Sugar, Spice, Something Nice

Crow’s eyes fluttered open.

The world was all light and blur. He blinked, waiting for the haze to clear.

His fingers curled, stiff at first, then looser with each flex. His body responded—sore, but steady.

Then it hit him. Not pain.

A smell.

Sautéed meat. Garlic. Something warm, savory, deeply nostalgic. It drifted in from beyond the living room like a whisper.

Crow sat up with a groan. A dull throb pulsed at the back of his head, quick but fleeting. He squinted around, blinking off the sleep, and followed the trail of scent into the kitchen.

There she was.

Hinata stood at the counter—her sleeves rolled up past sculpted forearms, a cutting board beneath her hands. A pot simmered beside her, sending steam curling up like incense.

She didn’t look at him.

“I thought you were dead.”

Crow scratched the back of his head and laughed softly.

“Tch.” She clicked her tongue. “Back to the couch.”

“But I’m fi—”

Her glare snapped toward him like a blade half-drawn.

“Do you want to die now?”

He backed off instantly, hands up in surrender. “Right. Couch. Got it.”

He retreated like a chastised puppy, flopping back onto the cushions. From the corner of his eye, he watched as she ladled something into two bowls. He shifted his gaze away the moment she turned.

She placed one bowl on the coffee table. A spoon clinked beside it.

“Eat.”

Crow leaned forward. The smell hit him full force now—chicken porridge, thick and steaming. Garlic, ginger, something sharp from the scallions. He inhaled deeply and smiled.

“I remember this,” he murmured. “My grandfather used to make something just like it when I was sick.”

Hinata didn’t answer. She sat down on the floor and started eating, not sparing him even a glance.

He took his first bite. It was warm. Perfect. His face lit up like a child, chewing spoonfuls.

Hinata glanced at him sideways. Her lips curled into something between disgust and... exasperated affection.

“Look at that stupid face. Talking big, and now acting like a spoiled wife.”

She didn’t say it out loud, but the image came to her anyway.

Dragging his half-conscious, busted body up the stairs. His dead weight slung over her shoulder.

Digging through his pockets for his keys like a thief, muttering curses the whole way.

Finding the cleanest clothes she could. Wrapping his wound with ripped cotton sleeves.

Then scouring the fridge—there wasn't much, but enough.

He held up his bowl. “Seconds, please.”

Hinata flinched, the words cracking something inside her chest. She stared for a second too long.

“This... pathetic fool,” she muttered, grabbing the bowl.

She refilled it anyway.

When she set it back down, Crow beamed again. His eyes sparkled like one who hadn’t known warmth in weeks.

“What do you think I am?” she thought. “A maid?”

The thought irritated her more than it should’ve. But before she could say anything, Crow suddenly stiffened.

Hinata flinched, all instincts flaring up.

“What?” she snapped.

Crow looked down at himself. His expression turned to internal horror.

“Uh… my clothes are different.”

Hinata rolled her eyes and sighed like it physically pained her. “Dumbass. Yours were soaked.”

“Even my shorts?”

“So?”

Crow gave her a fake, innocent look. “Oh my god. So you saw my... my...”

She scoffed.

“Don't flatter yourself. I barely noticed anything.”

Crow deflated into the couch like a balloon. “So mean.”

Hinata exhaled and returned to her food, pretending not to see his grin slowly creep back.

Crow looked down at the porridge in his lap.

And the room was quiet again. The kind that didn’t feel empty.

For the first time in a long while, this place felt warm.

And alive.

— • —

Crow settled in his room. He fiddled with his guitar, hands running along the strings as he tuned them to the proper pitch. Suddenly, his phone screen lit up, Dylan’s name flashing across the screen.

He winced. “Crap.”

“Hey, Dylan. What’s up?”

“What’s up, my ass?” Dylan’s voice crackled through the phone. “Dude, where are you? You missed soundcheck, man.”

“Ah, yeah... Sorry, something came up. Kinda got sidetracked.”

“Sidetracked,” Dylan repeated. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” Crow insisted. “Just, stuff happened. Anyway, uh, are you playing Arena tonight?”

Dylan snorted. “Maybe. Depends on how the gig goes. Might need to blow off some steam afterward. You gonna be on?”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice lighter. “I’ll see.”

“Okay, man. Just... don’t go MIA on us, alright?” Dylan’s voice softened. “Take care of whatever’s going on.”

“Will do. Catch you later.”

Crow hung up and set the phone back on his bed.

"Great," he mumbled as he touched his head. “Now I just sound like a flake.”

— • —

A couple of hours passed. Crow’s phone screen lit up again, this time to a text message.

[DYLAN]: I’m on, dude.

Crow moved. He slumped into his gaming chair, flicked his PC on, tapping on the buttons of his arcade stick as he positioned it on his lap.

Dylan was waiting in the lobby. Crow joined him. The two of them jumped into matches, their banter flowing easily like always.

But tonight, he was off.

Eight consecutive losses later, he slouched in his chair, the words "DEFEAT" glaring at him from the screen. His shoulders sagged, and he pinched his brows.

"Ugh. That was garbage," he muttered. “What even was that?”

A ping from Dylan’s direct message popped up.

[DYLAN]: You good, man? You’re playing like a noob.

Crow smirked and started typing.

[CROW]: Just off my game tonight. Probably tired or something. I’ll be fine.
[DYLAN]: Sure bro. I’m beat myself. Let’s just call it.
[CROW]: Yeah. Thanks. Catch you tomorrow, dude.
[DYLAN]: Later.

He stared at the screen as Dylan’s username disappeared. Without anything else to do, he hovered over his character, his cursor idly circling.

“Damn,” Crow murmured, leaning forward. “It’s not just the name, huh...”

He still couldn’t process it. He looked at the in-game Kanno Hinata he admired: strong, spirited, cheerful.

Curiosity got to him. Then, he pushed himself out of his chair, quietly tiptoeing toward the door.

He eased it open, just enough to peek.

There she was, sitting upright on the couch, cup in hand. Her posture remained alert, but her shoulders were relaxed, as if they had shed some weight.

Crow stared. “You seriously look like her.”

A chuckle escaped him, but it was filled with disbelief. He gently closed the door, his mind racing. He went back to his desk and powered off his PC.

“I’m going crazy,” he said to himself.

He climbed into bed, grunting as he threw himself on the mattress.

Minutes passed. Then—

The eureka moment hit like a freight train.

“No freakin’ way,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Kanno Hinata. The actual Kanno Hinata is in my apartment!”

He buried his face in the pillow. “Okay. She’s not her. Totally different. Right? Or maybe not. Damn it—she’s real. And very scary.”

He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Wait... what if her name’s not even Kanno Hinata? What if I just assumed? I didn’t even ask for her name.”

He stayed still for a couple of minutes. Then he pushed himself out of bed, went to his closet, and pulled out a comforter that had seen better days.

He braced, gripping the thick blanket tightly. He peeked at her once more.

This time, her head leaned on the rest. Her empty cup sat on the coffee table.

“She’s asleep. Good.”

Cheesy as this moment was, he had seen enough. A blanket. A sleeping girl. A tender tuck beneath the sheets. The dreamy smile.

With a sigh, he swung his door wide open, striding towards the couch.

He straightened out the blanket to drape it over her.

Suddenly—

Her eyes snapped to his. Again.

A pause.

“What do you want?” Hinata said with a deadpan stare.

Crow gulped. His fingers trembled.

Then he flung the blanket over Hinata, covering her from head to toe.

The fabric slowly slid down her face. Her hair ruffled. Her nerves twitched.

Crow pivoted with a snap and power-walked back to base. His door slammed shut.

Back in his room, Crow trembled as he staggered to his bed, falling face-first on the mattress.

“That was… Not cool…” he cringed into the sheets.

First, he slammed his head on a roll-up door. And now a failed attempt to offer a little comfort.

He groaned. “She’s really gonna stab me this time.”

He clicked his night light off, and his room was dark again. Familiar. And just a little too quiet.

With a sigh, he let his eyes close, pretending that sleep would come easily.