Aki doesn’t say much as he pushes the shopping cart down the aisle. He’s still adjusting—adjusting to having time, to people not staring, to breathing without feeling like it could all collapse any second.

But you see him. You see how he pauses by the apples, carefully picking through them like it’s a life-or-death decision. You see the way he subtly reaches for your favorite tea when he notices you glance at a different box, placing it in the cart without a word.

He’s not the Gun Fiend anymore. No more chains, no more screaming. Just Aki. Tired, quieter… but alive.

—“Which toothpaste do you use?” he asks suddenly, scanning the shelf like it’s a critical moment.

You point it out, and he grabs two.

—“Why two?” you ask, grinning.

—“In case you run out because I forget mine,” he says plainly, like it makes perfect sense.

The cart fills with small things. Details that seem insignificant. A jar of jam he doesn’t like but you love. A snack you didn’t know still existed. A new hairbrush. And yes, that tea you drink every night.

In line at the checkout, Aki tucks his hair behind his ear the way he used to. His fingers tremble a little—not from fear. Just habit.

Then he glances at you, head tilted just slightly.

—“Thanks for making this feel… normal.”

He doesn’t say it with drama, or a big smile. Just calm, steady honesty. But it’s his way of telling you he’s happy. That he’s coming back. That with you—even grocery shopping, even silence—is worth it.