Temper×Temper

{Flavours of Friendship}

Nozomi turned the key and stepped inside, a quiet resolve settling in her heart. She would face tomorrow with courage, for she was not defined by her failures, nor by the absence of others. She was defined by her strength, her will to keep moving forward, and the endless possibilities that lay ahead.

Nozomi sat cross-legged on her bed, the soft hum of the evening outside her window. Her room was a sanctuary, walls adorned with posters of stars and galaxies, a testament to her dreams and aspirations. The glow of her table lamp cast a warm light over her sketchbook, where she often lost herself in drawings of a world far beyond her own.

Her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with her aunt's name. With a hesitant hand, she answered, "Hello, Auntie?"

The voice that came through was sharp, like the crack of a whip. "Nozomi, I won't be coming home for a few months. The work here is just too important, and I can't be bothered with domestic trivialities."

Nozomi's heart sank. "But, Auntie, I was hoping—"

"No hoping, Nozomi. This is how it is. You're old enough to take care of yourself," her aunt interrupted, and without another word, the line went dead.

The silence that followed was deafening. Nozomi stared at the phone in her hand, a lifeline that had been abruptly cut. She felt a hollow ache in her chest, the sting of abandonment fresh and raw.

She lay back on her bed, the ceiling a blank canvas for her thoughts. She wondered why her aunt couldn't see the loneliness that crept into her heart like an uninvited guest. Why her presence at home wasn't important enough to warrant a change in plans.

The room felt larger, emptier, as if it echoed with the absence of family. Nozomi wrapped her arms around herself, a feeble attempt to ward off the chill of isolation.

Her eyes drifted to the stars outside her window, those distant balls of fire that seemed so close yet were light-years away. She felt a kinship with them, alone in the vastness of space, their light reaching out in the darkness, seeking connection.

As tears threatened to spill, Nozomi made a silent promise to herself. She would be strong, like the stars. She would fill her days with light and warmth, even if it meant shining alone.

She would not let the coldness of space—or her aunt's indifference—extinguish the fire within her.

She missed the days when her aunt was around more often, the days when the house felt like a home, not just a place to sleep.

---
The evening was quiet as Haruto made his way to Nozomi's place. The streets were familiar, each turn bringing back memories of the times they had walked them together. He carried a small bag filled with ingredients for dinner, a gesture of companionship to lift her spirits.

As he approached the house, he noticed the curtains drawn, the usual glow of Nozomi's lamp absent. He knocked softly, the sound seeming loud in the stillness.

Nozomi opened the door, her surprise evident in her eyes. "Haruto? What are you doing here?"

"I thought we could cook dinner together," Haruto said, holding up the bag with a hopeful smile. "Just like old times."

A warmth spread across Nozomi's face, a softening around her eyes. "That sounds wonderful," she admitted, stepping aside to let him in.

The kitchen came to life with their presence. Haruto unpacked the ingredients, setting them out on the counter. Nozomi found her apron, the one with the quirky prints, and tied it around her waist.

They moved around each other with ease, chopping vegetables and simmering sauce. The silence was comfortable, filled with the sizzle of the pan and the chop of the knife.

As they cooked, Haruto glanced at Nozomi. "You know, it's okay to be upset about the internship. But you're not alone. I'm here, and I know you did your best."

Nozomi paused, her eyes meeting his. "Thanks, Haruto. It means a lot to hear that."

They shared stories as they ate, the laughter returning to Nozomi's voice. The food was simple, but the company made it special. For a moment, the weight on Nozomi's shoulders lifted, and she felt the comfort of friendship envelop her.

The kitchen was aglow with the soft, warm light of the evening. Nozomi and Haruto were in the midst of cleaning up after their delightful dinner, the counters gleaming and the sink full of soapy water. Haruto reached for the radio, turning the dial until a gentle melody filled the room.

"May I have this dance?" he asked with a playful bow, extending his hand towards Nozomi.

She laughed, placing her hand in his. "You may, kind sir."

They began to sway to the music, their movements clumsy at first, but soon they found their rhythm. The kitchen became their ballroom, the tiled floor their stage. They twirled and stepped in sync, the music guiding them through a dance of their own making.

As they danced, the world outside faded away. It was just the two of them, their laughter echoing off the walls, their feet tapping a beat on the floor. They spun around the kitchen island, Haruto lifting Nozomi in a gentle twirl, her feet barely touching the ground.

The song came to an end, but their laughter continued, a sweet melody of its own. They ended their dance with a flourish, Haruto dipping Nozomi as she giggled, her hair brushing the floor.

Breathless and grinning, they stood in each other's arms, the afterglow of their impromptu dance warming the room. It was a simple moment, a snapshot of joy, a memory they would cherish.

"To friendship," Haruto said, his voice soft.

"To friendship," Nozomi echoed, and they hugged, the bond between them stronger than any quirk could ever be.