There was no dramatic montage. No sudden burst of purpose. No cheesy music swelling in the background while I found myself in the reflection of a polished spoon.
But the next morning, I made tea.
Not coffee. Not instant sludge. Tea. With a kettle I didn't remember owning and a chipped mug that had somehow survived three apartments, two emotional breakdowns, and one failed attempt at minimalism.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
Pride noticed first, naturally.
"Boiling water. Bold choice," he said, eyeing the kettle like it was a rare museum piece. "Tomorrow, perhaps you'll unlock the mystery of toast."
"Baby steps," I muttered, sipping carefully. It was too hot, too weak, Tasteless but it was mine.
Wrath leaned in the doorway, one brow arched.
"I'll admit, I thought you'd sleep through the week again."
"I considered it," I said honestly.
"Progress," Sloth mumbled from the armchair, blanket cocoon still intact. "he considered not sleeping. Inspirational."
The others drifted in like morning fog with opinions.
Envy peeked into the cup.
"You didn't burn the place down. That's something."
Gluttony practically teleported over my shoulder, eyes wide.
"Are those… actual biscuits? As in, plural not just one? You're evolving. I'm so proud."
"I was hungry," I mumbled, already defensive.
"You love to see it," Lust grinned, stealing one and biting into it with a delighted sigh.
"He even put the crumbs on a plate," Greed added, visibly stunned. "So civilized. So... slightly human."
And somehow, we all ended up gathered around the table—me, the Sins, a steaming mug of tea, and a plate of barely-stale biscuits.
It was absurd.
It was also… kind of nice.
That afternoon, while clearing out a drawer I had mentally labeled "The Black Hole of Lost Willpower," I found an old notebook. Dusty cover, soft pages, no memories attached.
"You're going to write something?" Envy asked, arms crossed but gaze gentle.
"I don't know," I said. "Just… felt right to have it out."
"That's where it starts," Pride said. "With a blank page and the guts to sit in front of it."
"Sounds boring," Wrath muttered, but not unkindly. "But less boring than lying there counting ceiling cracks."
I didn't write much. Just a sentence.
"Today I made tea."
That's all.
But it felt like I'd carved something small and important out of a larger, heavier silence.
The days didn't suddenly become joyful. I didn't leap out of bed with purpose or organize my life into color-coded plans. But the clutter started to shrink. The apartment, once a cave of indifference, became something else.
One morning, I opened the curtains. Not because I had to. Just to see the light.
Another day, I moved the couch to the other side of the room. It was a bad spot. I moved it back. But I moved it. That counted.
The Sins noticed everything.
"You used a fork," Greed whispered one morning, hand over his heart. "We are truly witnessing evolution."
"They made their bed," Pride announced like it was breaking news. "With effort. I saw the corners tucked. Not neatly, but tucked."
"I nearly wept," Gluttony added dramatically.
"I nearly vomited," Wrath countered.
"I almost believed you were becoming one of those functioning adults," Sloth said, half-asleep, half-amused.
But it wasn't just them observing me.
I started watching them, too.
How Envy always lingered by the window, staring at things I couldn't see. How Lust always had something kind to say when I looked the most withdrawn. How Wrath's anger wasn't just heat—it was energy, tightly coiled, ready to protect as much as fight. How even Gluttony, loud and dramatic, always offered to share first.
Pride adjusted my collar once when I didn't realize it was inside out. He pretended it was for his own comfort, but I caught the flicker of softness in his eyes.
Even Greed started offering suggestions instead of insults.
"You know you could sell some of this junk online, right?" he said once, poking through a drawer. "Dead hobbies, half-finished dreams—people eat that stuff up."
"That's surprisingly helpful."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."
And Sloth… well, she started sitting a little closer. Just enough that I noticed.
Maybe they weren't just fragments of me. Maybe they were company.
Strange, messy, maddening company—but they stayed.
Even when I didn't ask them to.
Even when I thought I didn't deserve anyone staying.
That night, we lit a candle.
Not for ambiance. Not for aesthetics.
Just… because it was warm.
The room glowed a little.
"Not bad," Wrath said. "Soft lighting really hides your sad aura."
"Mood lighting is the first step toward emotional growth," Lust added with a smirk.
"Or romantic tension," Gluttony offered.
"Romantic tension with yourself?" Envy asked, raising a brow.
"Let him date himself if it helps," Sloth murmured. "Low expectations. Low effort. Perfect relationship."
I laughed.
It was small. A little cracked. But it was real.
They all turned.
"Did he just laugh?" Greed asked, blinking.
"Plot twist," Sloth whispered. "Character development."
"Well Well look at that," Pride said. "I didn't know you could laugh."
Before bed, I wrote again.
"I laughed today. They noticed. I think I'm starting to notice, too."
I stared at the sentence for a long time.
Then I added another.
"Maybe I don't have to be whole to begin again."
Outside, somewhere in the shifting shadows of Room 7, the Sins lingered.
Not as threats.
Not even as burdens.
Just… presence.
Witnesses.
Company.
And maybe—just maybe—something like friends.