfway down the hall, eyebrows raised. “That so?”

Lynn’s arms crossed instantly, like she needed the barrier. “Don’t read into it. I just—” she paused, fumbling for a tone that didn’t sound like she cared. “The food wasn’t bad. That’s all.”

You bit back a grin. “Right. Has nothing to do with me being the one delivering it?”

She scoffed, too quick. “Please. You just happen to work for the place I like. Total coincidence.”

“Total,” you echoed, tilting your head. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, by pure coincidence.”

Her lips twitched, like she was fighting the urge to smile. “If you show up late, I’ll ask for a refund.”

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Kawakami.”

That earned you a glare. “Don’t call me that. Not when I’m home.”

There was something fragile about the way she said it, almost quiet, like it slipped out before she could stop herself. The air between you shifted again, subtle but unmistakable.

You nodded once, the teasing tone gone. “Alright. Lynn it is.”

She blinked, a little thrown off by your gentleness, and looked away first. “Good.”

You adjusted your helmet under your arm. “Get some sleep. And maybe try eating something that isn’t takeout next time.”

“I’ll think about it.” She said it like a challenge, but her voice had softened.

You turned toward the elevator, and as the doors slid open, you glanced back just once. She was still standing there by the doorway, arms crossed, but her posture wasn’t defensive anymore, just hesitant, like she wasn’t sure whether to wave or call you back.

“Night,” you said.

“...Night,” she replied, barely above a whisper.

The doors closed, and for a brief second, you caught your reflection in the mirror panel, tired, smiling, and more awake than you’d felt all day.

Meanwhile, up in 1502, Lynn stood alone in the doorway for a long moment, chewing on her lip before muttering under her breath,

“Idiot.”

.

The trip back was quiet, only because the once loud and bustling city had slowly started to wind down for the night. You weaved your way through the streets that were much more open than before.

Lights were scattered on the sidewalk, neon splashed itself across the road in front of you, and the streetlights seemed brighter than usual, like the city had finally taken a deep breath and let itself rest.

The hum of your scooter filled the silence, steady and low. The air was cooler now, brushing against your face as you turned past familiar corners, the ramen stand that was closing up, the convenience store clerk stacking shelves behind glass, the old vending machine outside the bus stop flickering weakly.

For the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like you were in a rush. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was because your head was still replaying that scene in her apartment, the flicker of the TV, her lazy half-smile, the way she’d said see you tomorrow without really saying it.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself, “She’s still the same, huh.”

Annoying. Stubborn. Impossible.

And yet—

The red light ahead turned green, snapping you out of it. You throttled forward, the engine sputtering just slightly before catching up again.

By the time you pulled up in front of Rei’s diner, the sign was half lit, one of the letters already dying out. You parked by the curb, stretching your arms with a tired groan before stepping inside.

The bell above the door jingled, and Rei looked up from wiping a table. “You’re late.”

You sighed, tossing your helmet onto the counter. “Yeah, traffic.”

“Traffic doesn't take four hours to get through.” She replied, tossing the towel over her shoulder.

“It does when I somehow bump into my old boss.” You shot back, taking up a seat and looking at the now empty kitchen.

“What do you mean by that?” Rei asked, taking the seat next to you and nudging your arm away.

You ran a hand through your hair and leaned against the counter, letting out a tired laugh. “Exactly what it sounds like. I delivered to her place.”

Rei blinked. “Her? As in—”

“Yeah,” you said before she could finish. “The celebrity I was assigned to.”

Rei let out a low whistle, dragging out the sound for way too long. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

She leaned in, grinning like she was watching her favorite drama unfold live. “So? What happened? Did she throw a wine glass at you? Threaten to sue the diner? Cry?—wait, did you comfort her?”

You gave her a flat look. “I’m not you. I don’t comfort people. I delivered the food, she insulted me, I insulted her back, and then I left.”

“Uh-huh,” Rei said, drawing out the syllables, clearly unconvinced. “And how long did this mutual insulting take?”

You hesitated. “...A few minutes.”

She smirked. “A few minutes or a few hours?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, realizing you didn’t actually have a good answer. “Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, and Rei nearly fell off her stool laughing.

“It does when it takes you hours to get back here. But I didn't think you two were exactly close given the whole celebrity-bodyguard thing.”

Rei was right.

You and Lynn weren't exactly friends to begin with. She was just there while you dispersed crowds or kept them at an arm's length away from her.

You rubbed at the back of your neck, the old ache there returning just from the thought. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t exactly something worth talking about.”

Rei raised an eyebrow, leaning her cheek against her palm. “You guarded her for, what, two years? You barely said anything about it. I thought it was just another temporary job.”

“It was,” You said automatically, though the word came out hollow even to your own ears.

Rei chuckled. “Sure. A temporary job that apparently still lives in your head.”

You sighed. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You glanced over at her. Rei had that look again, the one that said she’d keep digging until you gave her something. She was good at reading people, too good sometimes. Maybe that’s why you ended up spending your nights here when you didn’t want to go home.

You looked down at the countertop, tracing a faint scratch on the surface with your thumb. “She was. . .difficult. The kind of person who walks into a room and everyone either loves her or wants to leave immediately.”

Rei’s grin softened a little. “And you were which one?”

“Depends on the day.” You smiled faintly. “Mostly the second one.”

“Sounds about right.” Rei folded the towel and placed it on the table. “So what was it like? Babysitting a celebrity?”

You exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Long hours. No sleep. Always being five steps behind someone who doesn’t want to be protected. Half the time she’d sneak off just to piss me off.”

Rei snorted. “Sounds fun.”

“Not really,” You said quietly. Then after a beat, you added, “But she was good at pretending she didn’t care about anyone. That’s what made her. . .hard to hate.”

Rei studied you for a second, and you could feel her gaze like a spotlight. “You talk about her like you still—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted sharply.

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Touchy.”

You groaned. “I’m serious, Rei. It’s ancient history.”

“Right, right.” She stood, stretching her arms. “Ancient history that just happens to have ordered food under a fake name tonight.”

You shot her a look. “You know, you’re really bad at minding your own business.”

“Someone has to mind yours,” She said over her shoulder, heading back toward the kitchen. “Besides, it’s not like you’re fooling anyone. If she orders again tomorrow, you’ll take the job, won’t you?”

You didn’t answer.

Mostly because you already knew the answer.

The hum of the diner’s fridge filled the silence. You stared at the reflection of the neon sign flickering in the window, the half-lit glow that made everything look softer, a little more distant.

You told yourself you didn’t care. That it didn’t matter. That it was just another delivery.

But even as you packed up your helmet and stood to leave, your mind betrayed you, flicking back to the quiet in her apartment, the way she’d looked at you like she didn’t quite know what to say, and didn’t want you to go.

And when Rei called out from the kitchen, “Bet you’ll see her again,”

You didn’t have it in you to argue.

.

The next day came, and things were still the same.

You woke up in your small apartment, the kind where sunlight barely made it past the blinds and the ceiling fan creaked like it had been threatening to fall for years. You brushed your teeth, splashed cold water on your face, and tried not to think about last night.

Same city, same streets, same noise outside your window, and yet, somehow, it all felt heavier.

By the time you got dressed and headed downstairs, the early morning air was still damp from the night before. You slipped your keys into your pocket and rode out toward your sister’s restaurant, the familiar hum of the scooter beneath you grounding you back into the rhythm of your day.

Rei’s diner sat on the corner of the block, wedged between a laundromat and a small stationery shop that never seemed to have customers. The sign still flickered, though now the “E” had finally given up completely, leaving it to read R I’s Diner.

You pushed the door open, and the bell gave its usual weak jingle. Rei was already behind the counter, hair tied up, apron on, coffee in hand.

“Morning,” She said without looking up from her phone.

“Morning,” You replied, setting your helmet down with a dull thud. “Any deliveries?”

Rei nodded toward the small stack of receipts by the register. “A couple of regulars. Office orders, one residential.” She glanced up with a sly grin. “Don’t worry, not that residential.”

You shot her a flat look. “You really think I’d care?”

“I think you do care,” She said, returning to her coffee. “But you’re too proud to admit it.”

You ignored her and started checking the order slips anyway. Two sandwiches for a nearby office, one curry rice for a guy in the same building as the flower shop. Nothing unusual. Nothing that made your chest tighten the way it did last night.

Rei leaned on the counter, watching you. “So. You gonna tell me what really happened?”

You paused mid-fold. “I already did.”

“Yeah, yeah. You insulted each other and left. Classic you.”

“That is what happened.”

Rei hummed in mock agreement, clearly not buying it. “Sure. You didn’t, say, stick around for an hour watching bad TV and making heart eyes at your ex-boss?”

You looked up sharply. “What—no! We weren’t—she’s not—”

Rei’s grin widened. “Uh-huh. You stutter like that, I almost believe you.”

You groaned, grabbing the first two bags. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re predictable,” she said, calling out as you headed for the door. “Bet you anything she calls again today!”

You didn’t dignify that with a response. Just raised your hand in a lazy half-wave and stepped outside.

The air was brighter now, morning sunlight catching on the rooftops. You started the scooter, the engine sputtering to life, and drove off down the street.

You told yourself Rei was wrong. That it was just another day, just another route, nothing out of the ordinary.

But some part of you knew she wasn't.

.

Half a day of weaving through traffic, balancing takeout bags with one hand and your sanity with the other, and collecting just enough tips to make it feel worth it, you found yourself back in front of the diner again.

The sun was already starting to dip, washing the street in a pale orange glow. Your back ached, your arms felt like lead, and your stomach had been growling since the second delivery of the morning.

You parked the scooter in its usual spot and kicked the stand down with a dull clack. The smell of fried rice and coffee drifted out through the open window of the diner, faint but familiar, the kind of scent that reminded you of routine, of normalcy.

When you pushed open the door, the bell above it jingled halfheartedly. Rei was behind the counter again, this time sipping a soda through a straw, lazily scrolling through her phone.

“Back already,” she said without looking up. “Guess no one threw anything at you today.”

You dropped your helmet onto the counter and slumped into the nearest stool. “Not yet. Give it an hour.”

Rei finally looked up and smirked. “Rough day?”

“Same as always,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “Some guy argued about the soup temperature for ten minutes. Another tried to pay me in coins. One old lady called me handsome though, so that was nice.”

She chuckled, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Sounds like you’re really living the dream.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small grin tugged at your lips anyway. “Dream or nightmare, depends on the tip.”

“Speaking of tips…” Rei reached under the counter and pulled out her tablet. “New order came in a few minutes ago. Said it’s urgent.”

You groaned. “You’re kidding. Can’t I sit for five minutes?”

“Normally, I’d say yes,” She said, tilting her head with that too-sweet smile she used whenever she was up to something. “But you might want to check the address first.”

You frowned, grabbing the device from her hand. The screen glowed faintly, displaying the order details, a familiar restaurant’s name, a familiar meal, and then, at the very bottom. . .

Delivery Address: Apartment 1502, Skyview Tower.

You stared at it for a few seconds before letting out a slow exhale. “. . .You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Rei’s grin spread ear to ear. “Oh, I’m definitely not.”

“Did she seriously order again?” you muttered.

“Hey, maybe she liked the food,” Rei said with a teasing tone. “Or maybe she liked the delivery guy.”

You glared at her, but it only made her laugh harder.

“Don’t start,” you warned, grabbing the thermal bag from the hook behind the counter.

“I didn’t say anything,” She said, raising both hands innocently. “But maybe fix your hair this time. You look like you lost a fight with your helmet.”

You rolled your eyes on your way out, and she cackled loud enough for the sound to follow you out the door.

By the time you were back on the scooter, the sky had gone from orange to deep blue. The city lights flickered to life one by one, and you couldn’t help the quiet sigh that escaped you as you turned down the same street as last night.

Same route.

Same building.

Same person.

.

When you finally reached the building, you parked and set the stand up for the scooter just outside the main doors. The glass facade of Skyview Tower gleamed under the city lights, sleek, polished, expensive, the kind of place that made you instantly aware of how scuffed your shoes were.

You ran a hand through your hair, not that it did much to help, and walked through the automatic doors. The cool rush of air-conditioning greeted you immediately, along with the faint scent of polished marble and lilies from the decorative vase near the reception desk.

“Back again?” the receptionist asked, a polite but knowing smile tugging at her lips. You’d seen her before, last night, in fact. She probably remembered.

“Yeah,” you muttered, setting the thermal bag down to sign the visitor sheet. “Same floor.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, but decided against asking questions. “You know the way.”

You gave her a short nod. “Thanks.”

By the time you stepped into the elevator, the silence hit, heavy, humming, and somehow too clean. You stood in the center, eyes fixed on your own reflection in the mirrored walls again. Same tired eyes. Same worn-out clothes. Except this time, you noticed the faintest curl of amusement in your reflection’s mouth, like even you couldn’t tell if this was trouble or something else entirely.

You tapped the button for the 15th floor. The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, and the city below slowly disappeared through the gap as you ascended.

Somewhere between the 7th and 10th floor, your brain started whispering things you didn’t want to hear, she said she’d order again, she probably didn’t mean it, don’t overthink this.

By the time the elevator dinged open, you’d half convinced yourself that this was just coincidence. Pure luck. Random chance.

But then again, nothing about Kawakami Lynn ever felt like coincidence.

The hallway was quiet again, same golden lights, same spotless floors. You adjusted the strap of the thermal bag over your shoulder and walked toward her door.

This time, you hesitated before knocking. Just a second. Long enough to wonder if she was even home, or if she’d just ordered to mess with you.

Then, with a quiet sigh, you raised your hand and pressed the doorbell.

A few muffled seconds passed.

Then came the sound of soft footsteps approaching, a lock turning, and the faint click of the door opening.

The door cracked open, just slightly at first, and then wider, revealing Lynn standing there in a loose sweatshirt , hair pulled up in a messy bun this time. She blinked once, twice, like she’d expected someone else entirely.

“Oh,” She said finally, tone carefully neutral. “You.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, me. Unless you were expecting a different delivery guy.”

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “I didn’t expect you to actually take the order again. Don’t you have, like, a whole team of riders or something?”

You gestured toward your thermal bag. “Rei’s diner isn’t exactly a global operation. It’s just me.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, almost teasing. “So, what, you deliver my food personally now?”

You gave her a flat look. “You’re lucky I didn’t turn around the second I saw your name on the receipt.”

Lynn’s expression flickered, just a tiny twitch, as if she was trying not to smile. “You say that, but here you are.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “Here I am.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of the city filtered faintly through the window behind her, traffic murmurs, distant sirens, life moving on outside while the two of you stood still.

Then she cleared her throat and stepped aside, trying to sound casual. “Well? Are you just going to stand there with the food or actually come in?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I thought delivery protocol said to leave it at the door.”

“Protocol’s flexible,” she said, almost too quickly, before adding, “Unless you’re scared or something.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “You really don’t know how to just say please, do you?”

Lynn smirked, brushing past you toward the kitchen counter. “I don’t remember asking for politeness lessons from my ex-bodyguard.”

You followed her in, setting the bag on the counter. “And I don’t remember agreeing to free therapy sessions for bored actresses.”

She looked over her shoulder, eyes glinting. “You assume I’m bored.”

“You ordered the same meal two days in a row,” you pointed out, unpacking the takeout containers. “That’s either boredom or bad taste.”

Lynn didn’t answer right away. She just sat at the counter stool, resting her chin in her hand, watching you with that same mix of curiosity and mischief, the one that always seemed to get under your skin.

After a beat, she said, quieter this time, “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d show up again.”

You froze for half a second. “What?”

She shrugged, eyes flicking away to the counter. “Nothing. Forget it.”

You stared at her for a moment longer, but she was already opening a pair of chopsticks, pretending to focus on the food.

“Right,” you muttered. “Forgetting it.”

Lynn smiled faintly, knowing you wouldn't.

“So, do you do anything else besides stay here and rot?” You asked, clearing your throat. The apartment looked the same as it did yesterday, too clean to look lived in and too organized to have any personality.

“Excuse you, I'm a very busy woman. I still have schedules to attend to, do you even know how hard it is to do a magazine interview half asleep?” Lynn reacted, pretending to take offense.

“Well since you still have your reputation with you, I assume it wasn't that hard.” You replied.

Lynn let out a short laugh in half disbelief, half amusement before setting her chopsticks down with a soft clack. “You’re saying that like I didn’t just survive three hours of small talk and fake smiles.”

“You’re an actress,” You said, unbothered. “I thought fake smiles were part of the job description.”

She shot you a sharp look, but there wasn’t much bite behind it. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I think I’m right,” you countered, leaning against the counter. “And judging by how you ordered takeout two days in a row, I’m guessing you’re not exactly thrilled to keep performing off-screen either.”

Lynn pouted slightly, the kind of expression she probably didn’t mean to show. “Maybe I just like Rei’s food.”

“Sure,” you said dryly, “and maybe I just love climbing ten floors every time you get hungry.”

She tilted her head, eyes glimmering with something that almost looked playful. “You could’ve said no, you know.”

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, pulling a chair across from her. “Didn’t feel like arguing with my sister about customer service.”

“Wait, sister? You mean she owns the place? She's—”

“Rei, yes. She's always had a knack for coming up with names that just stick.” You said, still as deadpanned as ever.

“Wow, that must be nice.” Lynn said, softer this time.

You glanced up, you didn't mean to but you caught her smile to herself but the look on her eyes didn't exactly scream happy.

“Yeah, saves me the time of naming things.”

“No, I meant having a sibling.”

You paused, your hand still resting on the table. The shift in her tone was so sudden, it almost didn’t fit the rhythm of the conversation. You’d been trading jabs just a second ago, light and quick, but now, her words just hung there.

“Oh,” you said finally. “That.”

Lynn poked at her food with her chopsticks, eyes fixed on the takeout container instead of you. “You don’t talk about her much. Back then, I didn’t even know you had family.”

You leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of your neck. “You didn’t exactly ask.”

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You didn’t seem like the type who’d answer anyway.”

You let out a short breath, not quite a laugh. “Fair.”

Silence settled for a moment, comfortable, if a bit heavy. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the muted traffic below. Lynn shifted, resting her chin on her hand again.

“So,” She said after a beat, “what’s she like? Your sister.”

You thought about it for a second. “Loud. Bossy. Thinks she’s the smartest person alive.”

Lynn chuckled. “Sounds familiar.”

You gave her a pointed look. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” she teased, “you might’ve picked it up from her.”

You rolled your eyes, but she was grinning now—softly this time, not the usual smug kind. And for a moment, it was almost like the two of you weren’t standing on opposite sides of a line drawn years ago.

Then just as you were about to change the subject, Lynn spoke again, voice quieter. “You’re lucky, though.”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

She looked down, the light from the ceiling catching on the strands of her hair that had fallen loose from her bun. “Having someone like that. Family. Someone who knows you, no matter what happens.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. For once, she wasn’t being difficult or sharp, just honest. Vulnerable in a way you didn’t remember ever seeing from her before.

“…You don’t, huh?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Her lips curved into something between a smile and a sigh. “Not really.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was the kind that said more than either of you wanted to admit. You watched her toy with the edge of her napkin, her eyes distant, and for the first time that night, you wondered if maybe the reason she’d ordered again wasn’t boredom after all.

.

Once again, you stayed longer than you intended to. You cleaned up after her when she finished eating, just like before. She didn't stop you when you reached for the empty bowls so you just went along with it.

You threw them in the trash and washed your hands in the sink. Once you were done, you walked out of the kitchen and spotted her on a seat looking through the window at the endless sea of lights below. She balanced her head with a knee she pulled up.

Lynn didn't notice you at first, until you stepped closer.

You stopped a few feet away, unsure whether to say something or leave quietly. She looked small, almost. Nothing like the loud, sharp-edged version of her you were used to dealing with.

Her eyes were fixed on the city below, blurred neon, headlights drifting like fireflies, thousands of people living thousands of lives she wasn’t part of tonight.

When she finally turned her head, her expression flickered in surprise, then something softer.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “You’re still here.”

You crossed your arms. “I was literally gone for thirty seconds.”

She huffed a tiny laugh through her nose. “Still. I thought you’d… leave faster.”

You raised a brow. “You kicking me out?”

“No.” She dropped her gaze again. “Just thought you would.”

Something tugged in your chest, not dramatic, just a slow pull, like gravity shifting. You stepped closer, leaning your shoulder against the wall near her seat.

“You’re weird tonight,” you said. Not unkindly.

Lynn didn’t look at you this time. “I’m always weird.”

“Not like this.”

She pulled the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her hand, fidgeting with the cuff. “I was just…thinking.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

She elbowed your shin lightly. “Shut up.”

Silence slipped back in, gentler this time. The window reflected the two of you, your tired posture, her curled form, the space between you that didn’t feel as wide as it used to.

After a moment, she spoke again, voice low. “Do you ever feel like the whole world is moving without you?”

You glanced at her. “All the time.”

She nodded slowly, like she’d been expecting that answer. “Feels stupid, though. I have everything people want. A career, money, a nice view from a fancy apartment. But sometimes I just…”

Her voice trailed off, but you understood anyway.

“You feel alone,” you finished for her.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t pretend. Didn't put up her usual armor.

She just whispered, “. . .yeah.”

You exhaled, the softness of it surprising even you. “You could just call someone, you know. I mean, you do have friends, right?”

Lynn didn't answer, just stayed quiet for a moment longer.

“. . .I do,” she said eventually, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. “They’re just. . .busy. Or I’m busy. Or—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

You snorted softly. “Everything with you is complicated.”

She shot you a small glare. “You’re not helping.”

“You’re not asking for help.”

That earned you another look, sharper, embarrassed, almost wounded. But she didn’t throw a comeback this time. Instead, she tucked her knees closer, chin resting on them as she looked back out at the city.

“I did call someone,” She said quietly. “Sort of.”

You frowned. “Sort of?”

“Ordering food counts, right?” she said, trying to sound light, joking but her voice cracked at the edges, betraying the truth behind it. “I ordered food after another long day and I didn't think I'd bump into someone I knew.”

You let out a slow breath, the kind that comes from being caught off guard, not by her words, but by what was hidden underneath them.

“So you’re saying you didn’t actually want dinner,” you said. “You just wanted… someone.”

Lynn made a face, half-grimace, half-pout, as if the honesty physically pained her. “Don’t make it sound pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic.”

“It sounds pathetic.”

“It sounds human,” you corrected, softer than you meant to.

She hugged her knees a little tighter, turning her face toward the window so you couldn’t see her expression. But her reflection gave her away, the faint, embarrassed twist of her lips, the lingering loneliness in her eyes.

“I didn’t plan it,” she murmured. “I just. . . didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment. Again.”

You swallowed, the heaviness settling somewhere deep.

“Guess that means I'll be back here tomorrow.”

She looked up, “What?”

“I said, I'll stop by again. With or without dinner, your pick.” You shrugged your shoulders, trying to humor her.

“Really? You'd do that for me?”

“Seems like you need it.”

Lynn stared at you, like the words didn't make sense at first, like she was trying to figure out if you were joking or just messing with her again.

But your face didn’t shift.

Didn’t pull into a smirk.

Didn’t tease.

And that was what finally made her breath hitch.

Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her sleeves. “You don’t have to,” she said quickly, almost too quickly as if saying it any slower would make it sound desperate.

“What, you saying I can't help a friend?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the word friend. “I… I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it,” you replied, leaning back slightly against the wall, arms crossed. “But you’re welcome to change your mind.”

Lynn chuckled, one that mixed in with a scoff. “Guess you're not as bad as I thought.”

Her laugh faded into something softer, barely there, but felt. You watched her shoulders loosen, the tension she carried like armor slowly dropping under the weight of your words.

“…Don’t get used to me saying that,” she added quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I still think you’re annoying.”

You smirked. “Yeah? Well, I still think you’re a pain.”

“Good.”

She said it like it was the closest she could get to thank you again.

Silence settled between you, this time not heavy, not sharp, just calm. A small pocket of quiet shared between two people who both pretended they didn’t need it.

Lynn looked out the window once more, but the loneliness from earlier had thinned out, replaced by something gentler. Hopeful, even. Or maybe just less empty.

“So…” she said slowly, still watching the city lights flicker. “If you’re really coming by tomorrow… I could… I don’t know. Order something different.”

You snorted. “That’s your big gesture? Changing your dinner order?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, nudging your leg with her foot. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“That’s you being nice?”

“Do you want me to take it back?”

“No,” you answered immediately, surprising even yourself. “Don’t.”

Lynn blinked at you, then looked away quickly like she’d seen something she wasn’t ready for. “Fine. Then. . .don’t be late.”

You raised a brow. “You gonna miss me?”

She scoffed, but the heat rising in her cheeks betrayed her. “Dream on.”

You chuckled under your breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You pushed off the wall and headed toward the door, grabbing your helmet from the counter. When you glanced back, she was still sitting there, knees pulled up, gazing at you in a way that was softer than she’d ever admit out loud.

Just as you reached for the handle, her voice stopped you.

“…Hey.”

You paused. “Yeah?”

She didn’t meet your eyes, but her fingers tugged nervously at her sleeve.

“Thank you,” She murmured. “For… staying.”

You didn’t smile, not visibly. But something warm settled in your chest as you nodded once. “Anytime.”

And when the door closed behind you, you were already thinking of the next day and the way her voice had wavered when she said really?

like no one had ever offered to show up for her without being asked.

Like maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting for someone to.

.

When you rode back to your sister’s diner, the neon sign hummed to life like a tired old friend, one of the letters sputtering in a rhythm that had become part of the place’s charm. The light spilled onto the wet pavement in a thin, shaky ribbon of pink and blue, painting your clothes and the dented scooter in colors that felt almost cinematic for a split second.

You killed the engine and sat for a beat, letting the cool night press in around you, the city had that late-hour hush now, when everything important had already happened and only small, human things were left, someone locking up a shop, a couple sharing an umbrella, steam curling off a ramen bowl in a doorway.

The bell rang above your head as you pushed the door in.

“You're later than yesterday, why don't you stay over at her place already?” The voice of your sister greeted you with its usual teasing tone.

“Pipe it down, will you? It's already been a long day just to come back to your voice.”

“Gosh, what's wrong with me asking where my brother has been? So what happened, did you two make out already?” Rei casually asked.

You snapped your head at her, “What—No! What made you think—What’s wrong with you?”

Rei didn’t flinch. She just smirked, leaning an elbow on the counter like she’d been waiting all night to pounce on this exact reaction.

“Ohhh, look at that face,” She sang. “You’re defensive. That means something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” you stressed, dropping your helmet on a stool with a clatter.

“Mhm.” Rei continued wiping the same perfectly clean spot on the counter. “So you didn’t kiss. But you didn’t leave early either.”

You froze for half a second, the kind of stillness that gave you away more than any words could.

Rei’s eyes lit up. “Aha. There it is.”

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re. . .annoying.”

“And you’re a terrible liar.”

You threw your jacket over the back of a chair and muttered, “I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re practically screaming ‘I spent time with a girl I pretend to hate but actually care about.’” She waggled her fingers in your direction, mocking mysticism. “It’s very loud.”

You groaned. “Rei, for the love of—look, I just helped her clean up and then I left. That’s it. End of story.”

Rei pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. And why are you smiling like that, then?”

You didn’t realize you were. The corners of your mouth twitched, caught by surprise, a ghost of the warmth you’d had sitting beside Lynn and her quiet confession of loneliness.

You schooled your expression instantly. “I’m not smiling.”

“You are. It’s disgusting. Stop.” Rei flicked a towel at you.

You deflected it weakly. “Shut up.”

She stepped around the counter, stretching her arms. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop. . .for now.” She bumped your shoulder with hers as she passed. “You hungry?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Liar,” She said again, but her voice was gentler this time. “Long day?”

You nodded once.

Rei didn’t press. She didn’t need to. She just walked toward the kitchen, flicking on an extra light as if to chase away whatever heaviness you’d brought in with you.

“Sit,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll make you something light. You look like you could fall over.”

You slid onto the nearest stool, arms resting on the counter, the warmth of the diner settling around you like a blanket that had been waiting exactly for you.

And as Rei clattered around in the kitchen, humming off-key, your mind drifted, annoyingly, predictably back to the girl staring down at the neon city lights, knees tucked to her chest, whispering that she didn’t want you to leave.

You swallowed, pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek.

Yeah.

You might be in trouble.

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