A Fleeting Moment of Peace

Keith's feet pounded the pavement, the sound of his own ragged breathing echoing in his ears. Suddenly, his surroundings began to blur and distort, like a painting smeared by a wet brush.

He blinked, and the world snapped back into focus. Keith's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself lying on the floor, the sleeping bag tangled around him. His body was slick with sweat, and he felt a wave of discomfort wash over him.

He sat up slowly, the muscles in his back and shoulders protesting. The morning light, a soft, hazy gray, seeped through the window curtains, revealing the quiet order of Akira's room. 

He stared at the still-sleeping girl, a knot of familiar anxiety tightening in his chest.

The emotional residue of his nightmare lingered, a dull ache beneath his ribs. 

He moved with a quiet caution, as though any sound might shatter the fragile peace of the morning. 

Standing, he took a deep, shuddering breath, the cool air of the room a welcome relief from his internal turmoil. 

He felt a wave of profound gratitude that Akira was still asleep. He wasn't ready for her kindness, not yet. Not with the raw, fresh feeling of his nightmare still haunting him.

He tiptoed to the door, and as his hand reached for the knob, he glanced back at her.

A pang of raw vulnerability crossed his face, a silent ache in his blue eyes. He closed the door as softly as he could, the gentle click a quiet finality. 

He stood outside her room for a long moment, simply breathing, as if lingering in the echo of his fear. A soft sigh escaped his lips, and he frowned, forcing his feet toward the stairs.

His steps were gentle on the polished wood. Downstairs, he found the bathroom and turned the warm water on at the tap, cupping a handful of it. 

He splashed his face three times, the warmth a soothing balm against the remnants of his feverish dream. 

Looking in the mirror, he saw the tension still etched in his jaw.

"Just forget about it," he muttered to his reflection. "Act like it never happened."

He grabbed a fresh guest towel from the shelf marked 'For guests only', wiping his face before hanging it neatly on the metal towel holder.

He padded into the kitchen, opening the curtains to let the gray morning light flood the room. His hands, still cool from the water, found an apron on the counter.

It had been folded quickly, the edges uneven, as if someone had rushed to place it there. He put it on, the cloth cool against his skin. 

The apron was white with a pink heart where the word "love" would be. "I love cuisines," the apron read. 

He sighed, a faint smile touching his lips as he began to rummage through the cupboards and fridge.

Luck was on his side. He found rice on the top shelf and a carton of eggs in the fridge. 

This is how I'll thank her, he thought, the idea a quiet warmth spreading through him. They do say the way to a girl's heart is through her stomach. So maybe she'll like it... maybe.

He started with the fried rice, the sound of the skillet hissing to life on the stove.

Soon, the familiar, comforting aroma of sesame oil and stir-fried rice filled the kitchen. Next came the delicate process of making the omelettes.

He finished Akira's plate first, then reached for the ketchup. But the bottle was nearly empty. With a faint frown, he squeezed the last of it onto the plate and used his finger to draw a clumsy, apologetic message: 'Sorry, ran outta catch-up' with a small, teary emoji.

As he began his own omelette, he heard soft footsteps in the hallway. He looked up just as Akira entered, her purple pajamas a soft color in the kitchen light.

Her hair was a charming, tousled mess from sleep, and she rubbed her eyes, still waking.

"Good morning, Akira-san," he said, his voice softer than he'd intended. "Did you sleep well?"

Akira yawned and stretched, her voice casual and low.

"Yep. How about you?"

She looked at the apron he wore and a genuine smile bloomed on her face.

"It wasn't too bad," he replied, taking his own food and placing it on the table. "You must be hungry. Please, take a seat."

He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down, her eyes sparkling. A luminary grin spread across her face, and her cheeks turned a gentle pink. 

Keith is so... nice, she murmured to herself. He even made breakfast for the both us. How thoughtful.

"Thanks for the food, Keith," she said excitedly, looking at her plate. She saw the message. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with a look of pure amusement. "Hehehehehe..." 

A melodic laugh bubbled up from deep within her, her eyes closing in delight.

Keith was taken aback by her sudden laughter. He looked at her, his expression twisting into concern.

 "What's wrong? Does the food not taste well?"

"No, it's not that," she said, trying to contain her giggles. "It's your message. It even has a little emoji." She giggled again, her eyes shining with joy. 

Then she settled down and said: 

"I wasn't expecting that, so I guess it just caught me off guard."

After that she looked at her food, her expression a warm sentiment.

"Itadakimasu," she said brightly, and took a bite. She chewed slowly and swallowed elegantly before her eyes fluttered open.

"Y-u-mmy," she raved, a genuine look of awe on her face. "So—so unbelievably tasty! I could eat this every day..."

Keith's face flushed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the stove. The pain from his nightmare, which had felt so vivid just moments before, receded into the background, replaced by the gentle warmth of her praise.

A small, genuine smile touched his lips, and he took his food, sitting across from her. 

"I'm glad you like it."

Akira took another bite, leaning her cheek against her hand. "You're a pretty good cook, Keith. You should definitely keep that apron," she teased, her eyes glowing with joy.

"Not funny," he said, his face turning a deep red as he looked away. It was an adorable pout, in her eyes.

"Are you pouting? Isn't that my job? Hehehe." She continued to tease, her laughter filling the room.

The loneliness she felt every morning was replaced by the happiness he had so effortlessly brought her.

For her, this breakfast was a profound moment, a memory she would never forget. 

For him, however, he simply saw it as an ordinary act of kindness, oblivious to the impact he was having.

She looks so happy, he thought, feeling a quiet satisfaction. I'm glad. It seems like she forgot about the dream she had yesterday... though I wish I could say the same for myself.

He took a bite of his omelette rice, his faint smile fading into his usual mask.

"Since you're teasing me, I'll take your food and eat it alongside my own," he said playfully.

Akira's eyes widened, and she pulled her plate closer, shielding it with her body. 

"Be gone, foul demon! I'd rather die than give up this food," she hissed playfully.

He reached for her food, and she shrieked in mock protest. His own facade cracked as his lips twitched. 

"Heh, hehehehe..."

His well-guarded laughter spilled out, soft and genuine. His eyes, for the first time since she met him, gleamed with an emotion she had only seen in his sad moments.

His genuine display of emotion took her completely by surprise. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him, the careful mask gone from his face. 

Her own cheeks turned bright red, and her eyes began to shine with an emotion she couldn't name. A loving smile curved her lips.

So that's what it looks like... she thought, a soft flush spreading across her face. His smile... is so wonderful. 

She hadn't expected to see his real smile, not so soon. Now that I think about it, Keith is so... handsome.

The thought caused her face to flush an even deeper crimson. A cloud of embarrassment descended upon her, and she covered her face with her hands, not wanting him to see her flustered expression.

Keith's laughter faded as he saw her sudden shyness. His concerned look returned. 

"Akira-san, are you okay? Did I offend you? If I did, I'm sorry."

Without thinking, she moved her hands from her face and looked him in the eye. 

"You didn't do anything wrong!" she blurted.

He took in her bright red face. "Are you coming down with something?" he asked, his concern growing.

She realized her mistake and covered her face again, but peeked at him through the gaps between her fingers.

"I'm—fine," she stammered. "But I can't look at you right now. And no, it's not because you did something wrong."

"Oh, okay," he said, and looked away.

He picked up his plate and went to the sink to wash it, leaving her to calm herself down. But they were interrupted by the front door. 

The sound of a key turning in the lock drew their attention. Keith, wiping his hands, left Akira and went to check on who it could be.

He turned the corner to see a boy who's height almost matched his owm, with messy black hair and a masculine build. The boy's green eyes were alert and assessing, and his posture was confident. 

As he stepped inside, an unsettling unease settled over Keith. The boy's presence radiated a quiet but palpable intensity. 

Keith, having seen the family photos in the hall, knew immediately that this was Akira's older brother.

"Excuse me… Are you Akira's older broth—"

Before Keith could finish, the brother's head snapped up, his grass green eyes narrowing into a cold, hard glare. 

He didn't speak, but his body language was a clear and unsettling warning. 

He moved with a speed that startled Keith, closing the distance between them.

"Who are you, and what... in the unholy hell, are you doing in my house!?”