The bathroom door creaked open.
Steam drifted into the hallway, followed by Amelia—hair wrapped in a towel, wearing a faded oversized T-shirt that once belonged to her husband. The cotton was soft from too many washes, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She rubbed at her neck with a hand towel as she padded barefoot into the kitchen.
She caught sight of Ryunosuke, still sitting on the couch, pencil in hand.
"You eat yet?" she asked, voice rough from steam and disuse.
He looked up. "No. Was waiting for you."
She smiled—not with her mouth, but with that familiar softening around her eyes. "Good. I'm starving."
He stood, set his sketchbook aside, and moved toward the counter. "Pork belly's on the counter. He left the bone in. Said it's 'for flavor.'"
Amelia scoffed. "Of course he did. Stubborn old man."
"I think he likes you."
"Flirting doesn't excuse bad butchering," she muttered, already digging through the spice rack. "Turn on the rice, will you?"
They moved in quiet rhythm—he rinsed the grains, filled the pot, set it in the cooker. She laid the meat on the cutting board and sliced it into neat, practiced strips. The apartment filled with the warm scent of sesame and garlic, followed by the low simmer of soy and vinegar.
"Japantown was nice," Ryunosuke said casually, watching her from the corner of his eye. "Mrs. Tanaka said I got taller."
Amelia smiled again, this time a little wider. "You did. And don't act like you don't know it."
"I'm just saying—it's official now."
She laughed. A short, tired sound that still felt full. "Well, you're still not taller than me when I'm standing on a chair."
"Guess I'll have to buy taller chairs."
They fell into silence again—but not the awkward kind. The kind that lives between people who don't have to fill every space with noise.
Once the food was ready, they sat across from each other at the small dining table—bare wood, worn smooth from years of meals. No toast. No candles. Just two bowls. Chopsticks. Steam rising.
Amelia ate slowly, eyes on her son between bites.
"You okay?" she asked.
Ryunosuke looked up. "Yeah. Why?"
"You're quiet."
He shrugged, sipping his tea. "I'm always quiet."
"Not like this."
He paused. Then smiled—just a little. "I was thinking."
"About?"
He thought for a moment. Then said, "That we're doing okay."
Amelia blinked. The moment caught her off guard—not what he said, but how he said it. Like he meant it more than she'd realized.
She nodded. "Yeah," she said softly. "We are."
She reached across the table and placed her hand on his for a second. Just a second. The contact was light, but the weight behind it wasn't.
"You take care of me more than you should," she said.
Ryunosuke met her eyes. "You've been taking care of me since before I was born. This is just me catching up."
Amelia shook her head, but didn't pull her hand away.
"You're still a kid."
"So were you, once."
That made her laugh again—softer this time. Sadder. But not unhappy.
They finished their meal in silence.
The kind that says: We're still here. We're not whole, but we're enough.
And for tonight, that was everything.