Wavelengths Apart

Chapter 8

"We're going to miss our train if we don't hurry," Kita warned, scouring Mori's living room for a blue bag. Although Mori could probably fly the distance to his dad's house, traveling across multiple cities was easier by train.

"I know, I know," Mori called from the kitchen. Why he would leave his dad's present in there, she had no clue. "I know I left it here because I was in a hurry. I just can't remember where I put it."

"I'm going to grab some winter coats from your closet while we're here. It's getting cold out, and you'll need them," Kita responded, making her way to the staircase that led to the mezzanine level of Mori's studio apartment. "I'll check the closet while I'm up there."

Mori had rented this place shortly after they graduated from UA, wanting to be close to Kita. She had stayed with him most nights until she saved up enough for her house. They had only been fully living together at her place for about half a year, but the lease on his apartment wasn't up yet. He still had most of his winter clothes here and occasionally stopped by for a nap or a shower after patrolling if the apartment was closer than home and he was worn out. On one such occasion, he had to hurry and drop off Romeo's birthday present before rushing out to assist with a fire that broke out at a nearby factory.

Kita crossed the living room, heading towards the staircase that led up to the loft. As she ascended the stairs her hand grazed the cool iron railing, a familiar touch that always brought a sense of calm. The loft's industrial charm extended even here, with each step echoing slightly under her feet—a reminder of the many times she had climbed these stairs before. The brick walls around her bathed in the subdued glow of the afternoon sun seeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, comforting shadows.

As she glanced around, the sleek stainless-steel appliances in the kitchen caught the light, reflecting the minimal yet stylish decor that Mori favored. Dark leather furniture dotted the open layout, each piece a statement of functionality and style that complemented the loft's darker, masculine tones.

"Where the hell did I throw that bag?" Mori's muffled voice reached Kita as she arrived at the mezzanine. She found herself pausing to look over the iron railing at the space below. Despite being a studio, the apartment felt spacious, its high brick walls and exposed beams not only serving aesthetic purposes but also designed to accommodate Mori's expansive wings—a necessary adaptation for his living spaces. As she passed the bed, Kita reached out to caress the dark gray comforter, memories of nights spent cuddling and watching movies flooding her mind. Though they hadn't lived here for months, the loft was still rich with memories, each corner a testament to their journey together.

Smiling to herself, she flung the closet doors open. As she did, a fleeting image of Hikaru's tired smile from last night crossed her mind, stirring a mixture of guilt and unease. The contrast between her deep, comforting history with Mori and the complex, unresolved feelings she held for Hikaru was stark. Kita shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the image. Soon enough they would shut down the CRC and she wouldn't have to see him anymore. She'd be able to move on with her life again.

As she flipped through Mori's clothes, the scent of cedar from his wooden hangers filled her nose. For a moment, she wondered what her life would have been like if Hikaru hadn't fled that night. Would they have stayed together? Would they have shared an apartment? A life? Would Mori have moved on to someone else if Hikaru had never left the picture? A pang of guilt shot through her. How could she even entertain such thoughts? She and Mori loved each other and were happy together. They could depend on one another. And Emiko adored him; he was like a big brother to her. The three of them often spent afternoons playing Minecraft and watching cartoons from Kita and Emiko's childhood. What more could she ask for?