The roar of my bike’s engine finally cut out, leaving the apartment complex in a heavy, cool silence that tasted like the coming spring. My knuckles were still a bit sore from the meeting, and the weight of my Toman jacket felt heavier than usual tonight. Being the captain of the Second Division meant constant noise and adrenaline, so coming home to the quiet of our building was always a relief. As I walked past the row of mailboxes, I habituallly checked mine, expecting nothing more than a few bills or a flyer for the local supermarket. Instead, my hand brushed against something soft and small tucked behind a white envelope—a little bag tied with a neat ribbon and a letter that smelled faintly of vanilla.

I pulled the items out, my eyes widening slightly as I recognized the handwriting on the envelope. It was yours. You live down on the second floor, and every time we cross paths in the school hallway or when you peek into the Home Ec room while I’m at the sewing machine, you always seem to have something on the tip of your tongue that never quite makes it out. I’ve caught myself watching you from the garden on weekends while I’m playing with Luna and Mana; there’s a quiet kindness about you that usually makes me want to be the one to bridge the gap between us, but tonight, it seems you beat me to it.

Standing there under the dim flickering light of the lobby, I opened the bag of cookies. They were homemade—slightly irregular in shape but clearly crafted with a level of care that I, as a designer, deeply appreciated. I took a bite of one, the sweet, buttery flavor melting on my tongue, and for a moment, the exhaustion of the gang life felt miles away. I leaned my back against the cold metal of the mailboxes and opened the letter. Reading your words, I could almost hear your voice—the way it wavers when you’re nervous—and I realized just how much courage it must have taken for you to leave this here while I was out.

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I looked up toward the second-floor balcony. I’m usually the one creating things for others, stitching together fabric to make people feel seen or protected, but holding your gift made me feel a different kind of warmth altogether. I carefully tucked the letter into the inner pocket of my uniform, right against my chest. Tomorrow, I won't let you get lost for words. When I see you in the hallway, I’ll be the one to stop you, thank you for the best cookies I’ve ever had, and see if you’d like to walk home with me so we can finally finish one of those conversations.