The Aoyama dinner table was a battlefield of voices and chopsticks, as always. Hana scolded Rika for stealing shrimp, Emi teased Hana for being bossy, and Suki tried to defend his plate from both sides.
But tonight, his mind wasn't on the food. He was staring dreamily at his melon slice until Emi poked his cheek with a chopstick.
"You've been quiet. Suspiciously quiet."
"I have not," Suki protested, blushing.
Hana raised a brow. "Something happen today?"
Rika gasped dramatically. "Did you and Ryuzí kiss again?!"
"RIKA!" Suki shrieked, nearly choking on rice.
Emi smirked. "So it's about him."
Suki groaned, burying his face in his hands. "...I just... accidentally went to his house, okay?"
The table went dead silent.
Then the sisters pounced.
"You WHAT?!" they chorused.
Suki flailed. "I didn't mean to! I met his mom outside and helped with groceries and she invited me in, okay? That's it!"
Hana leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "What's she like?"
"She's... really kind," Suki admitted softly. "She seemed so happy I was friends with him."
The sisters exchanged looks.
"Bingo," Emi murmured.
"Operation Push Them Together is a go," Rika whispered dramatically.
Suki's face burned. "No operations! Stop it! It's not like that!"
But his sisters only grinned, their laughter filling the room.
And deep down, Suki couldn't stop replaying Ryuzí's expression when he walked in and saw him sitting in his living room. The faint pink on his ears. The awkward "you weren't invited."
It had felt... different. Like stepping into a world Ryuzí had kept locked away.
Across town, the Takeda house was quiet, as always.
Ryuzí sat at his desk, textbooks open but untouched. His thoughts kept wandering.
The image of Suki sitting on the couch in their spotless living room wouldn't leave him. His voice, his laughter, the way he filled the silence so easily.
And his mother—she had smiled more that evening than Ryuzí had seen in months. His father, too, had spoken more than a flat "good work."
All because of Suki.
Ryuzí leaned back, staring at the ceiling. His chest ached with something strange. Heavy, but warm.
What is he doing to me?
He pressed a hand to his lips unconsciously, the faint memory of that clumsy, accidental kiss still burning there. His ears warmed as he muttered into the silence: "...Annoying sunshine."
But there was no venom in the words. Only the quiet admission of a boy who knew he was slipping, step by step, into something more than friendship.
That night, two houses carried two different kinds of noise: one filled with laughter and scheming sisters, the other filled with silence and one boy's racing heart.
And somewhere in between, two worlds were slowly starting to overlap.