Chapter 7: “You’re My Home Now”

The apocalypse could wait—Yui’s parents were coming over.

She stood frozen in the middle of the apartment, clutching a throw pillow like it might ward off emotional damage. “Do I look like I’ve got my life together?” she asked Haruki.

“You’re holding a pillow like it owes you money,” he said. “But yes. Adorable and composed.”

“What if my mom asks about—about stuff?”

He blinked. “Like…?”

She whispered, “Stuff.”

Haruki’s eyes widened. “OH. Stuff.”

“Yes. Stuff.”

“We’re not doing stuff, Yui.”

“I know, but she doesn’t!”

Haruki chuckled and pulled her into a calming side-hug. “We’ve got this. We’re fine. We live in harmony. Like penguins.”

“Penguins mate for life, Haruki.”

“…Wow. That escalated.”

They had just finished cleaning for the third time when the doorbell rang.

Yui’s heart jumped to her throat.

Showtime.

Her mom came in first—warm, smiling, carrying a bag of “just a few things” that included six containers of food, two candles, and what appeared to be a pair of knitted coasters.

Her dad followed behind, his usual stoic presence wrapped in layers of suspicion. He was the kind of man who looked like he could tell what grade you got on a test just by watching you blink.

Haruki’s parents arrived shortly after, just as cheerful as ever. His mom squealed at the sight of them together on the couch, whispering to Haruki in a not-so-subtle stage whisper, “You didn’t tell me you’re such a good nester!”

“Please never say that word again, Mom.”

The apartment filled quickly. Too many shoes by the door. Too many voices in a space built for two. But somehow, it felt... nice.

Warm.

Whole.

And then something unexpected happened.

Everyone watched as Yui and Haruki naturally, instinctively moved around the space together.

She poured tea; he handed out the cups without being asked.

He started to ask where the chopsticks were; she was already holding them out.

She made a dumb joke about instant noodles being their “third roommate”; he added, “Yeah, but he never washes the dishes,” and they both burst out laughing like they'd rehearsed it.

They didn’t even notice how their parents watched them—mildly stunned.

It wasn’t the kind of forced politeness you’d expect from two kids trying to impress the adults.

It was something else entirely.

Natural. Intimate. Real.

Yui’s dad, however, remained unconvinced.

He sat quietly for most of the visit, eyes sharp, taking mental notes. He watched the way Haruki stood when Yui got up. The way he refilled her cup first. The way he listened—not just nodded, but really listened—when she spoke.

Still, his expression didn’t shift until Haruki, in the middle of a laugh, reached over to pass Yui a new cup of tea and gently took her hand in the process.

It wasn’t a show.

Wasn’t exaggerated.

Just a soft moment of connection, his fingers brushing hers as if to say I’m here.

And finally—finally—her father’s expression changed.

Just the smallest twitch of his lips.

A nod.

Approval, unspoken but clear.

After they left, the apartment felt bigger again. Quieter.

Yui flopped onto the couch, exhausted. “I think my mom was trying to figure out what drawer I keep my pajamas in.”

Haruki sat beside her, stretching. “Your dad didn’t threaten to kill me. I think that counts as a win.”

“I saw him blink. Once. That was affection.”

Haruki chuckled, leaning his head back. The sun had just started setting, casting a soft gold across the small space they called home.

He looked over at her and smiled.

“We’re lucky, huh?”

Yui turned to face him, eyes gentle, thoughtful.

“No,” she said. “We worked for this.”

He paused.

Then nodded, slow and grateful. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

That night, the bed felt even cozier.

Not because the blanket was extra soft, or the room was extra warm.

But because of the silence. The comfort. The peace of being together with someone who fit you—not perfectly, but honestly.

Fingers entwined under the covers, Yui rested her head against Haruki’s chest.

His heartbeat thumped gently beneath her ear.

And for the first time in her life, she thought—

This isn’t just where I sleep.

This is where I belong.