"It's not a date!"
Sunny repeated the words out loud for the fifth time as she frantically shoved a half-open sketchbook under the couch. One corner stuck out. She kicked it deeper.
Her apartment still smelled faintly of last night's ramen, so she spritzed lavender room spray into the air like her life depended on it. Then again. And again.
The walls were still lined with half-finished posters and pinned-up doodles, but she'd swept most of the visible clutter into neat, deceptive piles—drawers closed, coffee mugs rinsed, laundry stashed into the closet like it didn't exist. For once, her place looked… almost normal.
Except her heart wouldn't stop pounding like she wanted it to be a date.
She flopped onto the sofa, arms sprawled out, hair loose from its usual tied-up state. She had just five minutes to get a grip before he maybe showed up—whenever he decided "fashionably late" was fashionably enough.
Ding-dong.
Too late.
---
Earlier That Day
Amelia had noticed, of course. Amelia always noticed.
"You're inviting him here?" she gasped over boba, nearly spitting out her tapioca pearls. "To your apartment?"
Sunny stirred her drink violently, avoiding eye contact. "It's not like that."
"Mmhmm." Amelia leaned in, eyes glinting. "You two have been awfully cozy lately."
Sunny made a strangled sound. "I just—he offered to help with visuals! I thought it'd be smart to get his input before the promo deadline!"
"That's cute," Amelia said. "Like a work date."
Sunny flushed. "It's not a—ugh! Don't twist it!"
Amelia grinned. "Well, if things escalate, I hope you know what you're doing."
"They're not escalating!"
"Sure." She leaned back smugly. "Just remember: use protection."
"AMELIA—!"
---
Now
Zane arrived ten minutes late.
Of course.
But when the door opened, he greeted her with a lazy grin, holding up a small takeout bag. "Peace offering," he said. "I heard you survive off instant noodles."
Sunny stared. "You brought me gyoza?"
"And matcha taiyaki," he added, stepping in with casual confidence. "The good kind."
He looked around, raising a brow. "Whoa. This place is actually... kind of cute."
Sunny flushed. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're surprised."
He smirked but didn't press further. She took the bag and motioned him inside.
---
They sat cross-legged on the floor, takeout containers pushed aside and her laptop balanced between them. The glow of the screen cast soft light over the scatter of pens, old sticker sheets, and a lopsided plush bunny peeking out from under the couch. Sunny had done her best to tidy the place, but a few bits of her usual chaos still lingered—no matter how hard she tried, her space always felt like a reflection of her thoughts: messy, vivid, and constantly in motion.
Zane leaned in, scrolling through the motion graphics she'd been working on.
"You've got a strong style," he said eventually. "But you're overcomplicating some of the transitions. This part right here—" he paused on a flashy burst of digital light, "—kind of steps on the vocals. Makes it feel like the visuals are trying too hard to steal the show."
Sunny stiffened. "Oh."
He looked up immediately, catching the shift in her tone. "Hey—I didn't say it was bad. It's bold. Just... think of it like a duet. The music and the visuals need to listen to each other."
Her lips twitched slightly. "Right. That makes sense."
He smiled, softer now. "And that animation you did for the bridge? Gorgeous. Don't touch it."
"…Really?"
"Seriously. It gave me chills."
She looked down, fiddling with her chopsticks, cheeks glowing pink. A smile snuck its way onto her face before she could stop it.
They worked in tandem for a while, shoulders occasionally bumping, knees brushing. She didn't pull away. The scent of lavender spray lingered in the air, almost covering the ghost of earlier cup noodles.
Between edits, Zane launched into a story about a street performance gone wrong—a power outage in the middle of a show, forcing him to sing acapella with nothing but a crowd of confused tourists and a guy juggling flaming pins behind him. Sunny laughed so hard she nearly choked on a rice cracker.
"I made up an entire verse about takoyaki," he said proudly. "Had a whole rhyme scheme going. The crowd ate it up."
"You're ridiculous," she said, giggling.
He leaned back on his hands, smug. "And unforgettable."
Eventually, the screen dimmed into standby, the room dipping into a hush that felt weighty but not awkward. Just… full.
Sunny closed the laptop gently. "Thanks for helping."
"Anytime."
They sat in that quiet for a few beats.
Then Zane's voice dropped, unusually serious. "You know… you're not what I expected."
Sunny glanced over. "What do you mean?"
"You're sharp. Funny. Wicked talented. But you hide behind your own work like it's a shield."
She blinked. "Isn't that what all artists do?"
"Maybe," he murmured. "But you've got more to say than you think. And when you do say it—when you let it show—it's... pretty amazing."
She wasn't sure what to say. Her heart was thudding too loudly to form words.
Then he added, as if casually, "You'd make a good photographer, by the way."
She blinked again. "What?"
He nudged a nearby artbook aside and pulled out his phone, flipping it to his gallery. "Lighting. Framing. Movement. You've got the eye. Honestly, I mostly direct the edits on my stuff, but I do shoot sometimes. Got a Canon EOS R6 at home. Real sleek baby. Remind me to show you sometime."
"You—take photos?" she asked, caught off-guard.
"Of course. You think I only know how to sing off-key and flirt with reckless charm?"
"…You're not off-key."
He grinned.
Their eyes met.
The air shifted.
Zane reached out, slow and deliberate, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered against her cheek. Warm. Steady. Close.
"Thanks for letting me in, Sunny," he said softly.
Her breath caught. "...You're welcome."
And then, without another word—he leaned in.
She met him halfway.
The kiss was soft, tentative, just the press of lips against lips. His hand tilted her jaw slightly, and her fingers curled into the hem of his sleeve. It was over in seconds, but her heart kept skipping long after.
When they pulled back, neither of them said anything at first.
Then Zane whispered, almost to himself, "Yep. Definitely unforgettable."
Sunny covered her face with her hands. "Zane—"
He laughed, low and warm, his forehead briefly brushing hers. "Relax. That was... nice."
She peeked at him between her fingers. "Just nice?"
"Okay. Fine. It was great. Fantastic. You're probably going to mess up my songwriting focus for a week."
She laughed again—quiet, shy, but genuine.
Her apartment had never felt warmer.
And for once, she didn't feel like she was hiding.
Not behind her screen. Not behind her work. Not from him.
Not tonight.
---
That night, after he left, her apartment felt warm.
Not because of the lavender spray or the tidy desk or the leftover gyoza.
But because for once, her heart felt just a little bit less cluttered.