The First Repair

The soundproofing project began on a Tuesday, when Eren appeared at the gym’s door with a roll of blueprints under his arm and a dusting of flour on his sleeve. Mikasa was mid-punch, her fists meeting the heavy bag in a rhythm that had become as familiar as breathing. She paused, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. “You’re early,” she said, her voice flat but not unkind. “Armin has the shop covered for an hour.” Eren unrolled the plans on the ring apron, revealing a messy network of measurements and scribbled notes. “I measured the ceiling joists last night after closing. The café’s drop ceiling has a two-inch gap—we can fit acoustic insulation panels and a second layer of drywall with green glue compound. It’ll cut the espresso machine noise by at least fifty percent.” Mikasa stepped closer, studying the lines with the same focus she gave an opponent’s stance. “And the floor above?” “Rubber mats under your ring base will absorb impact. My supplier quoted me a price for commercial-grade recycled rubber tiles—they’re the same stuff they use in CrossFit gyms.” He looked up, meeting her gaze. “It’ll cost about twelve hundred for materials. If we split it, we can start this weekend.” She hesitated. Money was tight; the gym barely broke even. But the thought of mornings without the screech of the milk frother or the banging of his espresso tamper… it was worth something. “I can contribute half. But I’ll do the labor.” “Deal.” A flicker of a smile crossed his face—quick, almost imperceptible, but she caught it. “Armin said he’d help. He’s good with measurements.” That Saturday morning, they met in the café before opening. The air smelled of roasted beans and sawdust. Eren had already pulled up a section of the drop ceiling, revealing a dark cavity filled with old wiring and dust motes floating in the dim light. Mikasa climbed a ladder with a panel of insulation, her arms corded with muscle. He handed her a staple gun. They worked in silence at first, the only sounds the zip of the stapler and the occasional creak of the ladder. Then Eren sneezed, sending a puff of ancient dust into the air. “Bless you,” she said, before she could stop herself. He blinked at her, surprised. “Thanks. Sorry—this stuff is ancient. Probably been up there since the eighties.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Carla—my mom—she never changed it. Said the coffee smell was its own insulation.” “Your mother owned the café?” “Yeah. She passed two years ago. Lung cancer.” His voice was even, but his hands stilled on the staple gun. “I left my corporate job to take over. Didn’t know the first thing about running a coffee shop. Still don’t, really.” Mikasa paused, the panel suspended. “My parents were killed when I was nine. I was taken in by my aunt and uncle. They…” She trailed off, the weight of the unfinished sentence hanging like the dust. “The gym was the only place I felt I could fight back against the anger. Against the silence.” He looked at her then, really looked. The afternoon light slanted through the café windows, catching the edge of her high cheekbones, turning her dark hair to ink and steel. “I think I understand,” he said softly. “The café is the same for me. A way to rebuild something that was lost.” A thud from above—Armin, testing the floor with his foot. “How’s it going down there?” he called from the gym. “Fine,” they answered in unison, then exchanged a glance that held the first real warmth between them. By Sunday evening, the ceiling was sealed, the rubber mats laid, and the espresso machine ran a test shot without a single jarring vibration. Eren poured two small bowls of coffee—a dark roast with hints of chocolate and cherry—and handed one to Mikasa. She took a sip, letting the warmth settle in her chest. “It’s good,” she said. “Yeah?” He tried to hide his eagerness but failed. “Quiet, too.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eren.” He watched her climb the stairs, the rubber mats muffling her footsteps, and allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something.