I brought Matt to the bottom of the apartment building, where he helped me pick up some of the many packages dropped off for me, walked up the couple flights of stairs, then unlocked my flat and let him in.

The white walls inside were almost as sterile as those outside. I saw him look around, checking my walls for things. “Any place I shouldn't go?” he asked, politely.

I shrugged at him. “Not that I know of. Go and explore, suitguy.”

He rolled his eyes at my impromptu nickname. “Right, fine, got anywhere I can change?” Not a nickname that would stick around for a long time, it seemed.

“Sure, yeah. Toilet’s at the end of the hallway, can’t miss it.” I gestured at it with my chin. Despite that, Matt still managed to miss it, finding my bedroom instead. “Wrong door.”

“Wrong door indeed, sorry,” he said, quickly dashing off into the right door. While he was busy changing, I took off my shoes comfortably, and headed for the kitchen. I wanted to cook before my dad came to visit, so I started taking out ingredients.

Maybe a minute later, Matt poked his head through the doorframe. “Whatcha making?” he asked innocently. I stopped cutting as I turned to face him, now in a white pair of loose pants and a white t-shirt with a small rabbit on the right side of his chest.

I looked at him. He was entirely focused on my cutting board, his body tilted sideways as he hung onto the doorframe. With a curious expression on his face, the pale pink glint in his eyes, and the white clothing with a rabbit on it… that was a new nickname that would stick.

“Well, dearest Rabbit, it just so happens that I’m making chili. Would you like to be of assistance?” I asked, giving him a grin.

“Rabbit?” he asked, his forehead furrowing. Then he looked down at himself. “Ah. Heh, I see it. New nickname?”

“Sure is.”

He shrugged, finally letting go of the doorframe and properly walking into the kitchen. “I suppose it’s better than Rat.”

I tapped him on the nose lightly. “Don’t worry, if you mind, I can stop using it.”

For a few seconds he tilted his head as if in thought. Definitely a rabbit. “Nah, I’m cool with it.”

“Lovely,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Grab a cutting board, bottom left drawer, and a knife from underneath the stove. You can help me cut some bok choy.”

“You put that in chili?”

I pointed the knife at him. “Who dareeeees question the chef?!”

For a moment he startled back, then I saw his lips curl up into a goofy, perhaps rabbit-like, grin. “Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands. “I’ll get to cutting.”

“Wrong drawer, left of it.”

“Gotcha, thanks.”

A couple dozen seconds and the sound of a knife very quickly and repeatedly hitting wood later, Matt was already done with the bok choy, having washed and diced it before I could even finish up the onion.

“Anything else?” he calmly asked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I stared at him for maybe a quarter of the time he spent cutting, which wasn’t long, but definitely not short, either.

“Neamhan at Fio, hello there?” he asked, waving his hand at me.

I shook my head. “What’s up with that?”

He blinked at me. “What?”

“The cutting. You never cut this fast.”

“Huh?” he looked at the veggies, then his eyes went wide. “Oh. I, uh, sorry. Did not mean to do that. Uhm. Definitely a fluke.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Fluke?”

“Yep,” he said, nodding. Why did he seem so constantly nervous on this side? “Just a fluke.”

“Matt,” I said, putting down my own knife and leaning against the fridge, crossing my arms. “Do you purposely cook slowly on Eden?”

“No, I mean, not quite. It’s, uh, it’s more complicated than that…” he shrunk into himself.

“Hah,” I sighed. Then looked at him for a few more seconds, letting him stew. “Fine, a fluke it is.”

“Huh?”

“I’m letting you off the hook, Matt,” I said, pointing the knife at him again. “If you don’t wanna tell me, you don’t have to. Grab some canned corn from the fridge and drain it, will you? Sieve should be to the right of the sink.” He moved. “The other right, Rabbit.”

He shot me a crooked smile, then did as I asked while I finished the onion. “Thanks, Fio,” he eventually said.

“Don’t sweat it. Take things at your own pace. And for real, you don’t have to be so nervous,” I said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Ow!” he said with a grimace, then laughed. “Alright, alright, heh, I’ll try my best. Please do be patient with me!” He pressed his palms together at the request and gave me a small bow, to which I rolled my eyes.

“Gotta have the patience of a saint to deal with you. Luckily, you found the best saint right here! Now, shoo, let me get to the stove.”

While we’d been chatting, we got done preparing all the ingredients. I seared the onion first with some tomato extract and olive oil, then added bok choy, corn, beans, lentils and some garlic in there. Fried it for just a couple seconds, then added diced tomatoes and a bit of soup.

For spices, I put in a little bit of paprika powder, both smoked and spicy, as well as a bit of jalapeno. Then I added some extra soup powder, salt and pepper, and half a stick of cinnamon.

“Cinnamon?” Matt asked me with raised eyebrows.

“Cinnamon,” I nodded. Sometimes I added nutmeg as well, but it wasn’t that late into fall yet.

He shrugged. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“You sure will, that’s what the food is for,” I replied, deadpan. Matt groaned at me.

“I hate you, Fio.”

“I adore you as well, Rabbit,” I said, smiling cutely. He rolled his eyes again.

“How long is this still gonna take?”

“Well, we’ll probably eat with my dad. So, it’ll just simmer for half an hour, then I’ll put it on super low heat so it stays warm until six. If he doesn’t show up by then, well,” I shrugged, “he can have scraps if we have some leftovers.”

Matt nodded. “Alright. Wanna do anything until then?”

“Like what?” I asked.

“I dunno. You got any boardgames?”

I sharply inhaled through my teeth. “Right. Shoulda ordered some of those. I will have them by tomorrow.”

He smiled. “Alright. Let’s browse for some, I got a couple recommendations, if you’re willing to hear me out?”

“‘Course!”

Fifteen minutes passed by, and eventually we placed the order down. Still more time to kill until my dad swung by. “Now?” I asked, kind of unsure what to spend my time doing.

“Got any hobbies?” Matt asked right back.

“I dunno. I read a lot.”

“Mh, not exactly a community activity.” His tone was matter-of-factly. His shit-eating grin told me otherwise.

I blushed slightly. “I suppose not.”

Matt started prancing about the chair I had at the empty desk that housed only the old, crappy laptop I ordered from. I swear, if he could, he would’ve attached himself to my ceiling. He truly seemed desperate for some movement.

“Wanna go out on a run?” he asked.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I shook my head. “Not looking to get stabbed.”

His enthusiasm sparked at that. “Oh? Great Fio of War worried about a little knife wound?” he asked, grinning.

“Yes!” I shook my head. “This isn’t Eden, Matt. I can’t just shrug off a minor stab.”

He grinned even wider. “So you wanna spar, then?”

I was about to disagree when I paused and actually thought it over. Took me all of five seconds. “Fuck it. Sure.”

“Cool! Let’s get to the gym!”

“... This house doesn’t have a gym, Matt.”

He paused at that, looking at me. “It doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t.”

His shoulders slumped and he sighed. It looked really adorable in all white with his messy hair and the bright earrings. “Fine, then. Let’s just… do some drills I guess?”

“How?”

“Just a sec.” He quickly dashed into the guest room, which really was just one of the emptier rooms that held a couple storage shelves, one of which was a wall bed. He’d put his suitcase in there, so Fio could guess what was about to happen. A couple seconds later, he returned with the bamboo sword, pressing it into her palm.

“You’re serious.”

“Absolutely!” He smiled, that same manic look in his eyes as during sparring. “Here, alright, swing it downwards.”

“Like this?” I asked, raising the sword above my head, then bringing it down in front of myself again.

Matt sucked in air sharply. “Yes, no, alright. That’s, uh, it’s an okay start. Make your stance a little wider. Right foot forward a bit. Good. You wanna get power through the chain of your body, right? Is that how it works with spears, too?”

“Right,” I said, shaking my head slightly. We were really doing this now, then. I adjusted my stance a bit more than what he asked for.

“You don’t need it that wide.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“Right, right, yeah. Forgot. That spearwork does pay off, huh?”

“Sure does,” I said. “Now please, master Rabbit, if you would be so kind and continue guiding me?” My tone was full of slight mockery, but I was genuinely taking it seriously.

“Alright, yeah. Bring the sword up above your head again.”

I did as he asked.

“That’s not centered. You’re center of gravity, it’s off to the side.”

“Yeah. I swing my spear by holding it on one side.”

“Well, the sword’s right above you now, isn’t it? Shift to fit.”

I adjusted.

“Bit more.”

I adjusted some more.

“Good, perfect. Keep that stance. Remembered it. Sword a bit higher. Good.”

My balance did really feel decent.

“Now, sing down in a second. Remember, chain of your body. Keep your gravity centered. Simply downward swing, right? Give it all you got.”

I swung the sword as fast as I could, the bamboo moving slightly as the air whistled through the gaps. It gave a satisfying hissing sound as I swung it and I found a small smile on my face.

“That was solid! You shifted a little at the end there, and you coulda stopped the swing a bit sooner. No need to get that close to the ground. Remember, once the sword goes through someone’s head, they’re done. No need to split someone in half vertically.”

“Right, right,” I replied, thinking he made sense, then I paused. Stared at him. “Didn’t you split a sylter in half lengthwise?”

“...”

“...”

“... Perhaps style is sometimes more important than precision?”

“I’ll show ya precision!” I said, lightly whacking him on the head. It was so light it was more of a touch, but it still counted as a whack, because he deserved it.

Despite his pouting, Matt and I spent some more time on basic sword stances. It was calming, a good way to kill time, maybe beneficial to my general martial arts skill, and honestly kinda fun as well. The way Rabbit got all excited when talking about swords wasn’t something easy to put into words, and the way he explained things… maybe he did take after his parents a little.

I shuddered. Hopefully I didn’t take after mine in the same way.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Was it already six?

I went to the speaker and pressed the button. “Bellum, hello?”

“It’s me, Bear.”

“Ah, hey dad! I’ll open up for you!” Then I turned the speaker off and held the button to open the door for a little while, unlocking the actual door on the stairwell, too. It took my dad a bit to get up, and he was carrying a small box of tools, but he quickly set it down and shook my hand.

He didn’t pull me in for a hug and neither did I. He was still in his working clothes, and probably didn’t smell super great.

Matt poked his head out over my shoulder, and I sidestepped to let him greet my dad.

“Oh, that must be your friend! Hello, I’m Lars, Fio’s father,” he said, a smile on his face. He was maybe a head taller than Matt, a bit over half a head taller than me, and quite a bit wider. Half of that was from having been quite fit when he was younger and putting on a bit of a beer belly now.

“Hello mister Bellum, I’m Matthew, pleasure to meet you,” Matt said, flashing him a smile.

“Oh, no, Bellum is her mother’s surname. Mine is Desum.” My dad smiled back.

“My bad, sir,” Matt replied, still smiling.

They squeezed each other’s hands for a little too long, and I was sure I could feel a small bit of tension.

“Matt’s a friend from work. He’s from Tenpo, if you can believe it,” I said, trying to lighten the mood a little as I started heading into the flat.

“Oh? Long train ride here, then.”

“It was no bother, sir. And it’s a pleasure to finally meet Fio in a… less business-y setting.”

That seemed to please my dad a bit. “Heh, I bet.”

“You hungry, dad?” I asked.

“Oh, you cooked? I was wondering what smelled so good. Yes, I’d love to eat, hardly had anything today!” he called from the hallway, still hanging up his jacket.

“Cool. I made chili. It’s a little spicy, but I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Right,” he said, trailing off for a moment. “I’m sure I can.”

“Did you just come from work, sir?” Matt asked. His voice was so odd when talking to my dad. Softer and higher pitch, like he was being pointedly polite. I’d told him he didn’T need to be formal, so he was doing it on purpose.

I smacked him on the shoulder, leaning over and hissing into his ear. “Can you not try to bother my dad?”

“Do you have any beer for me, Bear?” my dad asked before Matt could answer, poking his head into the kitchen.

I froze.

Like a deer in headlights.

Just stood there, staring at him.

Matt shifted uncomfortably.

A second ticked by, my dad still looking at me like nothing had happened.

Another second passed.

“Bear?” he asked again.

Another second ticked by, then another.

I stood still, just looking at him.

Five full seconds passed after that.

“Are you serious?” I asked, my voice calm but icy.

“Huh?” My dad looked at me in confusion. Another second passed by.

“Are. You. Serious?!” This time, my tone was less contained.

Finally, it clicked in his stupid, thick skull. “Oh. Fuck, I’m so sorry Bear, I didn’t-”

“Sit down at the fucking table, Lars.” I pointed at his seat. For the entire way as he slunk over, I stared at him. Then I stared at him some more, before taking a deep breath. “Feel free to sit down too, Matt.” My tone was kinder, speaking to my friend. “I’ll get your plates ready.”

He just gave me a short nod, sitting down on the side of the table. Before actually grabbing any food, I pulled out a glass. Matt already had water in front of him, and there was some next to the stove as well, for me. I kept it there while I cooked.

I looked my dad in the face the entire time as I filled it with water, then slammed it down on the table in front of him. I waited for him to respond.

“Thank you, Bear,” he said, looking down at the table. I waited and kept staring at him. Eventually, he picked up the glass and drank a couple gulps.

“You’re welcome,” I replied coldly. Then, I took out three plates. I filled one, placed it in front of Matt. I filled another, and put it where I’d sit. I took out a few bits of bread to dip in the chili, put them down in front of Matt and my own plate. Then I filled the third plate, put it down in front of my father, and placed his breadroll gently on the table next to it.

“Thank you, Bear,” he said again.

“You’re welcome,” I replied. Then I sat down at my own spot. I looked at Matt, took a breath, and smiled lightly. “Feel free to start eating.”

He gave me a sad, crooked smile. “Thank you for the food, Fio,” he said, once again pressing his palms together and giving me a small bow.

I gave a genuine smile at that. “Calm on, start eating, dummy. Guest starts around here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, quickly tearing a piece off the bread and dipping it into the chili. “Oh wow, that’s really good.”

“I am a great cook, aren’t I,” I said, smiling.

My dad also took a bite. “It really is great,” he said, trying to throw me a smile.

I looked at him. “Thanks, I guess.” Then I looked down at my own plate and began to eat.

A good five more minutes were spent in silence. My dad was sweating as he ate, though I was unsure if that was because the food was spicy, or because he felt guilt. Eventually, I lightly nodded at Matt. He smirked at me a bit, but caught onto my meaning. “So, mister Delum. What do you do for work?”

“Used to be a lumberjack,” he said. “Nowadays, it’s kinda mostly factory work. Usually in bookkeeping, but today we had someone call out, so I had to work the conveyors. Factory makes tires. Handling the rubber and making sure the machines run well is exhausting when you’re as used to sitting behind a desk as I’m nowadays.”

“I can imagine,” Matt said, giving a polite chuckle. He was sitting unbelievably straight. I truly hadn’t thought he had these kinds of manners in him.

“What do your parents do, Matt?” my dad asked.

“Ah. My father teaches swordwork, and my mother is a doctor.”

“A doctor?” my dad asked, mild surprise in his voice. “She must have a lot of status, then.”

Matt chuckled politely again. “Yes, she certainly does. My father enjoys as much status, though. He has won national competitions multiple times and is quite a renowned master, you see.”

“He’s lucky he has your mother there to patch him up, then,” my dad joked.

“Oh, she is certainly the person to land the most strikes on him compared to any other swordsman I can think of,” Matt said, and my dad chuckled for once.

“I see. She got some fire in her?”

“Only as much as my father deserves, I assure you, sir,” Matt said, bowing a little.

This time, my dad first chuckled, then showed a sad, reminiscent smile. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”

The mood ebbed a little again, though this time the silence was much more comfortable. While my dad stared at his food, I mouthed ‘thank you’ at Matt, and he gave me a wink and a tiny thumbs up before returning to the meal.

Soon, there was a little more idle chatter, but after a second serving each, we were all full and stowed the plates away. Matt had once again thanked me for the food over an empty plate and was wiping the table clean, working in unison with me better than dad despite only having just visited the flat.

A couple minutes later, when everything was clean and stowed away, we finally decided to tackle the next task, the stack of boxes lying in the hallway.