The city outside roared with its usual chaos — honking traffic, hero headlines, and skyscrapers that blinked with synthetic light.

But inside the apartment, everything was still.

⸻

Cyntia sat cross-legged on the floor, hair in a bun, humming softly while sorting groceries.

Kai lay sideways on the couch, half-buried in a blanket, one arm dangling off the edge as he scrolled through code he wasn’t really reading.

“Did you know,” she said suddenly, “that ice cream isn’t technically medicine?”

Kai glanced up. “…Why would it be?”

She held up a tub of half-melted vanilla with fake seriousness. “Because I felt better after eating it. That counts.”

“You also felt better after skipping class. Doesn’t make it therapy.”

“Disagree,” she said, opening the freezer with her foot. “Skipping class and eating ice cream? That’s healing.”

⸻

It was holiday break. No lectures. No work today. Just the two of them and a flickering lamp that buzzed every time the heater kicked in.

Their apartment was cramped — barely enough room for a mattress, a coffee table, and a hand-me-down rice cooker. But it smelled like laundry and cheap candles, and felt more like home than anywhere else.

Kai glanced at her over his screen. “You’re off today?”

“Miracle, right?” she said, stretching. “Boss said I deserved rest. I said thank you and left before he changed his mind.”

He smirked. “You threaten him?”

“No. I just smiled. That’s enough.”

⸻

They spent the rest of the morning doing almost nothing.

Cyntia played music through her cracked phone speaker. Kai refilled the water tank. She danced barefoot to a song that didn’t match her rhythm. He watched her, pretending not to.

⸻

Later, they curled up on opposite ends of the couch, sharing a single blanket and a pack of instant noodles.

Kai stirred the noodles with chopsticks while Cyntia scrolled through a quiz titled “Which Hero Would Be Your Ideal Partner?”

“Guess who I got,” she said.

Kai raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t say Krakatar.”

She grinned. “Krakatar.”

He groaned. “Of course.”

“He’s strong, kind, and emotionally stable.”

“That quiz is propaganda.”

“You’re just jealous.”

Kai gave her a sideways look. “If Krakatar actually walked in here, I’d throw this soup at him.”

Cyntia laughed, mouth full. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Heroes are too perfect. It’s suspicious.”

“You sound like an old man.”

He didn’t respond, just watched the steam rise from his cup.

She noticed.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Just for today… can it just be us?”

Kai looked up. “It always is.”

⸻

That night, they lay in their separate corners of the room — her on the bed, him on a floor mattress with a worn-out blanket. The window buzzed faintly from the cold air outside.

“Kai?” she asked in the dark.

“Yeah?”

“If everything stayed like this… would you be okay?”

He thought for a moment. The silence stretched.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I would.”

⸻

This was their world. Small. Simple. Safe.

No headlines. No powers. Just her warmth, his quiet, and the in-between.

And for now, that was enough

The campus pulsed with life—laughter, announcements echoing from speakers, and the distant buzz of drones monitoring the courtyard. Students bustled between buildings, some wearing hero academy jackets, others buried in textbooks, prepping for exams. It looked normal. Safe. Bright.

But Kai never liked crowds. He sat alone near the computing lab, coding in silence. The sun streamed through the window beside him, catching in his hair and lighting the sharp angles of his face, but he barely noticed.

He was reading a news article about Ohlane — “The Empath Hero” — helping children in a hospital. The picture was perfect. Too perfect. The timing, the smile, the symmetry of the photo. Staged. Like always.

A message lit up his phone.

Cyntia:

“Do I look professional enough to hand out vitamins?”

With it came a photo of her in her part-time uniform, oversized polo tucked into beige slacks, tongue sticking out between two fingers in a peace sign.

Kai shook his head, smirking.

Moments later, she crept up behind him and tapped his shoulder.

“You’re ignoring my stunning photo,” she said, mock-pouting.

“You think that’s stunning?”

Cyntia gasped. “Rude.”

“You asked.”

Still, he turned to her fully. “You look good. But you always do.”

She blinked, surprised for a moment. His compliments were rare. But real.

⸻

They moved to the university courtyard—beneath the tree they claimed as theirs. Cyntia spread their lunch on a blanket: instant noodles, a boiled egg, and two small banana cakes.

“You ever think of applying to the Hero Registry?” she asked between bites.

Kai paused. “No.”

“You could. You’re smart, quiet, calculated. Like one of those tech-based heroes who hacks enemy systems.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I want to wear tights and pretend to smile for cameras?”

Cyntia chuckled. “I think you’d hate it.”

“I would.”

There was a pause.

“I still think most heroes try their best,” she said softly. “They save lives.”

Kai didn’t argue. Not because he agreed—but because she believed it so purely, he didn’t want to dim it.

⸻

Footsteps approached them from behind.

“Kai! Still being dragged around by our golden girl?”

It was Katy and Sofia, both in nursing uniforms like Cyntia’s, their hair pinned back from earlier hospital rotations. Kai didn’t dislike them. They were bright, sharp, and didn’t fake their smiles.

“Sofia,” he nodded. “Katy. Still stalking us?”

“Obviously,” Katy smirked, flopping down beside Cyntia. “We have to make sure our girl isn’t secretly dating a villain.”

Sofia laughed. “Honestly, if she is, at least he’s cute.”

Kai rolled his eyes.

Cyntia ignored them. “We’re just roommates. Very platonic. And extremely well-fed, thanks to my cooking.”

Kai scoffed. “I cooked once and now you act like I’m the household wife.”

“Wife is accurate,” Sofia teased. “You do glare like one.”

⸻

As they settled into easy laughter, Katy suddenly said, “Hey, you both free this weekend?”

“Maybe,” Cyntia said. “Why?”

“There’s this new café near 6th Street,” Sofia chimed in. “Lanterns, riverside view, overpriced cake.”

“Hero-themed menu,” Katy added. “It’s a little cheesy, but it’s cute. You should come.”

Cyntia lit up. “That sounds fun!”

Kai frowned. “You sure it won’t break our bank?”

Cyntia nudged him. “I’ll pay.”

Kai raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, you’ll pay half,” she amended.

Katy clapped her hands. “It’s settled then! Saturday evening. All four of us.”

Kai hesitated—but only for a breath. Cyntia’s excitement was hard to say no to.

“Fine,” he said. “Only if the cake’s not shaped like Krakatar’s face.”

They all laughed.

None of them knew that by Saturday, the world would look completely different.

⸻

Later that evening, Kai sat alone back at the apartment. The place felt colder without her. Cyntia had gone to her shift again—handing out health kits in the city. She didn’t complain, but he knew she was tired. She always pushed herself harder than she had to.

His screens flickered in the dark. News stories played on loop—heroes rescuing fire victims, Krakatar smiling beside government officials, Rukio standing atop a broken dam like a statue carved from victory.

Flawless. Worshipped. Untouchable.

Kai muted the screen and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed.

They looked perfect.

Acted perfect.

But something had always felt wrong.

Still… he never cared enough to dig.

As long as Cyntia was untouched, the rest of the world could rot.

The old ceiling fan clicked softly overhead, spinning in its lazy rhythm as the warm light of the late afternoon filtered through the slatted blinds. A breeze pushed in through the cracked window, bringing with it the faint scent of pavement, food stalls, and the constant hum of city life outside.

Inside their small apartment, Cyntia stood in front of the stove, barefoot, wearing Kai’s oversized college hoodie that hung past her waist. She had her hair tied up in a loose bun, strands falling around her face as she stirred something vigorously in a dented pot.

“Are you actually cooking or just threatening the pot?” Kai asked from behind his laptop, not even glancing up.

She shot him a mock glare. “This pot deserves it for almost boiling over.”

Kai smirked slightly, eyes flicking across lines of code. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“You’re a problem,” she muttered, grabbing a spoon and taste-testing the broth. “Mmm. Okay. Not bad. Could use more soy sauce.”

“Could also use someone who doesn’t measure with trauma.”

She tossed a towel at him without looking. It hit the edge of his chair.

“Keep that up and I’ll let the noodles burn.”

Kai paused. “I take it back. You’re a gifted chef. Truly.”

Cyntia grinned, victorious. “That’s what I thought.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, they were both on the floor in front of the coffee table, sharing the steaming pot of spicy noodles and a small side of fried egg and tofu. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was theirs. The quiet background noise of a playlist hummed from her phone—soft acoustic covers of love songs they never talked about but both liked.

Cyntia twirled her noodles. “So… tomorrow’s the café meet-up. 4 PM. You remember, right?”

Kai nodded while chewing. “Yeah. You’re excited.”

“I am.” She smiled. “I haven’t hung out with Katy and Sofia outside class in forever. I think they’re starting to think I’ve been kidnapped.”

“You kinda have,” he said, sipping his juice. “You live with a coder who never leaves.”

“True.” She looked at him, amused. “You sure you’ll come? Last time I invited you to a group hangout, you ghosted halfway and said your laptop needed emotional support.”

Kai feigned offense. “That laptop does have abandonment issues.”

Cyntia raised an eyebrow.

He sighed, then said, “I’ll be there. Promise.”

“You better,” she said with a playful pout. “Katy keeps teasing me that you’re a vampire or something.”

“Please. Vampires get more sun than I do.”

Cyntia laughed, leaning back on her palms. “You’re impossible.”

⸻

The room fell into an easy silence, the kind only people who knew each other deeply could enjoy. Outside, the sun began to dip behind the high rises, casting orange slashes across the floor.

“You ever wonder how we ended up like this?” she asked suddenly.

Kai looked over. “Like what?”

“Two broke students, in a one-bedroom apartment, living on instant noodles and caffeine. You coding your soul away, and me juggling a hundred things just to get through the week.”

He thought for a second, then said, “Honestly? I don’t mind it. Not with you.”

Cyntia blinked. “Wow. A rare compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She nudged his leg with her foot. “I’m serious though. It’s not a perfect life, but it’s… calm. I like it.”

Kai looked at her—the way the golden light hit her cheek, the slight smile tugging at her lips. He didn’t say anything more. But deep down, he agreed. He wouldn’t trade this kind of quiet for anything.

⸻

Later that night, as the city buzzed faintly outside, Cyntia curled up on the couch with a nursing textbook in her lap, highlighter uncapped but barely used. Her eyes kept drifting to the window.

“You think Krakatar’s really that heroic?” she asked quietly.

Kai didn’t look up from his laptop. “He saves people. That’s what the footage shows.”

“Yeah, but… it’s like he’s always there at the right moment. Right angles. Right smile. Doesn’t it feel… staged?”

He finally looked up. “Coming from you?”

She laughed softly. “I know. I’m the one who still believes in heroes. But lately, I dunno… some things feel off.”

He watched her closely. Her eyes were thoughtful, not disillusioned. Still idealistic, but questioning.

“Trust your gut,” he said.

She looked back at him. “What about you? Do you believe in them?”

Kai didn’t answer right away. Then:

“I believe in you.”

Cyntia smiled. The kind that reached her eyes.

“Cheesy,” she whispered. “But I’ll allow it.”

⸻

That night, after she had dozed off on the couch, Kai sat awake at his desk. He should have been coding. But he wasn’t.

He was just… staring. At her. At the way she breathed so gently. At the faint crease in her brow even while she slept.

Tomorrow, they’d go to the café.

She’d be surrounded by friends.

He’d sit beside her and pretend he wasn’t always scared of losing her.

But that was still a day away.

Tonight was warm. Peaceful. Full.

The kind of night he’d replay a thousand times… after it was gone.