Erlen yawned, stretching on the sofa as the clock blinked 2:17 a.m. He had stayed up again, scrolling through fashion blogs, comparing jackets, and planning tomorrow's outfit. Even after everything—fighting apex-level threats, mastering his Sixth Sense, training in the Chamber of Eternity—fashion remained sacred. It was his obsession, his comfort. He glanced at his reflection in the dark window. "Not bad… could be better," he muttered, adjusting his loosely tied hair.
From her bedroom, Leora stirred at the sound of him moving. 19 years old, a university student, she had been up late studying for her exams and assignments, but the presence of Erlen—her roommate, her awkwardly sweet companion—was comforting in a strange way. She had gotten used to his nightly rituals, the quiet thuds from his wardrobe rearrangements, and the occasional low whistle when an outfit pleased him.
The next morning, Erlen rolled out of bed, stretching again, already planning his fashion choices. "Hmm… black jacket over white shirt, slim-fit pants, boots… yes, perfection," he muttered. Breakfast was an afterthought; coffee and style were more important. Leora appeared in the doorway, holding a mug and squinting at him.
"You know, not everyone needs to color-coordinate at six a.m.," she teased.
Erlen froze mid-sip, blinking at her. "Ah… good morning, Leora! Style is timeless," he said seriously, tapping his chest. "And besides… you're not dressed to impress either," he added cheekily, earning an amused roll of her eyes.
They moved into a silent rhythm, sharing mornings over coffee, discussing clothes, and teasing each other. Erlen would fuss over his appearance, while Leora would roll her eyes, secretly enjoying the theatrics. Sometimes, they cooked together. Erlen insisted that proper attire required proper posture while chopping vegetables, which left Leora laughing hysterically, narrowly avoiding being hit by flying carrot pieces.
Afternoons were their awkward exploration periods. Leora returned from university, exhausted, while Erlen lounged on the couch in some carefully planned outfit. Conversations started stiffly, filled with teasing and awkward glances, but gradually they began to open up.
"Do you… ever think about… normal life?" Leora asked one day while stirring pasta.
Erlen smirked. "Normal? Hah. I left normal behind the moment I started training. But style… style is forever normal," he said, adjusting his jacket.
Leora shook her head, laughing. "You're ridiculous."
Evenings were their favorite time. Erlen would linger in his room, obsessively picking out outfits or brushing his hair while Leora worked on assignments nearby. They occasionally shared music, with Erlen secretly critiquing album covers and concert outfits.
One rainy evening, they sat by the window, umbrellas in hand, pretending to enjoy the drizzle from the safety of their living room. Leora glanced at him. "You really care about how you look, huh?"
"Yeah," he said casually. "Even when it doesn't matter. It's… calming. After everything, fashion makes sense."
Leora smiled softly. "I get that. I like seeing you take care of yourself… it's… nice."
Erlen felt a rare thrill, a warmth that had little to do with his usual confidence. "Thanks… Leora. That means a lot."
Nights were the hardest for awkwardness. They would sometimes share the couch while watching old movies, occasionally brushing shoulders, their hands almost touching but never quite. Both of them were painfully aware of the space between them, the growing feelings neither dared to name.
In the quiet moments, like when Erlen fussed over a misplaced sock or debated the proper folding of shirts, Leora would catch herself staring at him, thinking of how much life felt brighter, calmer, somehow safer, with him around. And Erlen, despite pretending not to notice, always felt a small flutter when she complimented his appearance—or when she casually tossed him a jacket to try on.
As they went to bed at night, they often left the lights on a little longer, lingering over small conversations, laughter, and the warmth of shared space. They hadn't gone on a proper date yet; that was still a distant, awkward fantasy. But living together allowed a slow-burn intimacy to grow, subtle and unspoken.
Even in silence, they learned each other's rhythms—the way Erlen tossed his hair when tired, the way Leora hummed softly when focused on a book, the way their morning coffees never clashed in taste or style. Each moment, small and seemingly mundane, added layers to their bond.
By the end of another long day, as Erlen sprawled across the couch adjusting his boots one last time before bed, he thought: Even in the middle of chaos, this… this is nice. And somewhere, Leora lay awake in her room, a small smile tugging at her lips, thinking the same thing.