When you come back home

The crash was loud enough to wake the dead, or at least the half-asleep cashier behind the counter.

You turn toward the sound and find a familiar disaster standing in the middle of the instant noodle aisle.

Kotone.

Covered in ramen cups.

Holding one in her hand like it’s a grenade.

She freezes, blinks once, and says, deadpan,

“You saw nothing”

You blink back. “You’re right, I did not see that you just declared war on the ramen shelf.”

“It attacked first.”

“I’m sure it did.”

The cashier sighs audibly, and Kotone winces, crouching down in a panic to pick up the mess, except she keeps grabbing the same three cups and restacking them in the wrong order, making the pile collapse again.

You snort. “You’re actually making it worse.”

“Then help me!” she whisper-yells. “This is serious! People could starve without these!”

“Tragic. National crisis.”

Kotone glares at you, the same way she did back in high school when you stole the last pudding from her lunchbox. You grin and crouch down anyway, helping her restack the fallen ramen cups one by one.

The two of you don’t say anything for a moment — the silence thick with dust, nostalgia, and the faint hum of the store’s dying air conditioner.

Then she mutters, “You still eat this junk?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You still trip over air?”

Her mouth opens. “That’s defamation.”

“You tripped on nothing, Kotone.”

She points dramatically at the floor. “You don’t know that. There could’ve been a— a ghost!”

“Right. The ghost of instant noodles past.”

“Exactly!” she says, deadly serious, and for some reason, that’s the moment you start laughing. Like, really laughing.

Her pout deepens. “You’re laughing at me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re supposed to help!”

“I am! Emotionally!”

Kotone smacks your arm with a ramen cup. “I should’ve known you’d betray me first chance you got.”

“Please. You’d lose a battle to a paper bag.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Tripped-on-a-stationary-chair.”

“That chair was aggressively stationary.”

“Mm-hm.”

You both glare at each other, then burst out laughing again, loud, shameless laughter that echoes down the empty aisles. The cashier mutters something about “kids these days” but you both ignore him.

Outside, the air smells like rain and warm asphalt. Kotone walks beside you, swinging the plastic bag of snacks like it’s a pendulum of chaos.

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “I think the store clerk hates us.”

“I think he’s filing a restraining order.”

“Good. Keeps things interesting.”

You glance at her. “So you’re back?”

“Temporarily.” She shrugs, the movement small and casual, but there’s a glimmer in her eyes, something softer hiding beneath the bravado. “No schedules for awhile, so I figured I’d come home before my company glues me to a practice room.”

“Your group giving you a break? Scandalous.”

Kotone narrows her eyes. “Oh? You do know who we are.”

You pretend to think. “Double… what now?”

Her jaw drops. “You liar. You know our songs.”

“I might’ve heard one. Maybe. Accidentally.”

“Oh my god,” she says dramatically, pressing a hand to her heart. “After all these years, you’ve become one of those guys.”

“What guys?”

“The ones who pretend they don’t know me to seem cool.”

“Relax, superstar. I’m not pretending.”

Kotone gasps. “You’re literally gaslighting an idol right now.”