My Romance Life System

The Sunday that followed the festival was quiet, a day of collective recuperation. The victory at the ramen shop had left a lingering sense of accomplishment that permeated the apartment, making the silence feel less like an absence and more like a shared, comfortable peace.

Kofi woke up late, the sunlight already streaming through his blinds. For a moment, he forgot everything—Thea, Nina, the bonfire, the quests—and was just a normal sixteen-year-old on a weekend morning. The illusion lasted for about ten seconds before the weight of his new reality settled back onto his shoulders. It was a familiar weight now, less of a burden and more of a presence.

He got out of bed, pulled on a clean shirt, and walked out of his room. The apartment was still. He glanced at Thea's closed door. 'She's probably still sleeping. Or drawing.'

He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, staring into its contents with no real plan. The groceries they had bought with Yuna were still mostly there. He saw the box of jasmine tea and the shrimp-flavored crackers on the counter, a strange souvenir from their bizarre supermarket encounter.

He decided on scrambled eggs, a dish he had now, in his own mind, mastered. As he was cracking the eggs into a bowl, he heard the soft click of Thea's door. She appeared in the kitchen entryway a moment later, dressed in one of her new t-shirts and a pair of shorts, her hair still slightly damp.

"Morning."

"Morning," he replied, not looking up from his whisking. "I'm making eggs. You want some?"

She hesitated for a second. "…Okay."

She did not retreat to the dining table. Instead, she walked over and leaned against the opposite counter, watching him. It was a small change, but it felt significant. She was not just waiting to be served; she was occupying the space with him.

He poured the eggs into the hot, buttered pan, the soft sizzle filling the quiet between them.

"So," he started, his voice casual as he scraped at the eggs with a spatula. "Now that you're a famous artist, you're going to need a proper place to work. The dining table isn't going to cut it."

She looked over at the table, where her sketchbook and pencils were arranged in a neat little pile. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," he countered, sliding the cooked eggs onto two plates. "You need a desk. A real one. With a good lamp."

He put a plate in front of the spot where she was leaning, then grabbed two forks. She took the plate and they stood there, eating scrambled eggs off of plates while leaning against opposite kitchen counters.

"There's a furniture store a few blocks from here," he continued between bites. "One of those big, cheap ones. We could go today. Get you a desk, a chair, maybe a bookshelf for your art books."

She looked down at her plate, a familiar flicker of anxiety in her eyes. "That costs money."

"I got a bonus," he lied smoothly. "For my parents' work. It's for 'household improvements'. A desk is a household improvement. It's in the rules."

'He has a lot of rules.' The thought was a quiet, private observation. She did not believe his story about the bonus, not really, but she understood what he was doing. He was creating a reason, a permission structure, that allowed her to accept his help without feeling like a charity case. It was a kindness that was both clumsy and incredibly considerate.

"...Okay," she said.

The furniture store was a vast, brightly-lit warehouse that smelled of particleboard and industrial glue. It was a maze of pre-assembled rooms and towering shelves full of flat-packed boxes.

Thea was immediately overwhelmed, her steps faltering as she took in the sheer scale of the place. She stayed close to Kofi as he pushed a large, yellow shopping cart through the main aisle.

"Alright, desks are in section twenty-four," he said, consulting a map he had picked up at the entrance. "It's somewhere past the garden gnomes and the mountain of throw pillows."

They navigated the labyrinthine store, the cart's wheels rumbling on the polished concrete floor. Kofi seemed completely unfazed by the chaos, his focus entirely on the mission.

They finally found the desk section. There were dozens of them, in all shapes and sizes. Kofi stopped in front of a simple, clean-lined white desk with a large, smooth top and a few small drawers.

"What about this one?" he asked. "It looks sturdy. And it has good surface area. For drawing."

Thea walked over and hesitantly touched the surface. It was smooth and cool under her fingertips. She imagined her sketchbook lying open on it, her pencils lined up in one of the drawers. She imagined having a space that was just for her, just for her art.

"It's nice," she whispered.

"Okay. One desk." He found the corresponding flat-packed box on a nearby shelf and, with some effort, wrestled it into the cart. "Now for a chair."

The chair was an easier decision. She pointed to a simple, black rolling chair with no arms, the kind that was functional and unassuming. He added it to the cart.

"Bookshelf?" he asked.

She shook her head. "The desk is enough."

He looked at her, then at the single, large box in the cart. "Okay. The desk is enough for today."

They paid at the checkout, and a store employee helped him load the heavy box into the back of a taxi. The ride home was quiet, Thea's gaze fixed out the window, her mind still back in the store, picturing the desk in her room.

The most difficult part of the day was getting the box up the elevator and into the apartment. It took both of them, Kofi pulling and Thea pushing, their combined effort a clumsy but effective partnership. They finally got it into her room, the box taking up most of the available floor space.

Kofi tore the box open, revealing a confusing array of white panels, a bag full of screws and dowels, and a set of wordless, terrifyingly complex instructions.

He stared at the instruction manual. It was just a series of diagrams featuring a cheerful-looking cartoon man and a lot of arrows pointing in unhelpful directions.

"Okay," he said, a note of grim determination in his voice. "This might take a while."

He sat down on the floor and began laying out the pieces. Thea sat down across from him, picking up the bag of hardware and a small Allen key. She did not say anything, but she began sorting the screws into small, neat piles, her movements precise and efficient.

For the next two hours, they worked. It was a frustrating, often confusing process. Kofi would try to attach a leg upside down, and Thea would quietly point to the correct diagram in the manual. She would hold a panel steady while he struggled to tighten a screw in an awkward corner.

They did not talk much. They did not need to. They were communicating through actions, through a shared goal. He was the brute force, and she was the quiet, detail-oriented strategist.

Slowly, painstakingly, a piece of furniture began to take shape in the middle of her room.

Finally, they attached the last drawer. Kofi stood up, his back aching, and looked at their creation. It was a desk. A real, solid desk. It was a little wobbly, and one of the drawers was slightly crooked, but it was theirs. They had built it together.

Thea stood up beside him, her eyes fixed on the desk. She walked over and ran her hand over the smooth, white top.

Kofi went and got the new lamp he had bought for her last week, the one that was still in its box. He set it up on the corner of the desk and plugged it in, flooding the surface with a bright, clean light.

He then went to the dining table and gathered up her sketchbook and her tin box of pencils, carrying them over and placing them neatly on the new desk.

Her art supplies were no longer just a temporary pile on a shared table. They had a home.

Thea just stood there, looking at the desk, at the lamp, at her sketchbook sitting in the pool of light. She did not say thank you.

She just turned to him, and for the first time, her smile was not small or hesitant. It was wide, and bright, and it lit up her entire face. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He felt his own face break into a grin. "Okay," he said. "Now your room looks like a real artist's studio."

She just nodded, her smile not fading. It was more than a desk. It was a statement. It was a foundation. It was the first piece of a new life they were building together, one wobbly, imperfect piece at a time.