Silence

Author Note:

We're back at Niv's apartment—chaos, food fusion, and Ethan being his unfiltered self. This chapter's a bit of a breather: comedy, comfort, and that creeping sense that something deeper is stirring underneath it all. Think of it as the eye of the storm.

Also yes, kimchi quesadillas are real. And dangerous.

Niv's Apartment

"Okay," Ethan announced, walking in with a flourish,

"Don't all cheer at once, but your food god has returned."

He kicked the door shut with his foot, two large bags dangling from one arm and a bottle of imported cola tucked under his chin.

Niv, already on the couch with his laptop open, didn't look up.

"You're late."

"You're lucky I came back at all. Do you know how many people would've kidnapped me for this chimichurri bulgogi?"

Ethan dropped the bags dramatically on the table.

"It smells like international relations and bad decisions."

Sera was perched on the armrest. Relaxed, but alert.

She sipped from a can of peach soda Ethan definitely didn't remember owning.

She eyed the takeout.

"That smells... illegal."

"You would know," Ethan muttered—then immediately winced.

"Sorry. That was—"

She raised one elegant eyebrow.

"—a joke. A stupid one. Not... a threat or commentary or cartel insult. I just mean you're intimidating and this food is suspicious."

Niv finally looked up from his laptop.

"Breathe."

Ethan did. Loudly.

Sera smirked, brushing hair behind her ear.

"Relax. I don't kill people over jokes."

"That's oddly specific."

"I kill people over worse."

She said it lightly, but Ethan's laugh was nervous.

"Cool, cool, I love this dynamic. Threats and food. It's very Tarantino brunch."

They gathered around the coffee table.

Ethan turned on lo-fi beats.

Niv silently handed out napkins like some kind of monk of order in their chaos.

They ate.

It was... comfortable.

Sera reached for the kimchi quesadilla and bit in.

"...Goddamn."

Ethan beamed.

"Told you. You doubted the fusion."

"This is cursed food magic."

"That's the best kind."

Niv kept chewing.

He wasn't smiling, but his eyes had that relaxed, half-lidded calm Sera was starting to recognize.

"So," Ethan leaned forward, chopsticks waving like drumsticks,

"Should we talk about the elephant in the room?"

Sera blinked.

"You have an elephant?"

"No, but I do have a best friend who's somehow dating the scariest person in North America."

"Technically South America has scarier—"

"Don't correct me, I'm having an existential crisis."

"And you," Ethan turned to Niv,

"Just casually... didn't mention any of this?"

Niv glanced at him.

"Didn't come up."

"Didn't come up?" Ethan gawked.

"Bro, she came up. Out of your bedroom."

He looked between them, hands out.

"I feel like I'm hallucinating. Like I got trapped in someone's fanfiction of you."

Niv shrugged.

Sera leaned back and rested her head on Niv's shoulder.

"If it helps, I don't understand it either."

Ethan sighed and popped open his soda.

"I'm just saying, this is how secret societies start.

One minute you're watching anime with your friend,

The next his girlfriend is having lunch with arms dealers."

Sera blinked.

"We don't do lunch."

"You know what, I don't want to know."

A few minutes passed.

The banter faded into lazy chewing.

Lo-fi hums. Neon bounced off the window.

Ethan glanced over—and paused.

Niv had stopped eating.

Elbows on knees.

Staring at the floor.

Just a second too still.

Sera noticed too.

Her gaze sharpened.

"You good?"

Niv didn't answer immediately.

Then—without looking up—he mumbled:

"Yeah. Just tired."

Ethan opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Sera studied him for a second longer, then gently shifted her body weight so her leg brushed against his.

No questions.

Just presence.

Ethan tossed the remote from hand to hand,

Sprawled across the couch like he was made of spilled chaos.

Sera sat cross-legged in the armchair across from him,

Hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands,

Sipping something green and suspicious from a steel bottle.

"You sure you're not poisoning yourself?" Ethan asked, eyeing the drink.

"It's celery, ginger, spirulina, and competence," she said calmly.

"Ah. That explains the lack of taste."

She raised a brow.

"You're one donut away from a coronary. Don't talk to me about taste."

From the kitchen—

The sound of running water and soft clinking.

Niv was doing dishes. Voluntarily.

Ethan glanced over his shoulder.

"He's weirdly domestic, right?"

"He's weird," Sera corrected,

"In a deeply efficient, worrying way."

Ethan chuckled.

"You know he alphabetizes his spice rack?"

"He alphabetizes his playlists."

"Jesus."

"And then forgets to eat for 17 hours straight."

"Okay, that's not even quirky, that's just sad."

"It's Niv," she said, like that explained everything.

Maybe it did.

The laughter died down.

A small silence curled between them.

Ethan followed her gaze.

Niv had gone quiet again.

Not the usual quiet.

Not his thinking face.

Not his resting I don't care mask.

This one was… pulled tighter.

Like something bracing inside.