Warm Mugs and Cracked Walls

It’s a new day.
But not a new beginning.

The weight of the last two nights still hangs in the air like fog that refuses to lift. Kika moves through the morning like she’s underwater—slow, quiet, heavy. The ache hasn’t dulled. If anything, it settled deeper, woven into every breath, every step, every silence that wraps around her apartment.

She’d gone to his door. Not once. Several times.
Each time, she froze. Her hand lifted to knock, but never made it.
She couldn’t bring herself to bridge the distance she helped create.

Now, hours later, she finds herself standing outside his apartment again.
Staring. Waiting.
Her fingers twitch at her side. Her lips press into a tight line.
Still no knock.

Inside, Kotae has been awake for a while. The world continues, and so does he—maybe not with joy, but with motion. Today’s task is simple: take out the trash. Literal trash, bags of it, the kind that had built up since everything cracked and frayed between them. He moves without rush, but with purpose.

Keys in hand, he walks to the door, places the tip in the lock, and twists.

Click.

Outside, Kika hears the sound. Her heart sinks so fast it almost makes her dizzy. In reflex, she slips to the side of the doorway—positioned opposite of where he’d step out, as if trying to disappear. Like a child hiding from the storm by curling into the smallest shape possible. There’s no anger in her. Just guilt. And hope.
So much trembling hope.

Kotae opens the door.

He pauses.

A subtle scent drifts into the hallway—soft, familiar, warm. Kika.
He inhales, not on purpose, but instinctively. He knows that scent like a memory.

He looks left. No one.
He looks right—and there she is.

Hunched slightly, face down, arms clutched close to her chest like they could keep her from falling apart. She looks small, like she’s trying to vanish.

His voice is low. Calm. But it reaches.

“Kika.”

She doesn’t lift her head.

“Kika.”

Still nothing. Her body tenses, but her gaze stays fixed on the floor.

“Kika,” he says again, his tone firm but not harsh. “Look at me.”

Her shoulders tremble faintly. Then, slowly—like the weight of the world is tied to her chin—she lifts her head. Their eyes meet.

She looks like she hasn't slept in days.

And yet, somehow, a flicker of warmth finds its way to his lips, despite the sharpness of everything that’s passed between them.

“You look horrible,” he says, and his voice softens as he says it, an endearing note slipping into his words.

Kika feels the words settle on her chest like a bittersweet truth. A small laugh bubbles up, but it’s broken, fragile. He’s right. She’s a wreck—emotionally and physically.

Her shoulders drop, the weight of the night before still clinging to her, but there’s something lighter in her gaze now. It’s as though his simple observation is a small crack in the wall that had been building between them.

“It’s been a long couple of days,” she whispers, the words barely louder than a breath.

Kotae’s voice breaks through the thick silence, soft but insistent.

“What were you doing standing here?”

Kika looks down. The words feel like a burden, but she can’t escape the question.

“Do you have to ask?”

“I don’t. But I am.”

Kika’s shoulders tighten, a knot of tension she can’t untangle. She swallows hard, eyes still fixed on the ground, as if the words are too heavy to lift.

“I’ve been…” She pauses, her breath catching. “I’ve been here. Many times. I just couldn’t bring myself to knock.”

Kotae’s gaze doesn’t waver. He steps closer, still careful in his movements, but with a quiet determination.

“How many times?”

Kika hesitates, her lips trembling. The weight of it all hangs between them, a silent storm. She lets out a slow exhale.

“I’ve lost count. Many.”

Kotae takes a step forward, his eyes searching hers with a quiet intensity. “How many?”

“Maybe… twenty times?” she says, the number coming out like a confession.

He nods slightly, his voice lowering but holding something softer, something akin to acceptance. “Honest?”

“Honest,” she answers, finally meeting his eyes, her gaze full of vulnerability.

Kotae doesn’t speak for a moment. Instead, he slips his keys into his pocket, his movements slow but deliberate, as if gathering the courage for something that doesn’t come easily. Without a word, he takes a step toward her, the space between them shrinking with every passing second.

Kika’s breath hitches, and she looks down again, a desperate attempt to hold onto something steady. Her heart races in her chest, but her body stays frozen. 

Then, Kotae does something that catches her completely off guard.

He reaches out, his hands gentle but firm as they settle around her. Slowly, he pulls her into his embrace.

Kika’s entire body tenses at first, a flash of panic rushing through her veins. But before she can pull away, something inside her snaps. The tears come—violent, sudden, like a storm breaking loose. They flood down her cheeks, soaking into his shirt, as if her heart itself is breaking open.

Kotae’s grip tightens around her, steady and unwavering. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pull away. He holds her, letting her cry. She trembles in his arms, a whirlwind of emotion crashing against him.

As she presses into him, holding on with every ounce of strength left in her, Kotae’s voice breaks through the noise.

“You know…” He pauses, trying to lighten the air just a little, to ease the suffocating weight between them. “You might kill me for good, squeezing me like this.”

Kika lets out a small, broken laugh between her sobs. It’s the first time since everything happened that she feels something other than the overwhelming pain. The sound—so raw, so real—shakes her, but it also brings a tiny spark of warmth in the cold, stormy moment.

Her grip tightens even more, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she feels a fleeting sense of relief.

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. The weight of it presses down on them both.

Five minutes pass, but to Kika, it feels like the world has come to a stop. When her sobs begin to quiet, Kotae gently shifts, pulling away just enough to look at her. He pushes her back slightly, his fingers finding her face with a tenderness that surprises her.

With a quiet, deliberate motion, he caresses her cheek, his thumb brushing away the remnants of her tears. His touch is soft, but there's a certain strength in it that feels like reassurance.

“You know…” Kotae starts. “As distant as I might be sometimes... I’m not as stupid as to not see what you feel for me. What you’ve gone through in just a couple of days. I see it all on your face. I see your sincerity. Your emotions. And I’ve been thinking about you. Don’t ever think I didn’t.”

Kika’s breath catches in her chest, her heart lightening just a fraction as she hears the words. It’s as if a heavy weight has lifted from her shoulders—just hearing that he cared enough to think about her.

Kotae watches her carefully, his expression softening. He gives her a small, quiet smile back, the kind of smile that holds a little more than just a fleeting moment.

“Come on in,” he says, his tone shifting to something more normal, more grounded. “Let me give you some coffee, and let’s talk.”

Kika doesn’t say anything but nods, still a little unsure of herself. She follows him inside, her steps slow as if she’s still processing everything that just happened. She sinks into the couch, her body feeling lighter but still heavy with everything that needs to be said.

Kotae goes to the kitchen to prepare the coffee. The quiet in the house is comforting. His parents, ever perceptive, had understood what was happening outside and quietly retreated to their room, giving them the space they needed. Kika appreciates it more than she can say.

Kotae’s voice breaks the silence as he works, a little lighter than before. “I know you don’t drink coffee. But I think it might help right now. How much sugar?”

Kika lifts her eyes to him, a small smile still lingering on her lips despite the weight of the past few hours. “Two teaspoons,” she replies softly.

He returns with the coffee, and when he hands it to her, their fingers brush for just a moment. It’s enough to remind Kika of how real everything is—the simplicity of their connection, despite the complicated emotions that swirl between them.

Kotae sits down next to her, his posture relaxed but still carrying the hint of something unspoken. He glances at her, then at the mug in his hands, and a small, familiar smirk plays at the corner of his mouth.

“So,” he starts in a joking manner, trying to ease the tension, “it’s been a long time since we last spoke… I’m a smoker now.”

Kika lets out a soft laugh at his words, the sound light and almost hesitant, like she’s unsure if it’s allowed after everything they’ve been through. But that little laugh, that brief moment of levity, is enough to break the heavy air around them.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Kotae shrugs, the playful edge to his tone masking the depth of everything that’s been unspoken. “Yeah, well, it’s something to pass the time. You know how it is.” He takes a small, deliberate sip of his own coffee, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, gauging her response.

They both sit in the silence that follows, comfortable but still filled with a million unsaid things. Kika’s fingers wrap around the warm mug, and she feels the heat seep into her hands, grounding her in the present moment.

She looks over at Kotae, her voice quieter now. “Thanks,” she says, the gratitude in her tone simple but sincere. “For… everything.”

Kotae gives her a brief nod. “I wasn’t going to leave you hanging.”

Kika takes a sip of her coffee, the warmth doing wonders for the cold that’s settled in her chest. As much as she still carries the weight of her emotions, the distance between them feels a little smaller now.