Still Here

Crow blinked into the morning sunlight as it slipped through the curtains. He twisted his body for a stretch, a dull ache reminding him of the chaos they survived. He sat up slowly, rubbed his face, and ran his hands over his messy hair.

His feet touched the cold floor as he entered the living room. The apartment was still, save for the sound of the neighbor’s broomstick scratching the pavement and the chirp of birds.

With a yawn, he peeked over the couch.

There, Hinata curled, wrapped in her trusty blanket. She was turned slightly inward, arms loosely folded, snoring—yet almost innocent in sleep.

For a moment, he wondered if she ever had a peaceful rest such as this.

He didn't think about it too much. For now, he wanted to make her stay worthwhile.

Oil and eggs sizzled in the pan, and the night’s leftovers were heated. He hummed quietly, feeling the cool morning air drift from the open window.

Back on the couch, Hinata stirred. Her limbs slowly unfolded as her eyes fluttered open. She sat up with a soft grunt, squinting against the light.

Her gaze turned toward the kitchen as the aroma of fried rice reached her.

Crow set two plates on the table, like he used to. Hinata slid into the seat, chin propped, watching him shuffle between pans and utensils.

“…Didn’t expect you to be here when I woke up,” Crow said as he put fried rice on their plates.

“Didn’t expect you to know how to cook,” Hinata murmured.

Crow chuckled. "I'm competent when it matters."

Steam rose gently from two fragrant mugs of tea. They ate the simple breakfast in silence.

“You good with eggs?” Crow asked.

Hinata nodded. “Better than protein paste.”

No eye contact. Just chewing and the soft clinking of spoons.

The room stayed still. Just two people sharing a small dining table. Warm food. Soft light on the walls.

The rumpled blanket was draped on the couch as she left it. And they didn’t mind leaving it that way.

— • —

Crow hummed a random tune off-key as he returned to his mundane tasks.

He gathered laundry. Folded Hinata’s rumpled blanket from the couch. Tossed old receipts into the trash. Dried the kitchen sink with a cloth.

Hinata watched him from the couch, arms and legs crossed. Her fingers tapped, contemplating. Her lips parted, words at the end of her tongue as her eyes followed him.

Crow didn’t notice her. He moved from one item to another, swiftly but carefully. After all, he lived here. This was part of it, and she didn’t want to interrupt him.

In Hinata’s experience, spaces were assigned, cleaned by staff, and broken items were replaced. Nobody seemed to care too much.

Unfortunately, she was trained for these things.

She stared at the countertop for a long moment. She shouldn’t care. But she did.

Crow's eyes widened as she grabbed a dishcloth and started wiping it.

“Didn’t take you for the helping type,” he quipped.

“I’m not.” Hinata didn’t look at him. “This place smells a lot like you. Do you even have an air freshener?”

Crow chuckled softly. “Well, this is my place, so get used to it.”

“Tch. I know.”

They moved around each other smoothly. Nights ago, they were beating up people together. Now, she was wiping the fridge handle, and he picked up a broom and started sweeping.

Suddenly, Crow mentioned Dylan’s weird habit of assigning personalities to his guitar picks. He talked about a regular at the convenience store who called him “bro” like they were friends, but Crow didn’t even know him.

Hinata listened, nodding at his stories.

“Once fought a guy who smelled like fish,” she replied out of nowhere.

Crow blinked.

“No idea what to do,” she added. “I dislocated his elbow and thumb in the first round, so he can stay away.”

Crow nearly choked on a laugh. “Wait, what?”

“Faster than a twenty-minute beatdown before bath.”

Crow wheezed, hand on his chest. “That’s brutally efficient.”

Hinata stayed quiet.

They circled each other, cleaning and tidying, with space wide enough to breathe.

— • —

Crow finished wiping the last corner of the coffee table, dropping the rag with a dramatic sigh.

“I’ve officially hit my daily limit,” he declared as he slumped onto the couch. “I’m retiring.”

From the bookshelf, Hinata responded flatly. “That's a small table.”

Crow raised his hand. “It’s the journey, the table and I had a moment.” He sank deeper into the cushions and pulled out his phone.

“Right. I ordered food,” he said. “It’ll be here in maybe twenty minutes.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow. “You ordered?”

“Don’t judge me. I only got two hands.”

She exhaled. The aura of a newly tidied room was liberating, and Hinata felt it. Then she scooted on the couch—not too close to Crow, but comfortable.

Crow, still reclined, reached for the TV remote and clicked it on. A cooking show flickered across the screen. After a few clicks, he handed her the remote.

“Alright. You’re in charge.”

Hinata took it and turned it over once. Pressed a button. The channel changed. Then another. Faster now.

Crow grinned like a proud father. “There we go.”

Then, a cartoon—bright colors, screaming characters, energy defying all known laws of physics.

Crow glanced at her.

"What? Do my preferences bother you?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Do it if you want to die."

He laughed, leaning back, arms behind his head, legs sprawled.

Hinata’s arms folded, legs crossed, posture slightly hunched.

The TV glowed in front of them, its colors loud and wild.

Yet, everything felt serene, not empty.

— • —

DING-DONG.

Hinata jolted.

Her posture stiffened. Her eyes locked on the door with curled fists.

“Relax,” Crow said casually. “It’s just the food.”

The smell wafted into the room the moment the door opened. Crow brought the delivery bag inside and unwrapped it on the counter.

Something sweet, smoky, rich.

Roasted beef. Grilled pork belly. Caramelized onions. A whisper of garlic, soy, and something deep and savory that soaked into the rice.

Hinata turned her head slightly toward Crow.

He grinned, peeling the foil back. “Barbecue.”

She leaned over the counter, eyes narrowing like a cat sizing up prey.

He plated the food—beef on one side, pork belly on the other, rice between. He added dipping sauce, set out utensils, and slid a plate her way.

“Here. Beef’s left, pork’s right. Sauce is sweet and garlicky.”

He sat down and began eating. Hinata stared at her plate. She gulped, picked up a piece of beef, then brought it to her mouth.

Her eyes gleamed.

The meat was soft and juicy. It tasted of smoke, fat, and something rich she didn’t have a word for.

“…It's good,” she said.

Crow grinned mid-chew. “Because it is. You never had barbecue before?”

“I’ve had meat,” Hinata said, picking up another chunk. “Just not as good as this.”

Crow didn’t interrupt. He just watched her, taking bite after bite, with a contented smirk.

Hinata glanced at him just in time to see that soft, effortless smile. The one he didn’t even know he was giving. Her lips curled a little, in a way only she knows.

They ate. And the room stayed small, but warm.

Hinata didn’t say another word, eating until her plate was clean. Then, she pushed the empty plate forward.

Crow took her plate, then refilled her glass of orange juice. She chugged it, wiped her lips, and plopped on the couch, satisfied and full.

Crow stacked their plates and utensils in the sink, soaking them in dish detergent.

He followed her to the couch, sitting beside her.

“Don’t get too close to me. I’m irresistible.”

Hinata scoffed. “You invaded my space, idiot.”

“You’re in my house.” Crow laughed, nudging her with an elbow.

Hinata hissed. “Whatever.”

A couple of minutes into the show, Hinata turned to Crow.

“Hey, about the last—”

And there he is. Eyes closed, breath steady, head leaning on her shoulder.

She looked at him like a sloth clinging to her arm. Absurdly attached.

“Hey, don’t get too cozy, stupid,” she sighed. Yet, she didn’t move.

She let the cartoon play. Dumb, loud, weirdly soothing. And somehow, it didn’t feel strange.