Chapter 5: “You Make Me Better”

There was something magical about having a bedtime routine—the kind that slowly forms not because of planning, but because of rhythm. Comfort. Familiarity.

Yui never imagined she’d fall asleep to the sound of her boyfriend brushing his teeth while humming off-key anime intros. But now? It was kind of adorable.

Their routine wasn’t elaborate. It went something like:

Yui claims the bed first and hogs the blanket. (She insists it’s “accidental.” Haruki remains skeptical.)

Haruki dries his hair in the hallway like a golden retriever trying not to drip on the floor.

They meet in bed like two exhausted, flustered introverts playing house.

One of them makes a dumb joke. The other fake-sighs.

They fall asleep holding hands. Every night. No exceptions.

No fireworks. No scandal.

Just warmth.

And a shared toothbrush cup.

But even the coziest couple routines couldn’t prepare Yui for The Tragedy of the Tuesday Night Curry.

It started off well. She wanted to surprise Haruki with dinner. Something homemade. Something special. Something that said: “Hey, I’m an amazing girlfriend who’s totally got this domestic goddess thing on lock.”

What she ended up making was… spicy regret soup.

“I don’t understand,” she said, staring at the pot. “The recipe said one tablespoon of chili paste…”

Haruki sniffed the air as he walked in. “Babe. It smells like the pot is plotting revenge.”

Yui frowned. “Don’t be dramatic. Just try it.”

He hesitated. “If I die, tell my mom I loved her. Also, burn my browser history.”

Yui handed him a bowl and waited, stomach tight.

Haruki took a bite.

Paused.

His eyes watered instantly. “Mmm,” he croaked, face turning pink. “This… this is bold. A flavor punch. A full-on uppercut, really.”

Yui stared at him, horrified. “Is it that bad?!”

“No, no,” he wheezed. “It’s got… character. Depth. The kind of taste that makes you question your life decisions.”

“Haruki!”

He immediately stuffed another spoonful into his mouth, tears forming. “Delicious. Amazing. Wife material.”

“Stop trying to flatter me through the pain!”

He gave a weak thumbs up. “No pain. Only love.”

Yui grabbed his bowl. “You don’t have to eat it.”

“I do,” he said dramatically, grabbing it back. “This is your effort. Your heart in food form. Even if that heart is on fire.”

Yui laughed and buried her face in her hands. “I’m seriously the worst.”

“You’re seriously trying. And that’s all I care about.”

The next morning, Haruki tried to do laundry to even the score.

Keyword: tried.

Yui returned from the convenience store to find him standing in front of the washing machine like it had insulted his ancestors.

“…Why is it foaming out the sides?” she asked slowly.

“Because I may have added… too much detergent.”

“…How much is too much?”

“…Enough to make it snow indoors.”

She handed him a towel, sipping from a bottle of green tea. “You really thought you could just vibe your way through laundry, huh?”

“I was trying to be helpful.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Depends how fast you clean the floor.”

Later that night, they sat on the floor with mugs of warm tea and matching sweatpants, surrounded by a fresh-smelling mountain of laundry they had just rewashed—together.

It was quiet.

Comfortable.

Until Yui glanced over and said, “Hey… can I ask you something?”

Haruki blinked. “Of course.”

She took a breath. “Do you ever feel like… you have to be perfect? Like, because this is new—we’re new—you’re trying so hard not to mess it up that it makes you panic?”

He stared into his tea. “...All the time.”

Yui’s eyes softened. “Me too.”

“I thought burning the rice would be the worst moment of my life,” he said with a grin.

“Haruki. That rice was crunchy. Like emotionally traumatic cereal.”

He laughed. “Okay, fair.”

“But seriously,” Yui said, resting her head on his shoulder, “I don’t want to be some perfect girlfriend. I just want to be real with you.”

He leaned into her. “Same here. I want the good stuff. The mess. The stress. The nights we both cry over spilled laundry soap. I want all of it… with you.”

She smiled softly. “So, we’re not aiming for perfection.”

“Absolutely not. We’re aiming for ‘two slightly chaotic people who love each other and try their best.’”

“Then I think we’re nailing it.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You make me better, you know that?”

Yui blushed, then whispered, “You make me warmer.”

Haruki smirked. “Because of the curry or…?”

“Say it again and I’m putting ghost pepper flakes in your miso.”

“Noted.”

That night, curled up under the covers, Yui held his hand and whispered, “Even when I mess up… I feel safe.”

Haruki squeezed her hand gently. “Good. That’s what home should feel like.”

And as sleep crept in, and the stars blinked quietly outside the window, Yui knew—

She hadn’t just found someone to live with.

She’d found someone to grow with.