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It starts small.
The smell of jasmine detergent on her coat, the extra cookies tucked into her pocket, the note left for her on a table that’s not hers in handwriting that is graceful and messy at the same time.
She couldn’t see the street from her apartment. Now, she knows what the other houses look like, who lives in them, what time the old man takes his walk every evening. Now she feels rooted. Her apartment is still cold. It’s still too big and her footsteps echo and the only constant is the soft buzz of the air conditioning unit and the click of the lock as she hides herself away for another sleepless night. But now, there’s a window. It’s the same as before, but where it once opened to a cold night and faraway laughter it now opens to warm somen and a blanket that has been unofficially reserved for her.
Taiga has always thought the words house and home were the same. But when she begins to drift towards Ryuuji, a star reaching for a glimpse of sunlight, the difference becomes so obvious it aches in the best way.
Her house is made of sharp corners and whispered phone calls and hands that are too tight around her wrist.
Her home is made of dark hair and broad shoulders and an intimidating face that hide a soft heart and warm hands as they push an extra bowl towards her, tie her hair back, tug at her sleeve when she’s not paying attention.
It’s scary. Once Taiga is tucked away into the little home, T.V. light flickering over a game controller and Ryuuji’s humming emanating from the kitchen, the apartment next door seems a thousand miles away.
Ryuuji says nothing when she stays past dinner, past sunset, past the time when it’s too late to get a healthy amount of sleep. He says nothing when he drags his mattress out, along with an extra from a closet, and watches Taiga beat level after level of her game until his eyes flutter shut.
He looks softer in sleep. Taiga watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his dark hair slides across his forehead like oil. He sighs in sleep, face nodding into his pillow until it’s half hidden. Something warm bursts in her chest, slides over the rough edges until they’re softer.
Memories of money in exchange for distance are replaced with late nights filled with quiet laughter as Ryuuji teaches Taiga how to sew.
Taiga gets better. She folds her clothes, cleans her house, takes care of herself once the guilt for making Ryuuji do it weighs too heavy on her shoulders.
The line she drew in stone becomes sand, and she hesitantly crosses over it.
Her somen is much worse than his. It’s a little soggy, a little burnt, she tipped too much spice in.
She forgets this when Ryuuji walks in, apologies for being late trailing off his tongue when he sees the pot in her hands. His mouth falls open, eyes flickering between the steam curling from the water to Taiga’s face, which she’s sure is red, both from the heat emanating from the noodles and the awestruck look he’s giving her.
She snaps at him to go away so she can concentrate, and he laughs and stutters and trips into the next room.
Her somen gets better. Ryuuji teaches her until she’s almost as good as he is, or so he says. In truth, everything he makes tastes a thousand times better, but the exchange in quality is worth it for the soft look he gives her whenever she makes dinner.
Her apartment grows unfamiliar. It should bother her more, she knows, but somehow it just doesn’t.
She can’t imagine her coat anywhere but on the hook next to Ryuuji’s and Yasuko’s. She can’t imagine doing laundry without the white noise of a crappy T.V. behind her, hands bigger than hers folding shirts next to her. She can’t imagine walking to school alone, can’t imagine the taste of take out three nights in a row, can’t imagine a time when the only safe place she had was cold and dark and meant to lock her away.
She can’t imagine a time when Ryuuji wasn’t next to her, taking her hand with endless patience, making sure she was fed and safe and happy.
Taiga hides a smile, buries her face between her knees. Ryuuji glances up from where he sits studying at the table, eyes crinkling in amusement.
“What?”
She shrugs, eyes flitting around the living room. Inko sleeping in the corner. A glimpse of blonde hair from behind the door where Yasuko dozes. Her shoes tossed beside the door, the breeze coming in through the open window.
Taiga smiles again, folds her arms on the table to rest her head on them. Ryuuji’s smile is like the sun, like warm somen.
“It’s just nice to be home.”