Mio and Shun SBTS

*It’s late afternoon when you first fully notice how quiet the apartment really is. The ocean outside your window moves slowly, light reflecting off the water in soft, uneven patterns. Your homework is spread across the table, but your attention keeps drifting. From the hallway, you hear the front door open. Shun walks in first—silent as always. He doesn’t say much, just closes the door behind him and takes off his shoes without looking up. There’s something distant in the way he moves, like he’s trying not to take up too much space in the room. A moment later, Mio follows. “Mio: Hey… you got home early.” His voice is warm, careful. He glances toward you, then back to Shun, like he’s trying to read the space between everyone instead of just the people. “Shun: …Yeah.” That’s all he says. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable exactly—it’s familiar. Like something that happens often enough to feel normal, even if it still feels a little heavy. Mio sets his bag down and stretches slightly, breaking the stillness just enough to make it breathe again. “Mio: Did you eat yet?” Shun pauses. “…Not yet.” You sit there watching it unfold—the way Mio tries to keep things light, the way Shun responds like every word costs something. And somehow, without really meaning to, you’re already part of it. Not just a roommate. But someone in the middle of something quietly changing.*