Laughter filled the living room, light and overlapping.
On the table, wax paper was scattered in crumpled sheets, some stained with chocolate, others tossed aside. The sweet, warm smell of cocoa hung in the air, mixed with the buttery scent of dough and the faint hint of vanilla coming from the still-dirty bowl.
The girls' fingers were sticky, marked with brown streaks.
Heart-shaped molds were scattered everywhere - some already filled and lined up, others empty, others still upside down beside the tray.
"Come on, let's hurry or we'll never finish," she said, trying to bring a bit of order to the small sweet disaster they'd created.
"You're the one who makes them perfect."
"Exactly, so help me."
Her friends laughed, one raising her sticky hands in surrender.
Time slipped by between chatting, stolen tastes, and small mistakes fixed at the last second. After an hour the chocolates were lined up - uneven rows but full, shiny hearts solidifying on the wax paper.
"Okay." One of the girls stretched. "Now house tour."
"Huh?"
"Your room."
"There's nothing-"
Too late. The door opened.
Her room: bright, tidy, full of clothes and accessories.
"So cute."
"So you."
She smiled, a little tense.
Then one of her friends pointed at the hallway. "And that one?"
Half a second of silence.
The door was opened.
A neutral room. Bare. Essential. Gym bag. Wraps. Books. Manga. Gloves.
"Do you live with someone?"
She didn't answer right away.
Her friends looked at each other. Then one walked over to the shelf near the window.
On the shelf, almost hidden among the books, was a figurine.
Small. Light hair. Party dress. A faint smile.
Her friend picked it up gently.
Looked at it for a second.
"She looks like you."
Silence.
"Like when you were dressed up at the party," another added, coming closer. "Same pose. Almost the same expression."
She said nothing.
She was staring at the figurine in her friend's hands.
He had chosen it.
Without telling her. Without her knowing. He'd seen it among the stalls at a market, thought about it - even just for a second - and taken it.
That week she'd stopped thinking about it. Or at least she'd tried.
And yet here it was - an answer to a question she hadn't even asked.
"...hm," she said quietly.
Her friend put the figurine back carefully.
No one added anything else.
At that moment -
click.
The front door.
They all turned.
Footsteps. Slow. Normal. Indifferent.
He appeared in the hallway: gym bag on his shoulder, dark hoodie, flat gaze. He stopped. Saw the girls.
No reaction.
Just a second of silence.
Her friends' eyes went wide.
"Uh-"
"Who-"
She froze.
He wasn't supposed to come back.
Her breath stopped.