After what felt like an endless wait in the living room—though in reality it was probably only a few minutes—I could barely keep my eyes open.
My eyelids were heavy, like they were personally offended by the idea of staying open, when the front door suddenly slammed open.
Liam walked in first, grinning like he had just won life itself.
"Wow. Ayana, you look like you've been hit by a wolf," he teased, eyes sparkling.
I didn't even lift my head properly.
"…Very funny," I muttered.
Mark glanced up from his book, calm as ever. "She looks like she lost a war."
"Thanks," I deadpanned.
Liam sniffed the air suddenly, nose twitching like a cartoon character.
"…What is that smell?"
Before I could even answer, "Ethan is—"
Liam was already gone.
"WAIT—don't run into the kitchen like a wild animal!" I called after him, but it was too late.
Jake, who had been leaning lazily against the doorway, straightened immediately.
"…Food?"
And just like that, he followed.
Mark closed his book with a sigh. "Of course."
I dragged myself up too, rubbing my eyes.
The kitchen looked like a scene from a dream.
Ethan stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up slightly, calm and focused. Steam rose from the pots in soft waves, filling the room with something rich and warm and almost comforting enough to fix my entire life.
Liam leaned over the counter immediately.
"Okay—what is THIS?"
Ethan didn't even look impressed by the chaos.
"Food," he replied simply.
Jake peeked over Liam's shoulder. "That's not 'food.' That's illegal levels of good smell."
Mark stood behind me, quietly observing. "You really cooked all this?"
Ethan nodded once. "Yes."
I grabbed a spoon immediately.
"Don't judge me," I muttered. "I am a victim of starvation."
Jake smirked. "You say that every time you're hungry."
"Because it's always true."
I took a bite—and froze.
"…Oh my—"
Liam pointed at me. "She's having a moment."
I ignored them completely.
It was warm, rich, spicy in a way that made my whole body relax like I had been holding stress for years and just forgot.
I took another bite immediately.
Jake sighed. "Slow down before you choke."
"And die," he added casually.
I glared at him mid-bite. "Stop speaking death into my food experience."
Mark quietly pushed his bowl toward me. "Here. You didn't eat enough."
I blinked. "Mark… are you being nice?"
"I always am," he said flatly.
Jake snorted. "Debatable."
Then Ethan stepped forward.
He placed his own bowl in front of me.
I paused. "Wait—Ethan, no, you haven't eaten—"
"I'm not hungry," he said simply.
Liam frowned. "You literally said you were hungry earlier."
Ethan's eyes flicked away. "I changed my mind."
Jake narrowed his eyes. "That's suspiciously selfless."
Ethan ignored him.
I stared at the bowl.
"…You made all this and you're not eating?"
He shrugged slightly. "Seeing everyone eat is enough."
That made me pause.
Liam blinked. "That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard."
Mark, however, just nodded faintly. "Sounds like him."
I lowered my voice. "Ethan…"
He glanced at me.
"…Thank you."
A small pause.
Then he nodded once, turning away like it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing.
It felt like something.
Later that night, the house had gone quiet.
Too quiet.
I blinked awake slowly, rubbing my eyes as moonlight spilled through the curtains like silver paint across the floor.
"…What time is it?" I whispered to myself.
10 PM.
Somehow, it felt later.
I shuffled into the living room in slippers.
Liam was knocked out on the couch, mouth slightly open.
Mark was asleep on the single sofa, book still on his chest.
Jake sat on the floor, phone in hand, half-awake.
He looked up lazily. "You're awake?"
"Apparently," I muttered. "Are you not sleeping?"
"I will," he said, standing. "Just getting blankets for those two idiots."
I blinked. "That's… kind of responsible of you."
He shrugged. "Don't get used to it."
Then I noticed.
"…Where's Ethan?"
Jake paused. "Outside."
That made me stop.
"…Outside?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
Something in my chest tightened.
Without thinking, I grabbed my slippers properly and walked out.
The cold hit me instantly.
And there he was.
Ethan.
Sitting on the porch bench, wrapped in a blanket, staring up at the sky like the stars were the only thing keeping him here.
I hesitated.
"…Ethan?"
He turned slightly.
"Oh," he said softly. "Sit."
I slowly sat beside him.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was heavy.
Like it had meaning.
I hugged myself. "Why are you out here?"
He didn't look at me.
"I can't sleep inside."
"Why?"
A pause.
Then, quietly: "The stars are easier."
I frowned slightly. "Easier… than what?"
He exhaled slowly.
"…Memories."
That word landed strangely.
I looked up at the sky too.
"…Do the stars mean something to you?"
His fingers tightened slightly on the blanket.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then—
"Yes."
A longer silence.
Then his voice broke it again, softer.
"My sister… used to watch them with me."
I turned toward him slightly. "Used to?"
His jaw tightened.
"She's gone."
My breath caught. "Ethan…"
He stared at the sky harder, like it could explain things better than he could.
"It was my fault," he said quietly.
I froze.
"…What do you mean?"
His voice dropped even lower.
"I was driving. I was fourteen. I didn't see her run out—she came to greet me…"
His hands trembled slightly.
"And then I hit her."
Silence.
Even the wind felt like it stopped.
"I didn't know," he whispered. "I didn't know she was there until it was too late."
My throat tightened.
I didn't know what to say.
So I just listened.
He let out a shaky breath.
"We used to point at stars and make stupid wishes," he added softly, almost like a memory hurt less when spoken gently. "She used to say one of them was ours."
A small, broken laugh escaped him.
"…Now I just sit here alone."
My heart ached so much it felt physical.
I turned slightly toward him.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Ethan… I don't even have the right words for that. I just— I'm really sorry."
He didn't look at me immediately.
Then, quietly: "It's okay. You're listening."
That was all he needed.
But not all I wanted.
I hesitated.
Then slowly reached for his hand.
"…I may not fix anything," I said softly. "But I can stay."
He looked at my hand.
Paused.
Then gently took it.
Warm.
Careful.
Like he was afraid it might disappear.
I squeezed it lightly. "You're not alone right now."
His shoulders relaxed a fraction.
"…Yeah," he whispered.
We sat like that.
No more words.
Just stars.
And silence that didn't feel empty anymore.