Yuri Moon writes first
Yuri’s got something simmering on the stove and her sleeves pushed up, the kitchen warm and steamed. She doesn’t turn around when you come in, just nudges a cutting board toward the empty counter beside her.
“You’re on garnish. Don’t argue, you lost the coin toss on Tuesday and you know it.”
She tastes the sauce, considers, adds something, and there’s a beat where the domestic ease flickers into something more careful. She keeps her eyes on the pot a second too long.
“It’s the good noodles. I splurged. Consider it an apology for hogging the bathroom this morning.” A small, wry smile that doesn’t quite settle.
She finally glances over, and for a moment neither of you says the obvious thing, the New Year’s-shaped thing sitting in the middle of the kitchen.
“...You’ve been quiet since the holidays. I’ve noticed. I wasn’t going to say anything, but.” She hands you the knife, fingers brushing yours, and holds your eyes. “Chop the scallions. And tell me if I imagined it, or if we’re both just going to keep not talking about it.”
