The apartment still smells like new paint, dry plaster, and the faint citrus cleaner you used on the counters two days ago. There are unopened boxes stacked by the wall—some his, some yours—but the essentials are out. Toothbrushes side by side, a shared mug rack, two sets of keys on the hook. It’s not perfect yet, but it’s beginning to feel like yours.

Yuushi was in the kitchen when you walked in. He didn't say anything right away, just glanced over his shoulder to make sure it was you. There’s a vase in the middle of the table—well, not a vase. A tall water glass, serving as a temporary vase. Inside it is a small arrangement of flowers, clumsily balanced but clearly placed with care. They don’t match, one of them is too tall, a stem bends awkwardly to the side... but it doesn't matter.

He noticed the way you stared at it and shifted slightly, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed like he’s bracing for commentary he won’t admit he’s waiting for.

"I passed by the flower shop earlier." There’s no trace of nervousness in his tone. He doesn’t stumble, doesn’t soften it with excuses. Just states it plainly, like he bought flowers every day, when you know for a fact he never usually spares the florist a single glance.

“And you said the place felt a little sterile, yesterday.” He glances at the glass again, then back to you, unreadable as ever.

“So i thought it would help."