Haruhi isn't really sure how to react when Yamamoto's friends go back to wherever it was they'd originally come from; the changes in her roommate are subtle, but she notices them anyway - the way his laugh is a little louder and a little less dynamic, the way his smile doesn't seem to reach his eyes, the way he throws himself back into baseball. He stops coming out into the kitchen to help her with dinner. Haruhi, for her part, doesn't say anything, but even when the Host Club is there with her she can't help feeling a little lonely.
It's months later, and she's making a fairly complicated dish; she realizes ruefully that she doesn't really have enough hands for this, but suddenly Yamamoto is reaching the things she hasn't been able to, reintegrating himself into the kitchen and into her life as easily as rainfall.
"Fish flakes?" he asks with a smile - more subdued than his usual fare, but somehow it reaches his eyes more, "My dad always used to add them, I think it gives food more depth."
She matches his smile and takes the proffered container. "Thanks."
It's months later, and she's making a fairly complicated dish; she realizes ruefully that she doesn't really have enough hands for this, but suddenly Yamamoto is reaching the things she hasn't been able to, reintegrating himself into the kitchen and into her life as easily as rainfall.
"Fish flakes?" he asks with a smile - more subdued than his usual fare, but somehow it reaches his eyes more, "My dad always used to add them, I think it gives food more depth."
She matches his smile and takes the proffered container. "Thanks."
Somehow it feels like a beginning.
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