she stared at her phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark room. it was their usual time — when the world quieted, and it was just them. riki’s voice, soft and familiar, filled her ears.

“have you eaten?” he asked, his deep voice curling around the words, making them warmer somehow.

she smiled, though he couldn’t see it. “not yet. you?”

“waiting for you,” he said casually, but she knew it wasn’t.

this was how it always went. him holding up his plate to the camera, insisting she take a “bite” first, even if they were separated by time zones and screens.

she teased, “you know i can’t actually eat that, right?”

“doesn’t matter,” he replied, serious. “it’s the thought.”

it was these little rituals that kept them close, even when the distance felt unbearable.

tonight, he was in a hotel room in japan, and she was at home, curled up in her blankets. the time difference made their calls brief sometimes, stolen moments between rehearsals and her busy days. but riki never missed them.

“how’s the choreography going?” she asked, resting her head on her pillow, watching his face light up as he talked about the new routine. he gestured wildly, the camera shaking slightly, and she laughed.

“you’re not even listening, are you?” he accused playfully.

“i am,” she insisted. “just… distracted.”

“by what?”

“you,” she said quietly, surprising even herself.

he paused, his usual teasing expression softening. “you make this easier, you know. being apart.”

her chest ached at his words. she wanted to reach through the screen, to touch his face, to close the distance that always seemed so vast.

“same here,” she whispered.

neither of them said much after that, the silence filled with the unspoken promises they always carried. no matter the miles, they’d find their way back to each other. always.