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Morning light slips through the curtains in pale bands, painting the apartment in soft gold. It’s quiet in the way mornings only ever are for a few minutes—before the day really starts, before schedules and noise take over.
Tsukasa is already awake. He moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, humming under his breath as he sets a pan on the stove. His steps are light, posture straight, energy unmistakable even this early. When something sizzles a little too loudly, he laughs to himself and turns the heat down, unfazed.
By the time Emu pads out of her room, tying her hair back with one hand and clutching her bag with the other, he’s already finished.
“Good morning, Emu!” Tsukasa announces, spinning around with a grin. “You’re up just in time!” He slides a plate across the counter toward her with a dramatic flourish, like he’s unveiling something grand. His voice is clear and strong, carrying easily through the room.
Emu’s face lights up. “Wah—thank you! You’re so fast today!”
“Speed is one of my many talents,” he says proudly, planting his hands on his hips.
She laughs and digs in, glancing up at him between bites. He leans against the counter across from her, watching with obvious satisfaction, tapping his fingers in a quick, rhythmic pattern. He looks… normal. Awake. Bright.
Still, he clears his throat once, quick and quiet, like he doesn’t want to draw attention to it. When Emu looks up, he’s already smiling again.
“So!” Tsukasa continues, undeterred. “What do you have planned today? Something amazing, I hope!”
Emu launches into an explanation about her classes, talking with her hands as she always does. Tsukasa nods along enthusiastically, offering encouragement at all the right moments, praising her ideas, telling her she’ll do great.
He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t falter.
At one point, though, he reaches for his mug and pauses, blinking like the light is a little too bright. It only lasts a second. He takes a sip and straightens, energy snapping right back into place.
Emu finishes eating and checks the time on her phone. “Ah—!” Her eyes widen. “I gotta go! I’m gonna be late!”
Tsukasa reacts instantly. “Already? Then let’s hurry!”
He moves ahead of her to the entryway, grabbing her jacket off the hook and holding it out like a butler. When she slips it on, he adjusts the collar for her without thinking, fingers quick and familiar. His hands are a little warm, but it’s nothing unusual. It’s morning, after all.
Emu slings her bag over her shoulder. “You’re coming later, right?”
“Of course!” Tsukasa says. “I have everything under control.”
He opens the door with a flourish, stepping aside so she can pass. Cool air drifts in from the hallway, and for just a moment, Tsukasa’s smile tightens. He suppresses another small cough by turning his head, then immediately straightens.
Emu doesn’t notice. She’s already grinning up at him. “See you later!” she says brightly.
“Do your best today, Emu!” Tsukasa replies, waving dramatically. “I’ll be cheering you on!”
She laughs and waves back, disappearing down the hall.
The door closes with a soft click.
The apartment settles into silence.
Tsukasa lets his arm fall to his side. He exhales—longer this time, a slow breath that sinks into his chest. He lifts a hand to his neck, rubbing absently, then presses his fingers briefly to his throat like he’s checking something.
“…It’s nothing,” he murmurs to himself, voice still steady.
He rolls his shoulders once, as if shaking off lingering sleep, and straightens again. The familiar brightness returns to his expression, practiced and sincere.
“Alright!” he declares to the empty room.
He grabs his things, pauses only long enough to take one more sip of his drink, then heads out—steps quick, smile in place, ready to take on the day.
For now, at least, he’s fine.
~
The apartment is dim when Tsukasa gets home, afternoon light already fading into something softer, heavier. He closes the door behind him more quietly than usual and stands there, keys still in his hand.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. His head aches—not sharply, but constantly, like a low hum he can’t quite tune out. The warmth under his skin hasn’t gone away either. If anything, it’s worse now that the day is over and there’s nothing left to distract him from it.
Tsukasa exhales through his nose and presses his fingers briefly to his forehead. They come away warmer than he likes.
“This might be a problem,” he mutters, voice low.
He straightens immediately, like acknowledging it for too long might make it real. Emu, Nene, and Rui would be home soon. There’s no point worrying her over something that’s probably just exhaustion. He’s dealt with worse.
He kicks his shoes off and heads for the kitchen.
The light switch clicks on a little too loudly. He squints, then forces himself to relax and fills a glass with water. He drinks it in small gulps, pauses halfway through, then finishes it anyway. Standing still makes his head feel floaty, so he sets the glass down and turns toward the sink before the sensation can settle in.
Chores. Chores are good. Chores mean movement.
He rolls his sleeves up and turns on the tap. The rush of water is grounding, at least at first. He scrubs a plate clean, rinses it, sets it in the rack. Repeats the process. His motions are practiced, automatic.
Somewhere between one dish and the next, his shoulders start to sag. He doesn’t notice right away.
It’s subtle—the way his pace slows, the way he leans his hip against the counter without meaning to. He blinks more often, eyes lingering unfocused on the sink basin before snapping back.
A plate slips in his hands and clinks softly against the metal. Tsukasa winces, breath hitching. Not because of the sound—but because the small jolt sends a pulse of discomfort through his head.
“…I’ve got this,” he mutters under his breath, tightening his grip. “Just tired.”
He scrubs harder, faster, like effort alone might chase the feeling away. His hum starts up again, a familiar tune meant to keep his energy up—but it fades out halfway through the verse, leaving only the sound of running water.
The front door unlocks. Tsukasa freezes.
“Emu’s home!” her voice rings out, bright and cheerful as ever.
He straightens so fast it makes the room tilt. He grips the counter until it steadies. “I’m in the kitchen!” he calls back, voice lifting automatically, louder than necessary.
Footsteps approach. Tsukasa turns, smile already in place by the time Emu appears in the doorway, bag slung over her shoulder, eyes sparkling.
“There you are!” she says. “Wah—doing dishes already? You’re so productive!”
“Of course!” Tsukasa laughs, a little breathier than usual. “I thought I’d get a head start!”
To prove it, he reaches for another plate. His fingers miss their mark.
The dish tilts, slipping dangerously—and Tsukasa lunges, catching it just before it hits the sink. His heart jumps, and he forces a laugh that sounds a bit too sharp.
“Haha—slippery!”
Emu doesn’t laugh with him. She tilts her head, watching him closely now. Tsukasa turns back to the sink quickly, pretending very hard to be invested in scrubbing.
"So!” he says, a touch too brightly. “How was your day?”
Emu starts talking, animated as always. Tsukasa nods along, responds at the right moments—but he’s a beat late. Then another. He misses one of her jokes entirely, blinking like he’s trying to catch up.
Without realizing it, he shifts more of his weight onto the counter. His elbows rest against it now, shoulders rounded. When he lifts his head, there’s a faint crease between his brows.
His hum doesn’t come back.
Emu’s voice trails off.
“…Tsukasa?” she says gently.
“Yes?” he replies immediately, turning to face her.
The room sways.
It’s small—barely noticeable—but enough that his foot slides half a step to steady himself. Emu’s hands lift instinctively, hovering near his arms.
“You were fine this morning,” she says, not accusing. Just observant.
Tsukasa opens his mouth to deny it. The words are right there—I’m fine, really!—but they don’t come out.
Standing still feels awful. Heavy. Like gravity has suddenly doubled.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” he admits instead, voice quieter now. “I thought I could just… push through.”
Emu puffs out her cheeks, folding her arms—not angry, but very, very firm. “That’s not wonderhoy at all.”
He gives a weak smile. “I know.”
She steps forward and gently—but decisively—takes the dish from his hands, setting it aside. Then she turns off the sink with a click. “Okay!” she declares. “Chore time is officially over!”
“Emu—” he starts.
She points at him, pouting. “Tsukasa, if you’re feeling bad, you should sit down! Forcing yourself too much isn’t good for you!”
“But—”
"No buts, okay? Sit down, I'll take care of it!"
He hesitates. Just for a moment. Then he nods.
Emu immediately softens, guiding him toward the couch like this was the plan all along. The second he sits, the tension drains out of him. His posture collapses, head tipping back against the cushion as he exhales—a long, honest breath.
Emu drapes a blanket over his lap with a little flourish. “Resting time!”
Tsukasa lets his eyes fall shut, the apartment quiet around them.
~
The clink of dishes fades as Emu moves efficiently around the kitchen, humming softly. She scrubs, rinses, and stacks plates like it’s second nature, the routine flowing from her fingers. The apartment smells faintly of soap and warm water, but softer now, less bustling than usual—because for the first time, Tsukasa isn’t standing at her side trying to help.
She wipes her hands on a towel and pauses, glancing toward the couch. There he sits, shoulders slumped, eyes half-closed, wrapped in the blanket she draped over him earlier. His breathing is uneven, just a touch too heavy, but his hands clutch the edge of the cushion as if it anchors him.
Emu pads over, light footsteps, and kneels in front of him. “How’s the head?” she asks, tilting her head with that gentle, observant smile.
Tsukasa tries to lift his chin and offer a smile back. “It’s… fine,” he murmurs, voice quiet and hoarse.
Emu scoffs, soft and teasing. “Uh-huh. Sure it is. And I suppose your knees aren’t aching either? Or your shoulders? Or your entire body pretending it’s normal?”
He chuckles weakly, but it falters halfway, and Emu shakes her head, a little mock exasperation in her eyes. “Tsukasa, look at me,” she says firmly. “You’re not fine, and it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
He hesitates, then relaxes a fraction. Just enough for her to see the subtle slump of his head, the slight tremor in his fingers.
“Good,” she says, almost to herself. Then she leans forward, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You need water.”
He reaches for the glass she sets on the table beside him, hands shaking slightly as he lifts it. Emu watches closely, ready to steady it if necessary. The faintest cough escapes him as he takes a sip.
“See?” she teases lightly, brushing his hair back again. “Even the simplest things are hard when you try to act fine by yourself. That’s why I’m here.”
Tsukasa swallows, a faint flush rising to his cheeks, but he can’t argue—he knows she’s right. The weight of the day and his stubbornness presses down, and finally, he lets himself sink deeper into the couch.
Emu smiles softly and pats his shoulder. “Rest for a little while. I’ve got everything else. Dishes, cleanup… even the boring stuff you love pretending to do.”
He lets out a tiny laugh, barely more than a whisper, and closes his eyes. “Thanks… Emu.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, settling into the chair across from him. Her eyes linger on him for a moment—warm, playful, and firm all at once. “You rest, and when you’re better, we can do everything together again. But for now? You’re off duty.”
The apartment is quiet again, but warmer somehow. Outside, the last light of the day filters through the curtains, soft and forgiving. Tsukasa leans back, blanket snug around him, letting himself be cared for. And for the first time in a long day, it feels like enough.
~
(BONUS!)
The apartment is quiet again, save for the soft hum of the fridge. Emu opens it carefully, peering inside with her usual wide-eyed concentration. “Okay… maybe pasta? Or soup? No, no… soup alone could be dangerous…” Her hands hover over the ingredients, trembling just slightly. She’s muttering to herself under her breath about what might be safe to put together, because the last time she tried cooking alone on the stove… well, Tsukasa had insisted on hovering.
Now he’s asleep, and she’s alone.
The front door clicks. Nene and Rui walk in, bags slung over their shoulders, still talking quietly about their respective days at the library and the gardening committee. Their chatter halts the moment they see the scene in front of them.
Rui’s steps are quiet as he approaches, careful not to wake him. He kneels by the couch, brushing a few strands of hair off Tsukasa’s forehead, and presses a soft kiss there. He adjusts the blanket carefully, tucking it around him so he looks even cozier. A small smile tugs at Rui’s lips. “Sleeping like a champ,” he murmurs.
“Emu,” Nene says, deadpan but not unkind, “what are you thinking?”
Emu spins around, trying to look casual. “I was just… thinking of making something simple for dinner—”
“Nope,” Nene interrupts flatly, stepping up to the counter. “You’re not cooking alone. Not with a stove. Not with me in the apartment. It’s a rule.”
Emu sighs, cheeks pink. “I… I can do this! Just one pot! Very safe, very simple…”
Nene tilts her head, expression serious, voice still calm but firm. “Step one: do not do anything alone. Step two: I will supervise every move. Step three: nothing burns.”
Emu flops her hands onto the counter, muttering, “Fine… but it’s totally my fault if it takes longer…”
Rui leans against the doorframe, chuckling softly. “Don’t worry, Emu. You’ve got backup now.” He glances at Tsukasa again. “And he’s sleeping very well—mission accomplished.”
Emu shoots him a playful glare. “You think this is funny?”
“Absolutely,” Rui says, smirking. “Watching Nene hover over you like a hawk is funny. And Tsukasa’s oblivious sleeping face? Priceless…Honestly, I’d pay to see the look on his face if he woke up to this chaos,” he whispers.
Emu glares at him, stirring the pot a little too vigorously now. “Rui!”
“Sorry,” he says, grinning. “But it’s safe chaos. That’s all that matters.”
Nene glances at Emu again, deadpan but just a touch softer. “Focus. Chop slowly. Stir steadily. And no experimental flipping of ingredients. We want dinner, not a fire alarm.”
Emu nods quickly, muttering, “Yes, yes… supervising is fine…”
They move in quiet rhythm, kitchen smelling faintly of simmering soup and toasted bread. Tsukasa sleeps peacefully on the couch, oblivious, while Emu stirs carefully, Nene watches with sharp, deadpan efficiency, and Rui teases gently from the side.
By the time the pot simmers, the apartment is warm, cozy, and filled with light laughter—a tiny domestic storm perfectly under control, all while Tsukasa rests undisturbed.