Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After exams were over, your teacher gave the whole class assignments for extra credit, which was optional, but you decided to work on it anyway since you think you did badly on the exam.

Now here you are, in the school’s library for more than an hour, trying to complete it before the end of your term and after that you can finally get a break. 

“Ugh, finally!” You groaned quietly as you finished, picking up every piece of paper off the table and shoving it into your backpack before getting up to leave the library. Since it was pretty late, most of the other students had already gone home. 

As you walk down the empty halls of your university, the dim glow of the hallway lights cast long shadows across the polished floors, amplifying the solitude of the late hour. With a sigh of relief, you finally emerge into the open air, the vast expanse of the university field stretching out before you.

In the distance you spotted your best friend, Isamu Uchiumi , his figure illuminated by the glow of stadium lights and the evening sky.

Isamu stood tall, his stance, confident as he wielded the baseball bat with ease, his teammates scattered around him. Laughter and shouts of encouragement echoed through the cool air, intertwined with the sound of the bat meeting the ball.

“Home run!” One of his friends shouted out as he and the others chuckled. Isamu stared off into the distance on where the ball went and instantly noticed you striding towards his direction from behind the school. He turned to greet you, his voice warm and familiar.

“Hey y/n! Done with your assignment huh?” Isamu exclaimed as he rested his bat on his shoulders. His tone was filled with genuine concern, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of exhaustion or distress.

“Yeah.. sorry if I took too long.” You replied, the weariness evident in your voice as you sank down onto the grass beside him, the weight of the world momentarily lifted from your shadow in the presence of a familiar friend.

“Oh no worries, me and the boys were just playing around waiting for ya.” He reassured you as he walked over to pick up his backpack on the stands. “Ready to go?” He asked, throwing the bag over his shoulder. You nodded in response, a sense of relief washed over you as Isamu waved off his friends before walking beside you. 

“Man, I can’t wait to finally visit your house. It feels so good after the exams are up.” You exclaimed, making Isamu let out a small chuckle. You’ve been best friends with Isamu for over a year but you haven’t been to his house once, and now this was your chance to finally relax and spend more time with him.

“Yeah but don’t expect too much at my house, it’s probably going to be very small for you.” He admitted sheepishly, his gaze briefly flickering towards the ground.

“Nah it’s fine, I could care less. Just as long as I’m with you.” You said as you nudged him on the arm with your elbow, the sincerity of your words drawing a genuine smile from Isamu’s lips.

“Oh we’re gonna have so much fun~” He laughed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, keeping you close to him.

You couldn’t help but blush at his sudden move as a flurry of conflicting emotions swirled within you. 

You’ve always had feelings for him but knowing that he just wants to stay friends hurts you a bit. Even so, you guys still stick together to the point where people in school think you’re dating each other, and on top of that, he denies it all the time which makes your heart ache.

Setting your feelings aside, you’re not going to let them ruin your time with your friend as you both walk to the sidewalk in front of the school. 

As you and Isamu approached the sidewalk, the figure of Isamu’s father came into view, his car idling patiently at the curb. With a warm smile, he greeted the two of you.

“Hey kids, done with everything?” Akihito Uchiumi waved from behind the steering wheel, his eyes crinkling with affection as he unlocked the car doors, inviting you both to enter.

“Yeah..” Isamu replied, sliding over to the left side of the car and making room for you to settle into the seat beside him. Entering the car, you made sure to offer a polite greeting to Isamu’s father, lowering your head slightly in a gesture of respect.

“Hello Mr. Uchiumi. It’s nice to finally meet you in person!” You greeted his dad in front of you, bowing politely and giving him a good first impression.

“Nice to meet you too.” He returned your greeting with a warm smile, his gaze flickering between you and Isamu with a hint of pride. “You’re Y/n right? Isamu has told me a lot about you.” He said as he twisted the car keys in ignition, the low rumble of the engine filling the air.

“Really~? That’s kind of you.” You lingered as you looked over at Isamu who rolled his eyes at your playful comment, his easy smile betraying the facade of slight annoyance.

“Don't get too confident now, I didn’t say anything nice about you.” Isamu quipped, his tone laced with sarcasm as he exchanged a knowing glance with his father. A soft chuckle escaped Mr. Uchiumi’s lips as you couldn’t help but play along.

“Tsk, meanie..” You replied, your tone light and teasing as you settled back into the seat, adjusting your backpack beside you.

As soon as you got comfortable, you glanced around the car. Suddenly, your eyes landed on Isamu’s brother, 

Senzai Uchiumi .

He slumped in the passenger seat beside his father. His peaceful expression hinted at the deep sleep he was in, his features softened in the gentle glow of the sun setting. 

Though you thought about greeting him too but the sight of his quiet slumber made you change your mind. Isamu has mentioned his brother to you in a conversation before but of course you’ve never met him face to face, and the only thing you can see from him right now was the back of his head.

“So, what do ya wanna do first in my house?” Isamu asked suddenly, making you snap back to reality. You turned to face him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you considered the possibilities “You said you have UNO cards right?” You asked back, the excitement can be heard in your tone of voice.

“You know it.” He started, smiling at you. “Wanna do karaoke after that?” He said, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips, making your face lit up at the suggestion.

“Hey don’t be too loud when you do, okay kids?” Mr. Uchiumi said as he heard your conversations, his voice filled with concern as he glanced at you through the rear view mirror.

“Okay~” Both of you replied, your voices harmonizing in agreement as you acknowledged his request. 

After a few minutes of driving and random conversations, the car wound its way through Isamu’s neighborhood, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the sight of minka houses lining the streets. Your gaze lingered on the rows of houses before settling on the Uchiumi residence perched atop a small hill, higher than the others.

“Well, we’re here kids.” Mr. Uchiumi announced as he parked the car beside the house. With a sense of excitement bubbling within you, you eagerly grabbed your bag and exited the vehicle alongside Isamu.

You also notice Mr. Uchiumi nudges Senzai awake, the older brother stirring from his slumber with a weary groan. 

As he slowly emerged from the car, his features bore a striking resemblance to Isamu, yet there was a subtle difference in his demeanor. Compared to his brother he looks slightly unhealthy, as he appeared to be very slim and pale.

Isamu suddenly placed a hand on your shoulder, startling you a bit as you were pulled away from your trance.

“Hey, wanna eat dinner with us?” Isamu asked you. “We usually eat at this hour and I’m pretty sure you haven’t had anything yet.” His kind gesture makes your face brighten up.

“Oh, yeah I can eat!” You said as you walked beside him into his house, forgetting to greet his brother who had just remembered that Isamu had a friend coming over.

As you stepped inside the Uchiumi residence, the quiet creak of the door announced your arrival into a space that felt both unfamiliar and deeply lived in. The scent of tatami mats and faint traces of incense lingered in the air, mixing with the soft clinking of dinnerware in front of the entrance.

The home wasn’t particularly large, but it had a charm to it. The dining area, where small but carefully prepared meals were set on the table by Mr. Uchiumi. Bowls of miso soup, grilled fish, pickled vegetables and warm rice steamed gently under the yellow light.

"Feel free to take off your shoes and get comfy,” Isamu said casually as he kicked his off by the entrance. “My room’s just down the hall. But let’s eat first. I’m starving.”

You smiled, pausing at the entry door frame for a moment as Isamu and his father walked past you to go inside.

You then saw a neatly arranged on a wooden stand near the dining area, a cluster of framed family photos sat like a quiet shrine—Senzai, Isamu, their mother, and even Akihito—each frame carefully placed beside soft candlelight, like a frozen moment of the family they used to be.

Your eyes briefly scanned a photo of a younger Isamu and Senzai together. 

Senzai was already noticeably more distant even then. His posture stiff, his eyes tired. You wondered what kind of person he really was underneath all that.

Now fully awake, 

Senzai appeared behind you quietly, almost ghostlike. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps coming as you were distracted by the photos.

“…You’re the friend,” he muttered, voice hoarse and dry from sleep. His eyes flicked towards you.

You glanced up at him from behind, his frame towering over you slightly. His hair was a little unkempt, and now you could see him clearly. He really did look like Isamu, just.. less alive.

He rubbed his neck with one hand, blinking slowly before his eyes met yours for the first time. You froze for half a second. His gaze was sharp, didn’t seem too unfriendly, just unreadable..

“O-oh, yeah. I’m y/n.” you said as you quickly turned around, offering a polite bow and a smile.

He didn’t return it though, but with a small “Right..”

He then later brushed past you without waiting for a reply, his shoulder slightly grazing yours as he walked off to sit at the table.

Your heart stuttered for a second, caught off guard as you watched him.

He didn’t seem rude, just detached. Disinterested even. As if you were just another passing visitor in a life he had no desire to connect with.

But you offered a gentle smile anyway, taking a seat beside Isamu and across from Senzai.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Senzai.” you said softly, smiling nervously.

“Sure,” he replied, looking at you for a split second before he started to eat.

Mr. Uchiumi, who sat next to him, nudged Senzai on the arm with his elbow, signaling him not to be rude. Senzai, huffed slightly in return.

The slight coldness lingered like static in the air, until,

“Did you help your friend with the project, Isamu?” Akihito asked mid-meal, breaking the silence.

“Nah, she did it all by herself,” Isamu replied, nudging your arm playfully. “She’s the smart one.”

“Not really,” you mumbled. Senzai, glanced up at you for a moment, before returning to eating.

— Few moments later

The clinking of chopsticks and soft rustle of sleeves filled the room as dinner neared its end. 

You were starting to feel a little more relaxed, the warmth of miso soup and conversation settling into your bones. Isamu, as usual, was the spark. His presence lighting up the room even when the rest of it sat dimly quiet.

“So you’re telling me,” Isamu said, voice rising with mock disbelief as he pointed his chopsticks at you, “you actually finished all of the extra credit questions?”

“Yeah?” you laughed, leaning forward. “Unlike you, I like passing.”

“I do pass!” He argued.

“Barely.”

Across the table, Senzai subtly raised an eyebrow without looking up. He reached for his cup but paused briefly, listening.

“You only got that 68 because you tried to copy my answers and read my handwriting like a drunk squirrel,” you teased, sticking your tongue out. “I told you not to rush it.”

“You know what, Y/n? I don’t need this kind of slander at my own table.” Isamu clutched his chest dramatically. “Dad, she’s bullying me in front of my own rice.”

Akihito snorted into his tea. “Serves you right. Next time, study.”

You giggled as Isamu groaned, flopping sideways into your shoulder, whining dramatically like a child. “She’s so mean, Senzai, did you hear that? She’s relentless.”

Senzai didn’t reply, but you caught the slight shift of his gaze toward the two of you. His expression didn’t change, but something in the air did. Brief, quiet. Like the flicker of a candle.

You nudged Isamu off with your elbow. “Stop whining and get the UNO cards, loser.”

He gasped, dramatically. “Excuse me~? The UNO champion of last semester deserves a little more respect!”

“I’m gonna wipe the floor with you and your cards.” You joked confidently.

“Oh you’re on.” He injected.

“Kids, don’t break the house,” Akihito chuckled as he stood to clear his plate. “You’re doing the dishes tomorrow, Isamu.”

“Wha- Not fair!” He whined.

“Don’t worry,” you offered sweetly. “I’ll help.”

“See?” Isamu smirked. “She’s a keeper.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming ever so slightly, while across the table, Senzai watched. Quiet. Focused.

When Isamu stood to grab his bag and your plates, you felt a gaze still lingering. You glanced over, and for a split second, Senzai was looking at you.

Not in the way most people looked at you. It wasn’t shy, it wasn’t curious.. It was distant, like he was observing something he didn’t quite understand.

You opened your mouth, maybe to smile or say something.

But then he stood up, grabbed his empty bowl, and walked into the kitchen without a word.

Isamu came back with a grin and grabbed your wrist. “Come on, come on. Time for me to beat you in UNO.”

You laughed as you let him drag you toward his room, your voice echoing and fading as you both disappeared down the halls of the house. 

And behind you, unseen in the dining room doorway, Senzai lingered just out of sight, watching, listening. Something unreadable simmering quietly behind those tired, dark eyes.

Chapter Text

The second you entered Isamu’s room, nostalgia and boy-scented chaos hit you like a wave. Posters half-taped to the walls, game consoles stacked on shelves, and a pile of hoodies on a chair that looked like it hadn’t moved since last semester.

He tossed his bag to the floor, kicked aside a stray baseball glove, and practically dove for the small stack of games and cards on his desk.

“Okay!” he announced like a game show host. “Pick your poison. UNO, Mario Kart, or…” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Karaoke?”

“Oh, I am gonna wreck you,” you smirked, flopping onto the beanbag chair like you owned the place. “Let’s start with UNO. I’m about to reverse-card you straight to hell.”

“You wish,” Isamu said as he set up the cards. “I live for this chaos.”

The match began with you throwing down your first red skip. Instantly, the energy in the room shifted.

“NO–NO–Nope! We are not starting with that!” Isamu pointed at the card like it personally offended him.

“Cry harder,” you grinned, reaching for more cards like a gremlin.

As the game continued, laughter filled the space. Cards flying, trash talk escalating.

“You’re literally cheating. There’s no way you just had FOUR +2s.”

“Get good, Isamu. This is Darwinism in action.”

He groaned, half laughing and half shrieking into a pillow. “I'm telling dad!” He joked.

“Your dad likes me more than you.”

“That’s not even- okay yeah, that might be true.”

He lunged dramatically across the bed to snatch your last card. You shrieked, pulling back before he could even peek. The two of you ended up tumbling in a heap of laughter, breathless and tangled in pillows.

As the noise died down, you both stared at the ceiling for a second, still catching your breath. A warm silence settled between you, that kind that only exists with someone who’s seen you at your loudest and stayed anyway.

And just then, a soft knock echoed at the door.

You both froze slightly. Isamu sat up. “Huh?”

The door creaked open just an inch. And there stood Senzai, expression unreadable as his tired eyes scanned the room.

“…You two are loud,” he said plainly, voice low and quiet, almost deadpan.

“Sorry bro,” Isamu grinned, not even the slightest bit sorry. “We’re having a war here.”

Senzai blinked, gaze flicking toward you briefly. “It’s late.”

“I’ll keep her quiet, don’t worry.” Isamu joked.

“Ex–CUSE you?” you barked, eyebrows raising.

“…Try not to break the house,” he muttered before shutting the door again, leaving the air charged behind him.

You stared at the door for a second too long.

Isamu flopped back with a grin. “Told you he’s basically a cryptid. You never really see him unless you wake him up.”

But something about Senzai’s presence lingered. That quiet energy. That single glance.

You shook it off—for now—and picked up the UNO deck.

“One more round,” you challenged. “Winner gets the last pudding in the fridge.”

“You’re going down.”

You grinned. “Not before I take you with me.”

The UNO war had ended in your glorious victory (Isamu insisted it was rigged), and now both of you were sprawled on his floor, surrounded by empty soda cans, candy wrappers, and a half-eaten cup of instant noodles. The room buzzed with the energy of two friends who refused to sleep before midnight.

“Okay,” you said, pointing at him with a candy stick like a sword, “We’ve done UNO. We’ve done Mario Kart. What now?”

Isamu’s eyes sparkled with a dangerous idea. “Truth or dare.”

You narrowed your eyes. “We’re not 12.”

“Why? You chicken~?” He provoked, smirking.

You sat up, slamming your palm on the floor like a judge. “FINE. Bring it on.”

He grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Alright, I’ll go easy on you. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Lame.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay. Who was your first crush?”

You blinked. “Oh my god. You’re gonna interrogate me in the first round?”

“Answer it.”

You muttered the name under your breath like a guilty confession, cheeks heating as Isamu cackled.

Second round. “Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?” you asked.

“Dare,” he said, puffing out his chest.

“I dare you to drink that expired milk on your desk.”

His soul left his body. “You're a menace.”

“Drink it, coward.”

He did. He nearly died.

Round after round passed with chaotic questions, minor humiliations, and way too much laughter. You learned he wasn’t the favorite child. He learned you once cheated on a test and got away with it.

And then, he leaned back on his elbows, grinning.

“…Okay. Truth or dare?”

You wiped your eyes from laughter. “Dare.”

He smirked. 

“I dare you… to go into my brother’s room,” he said. “And stay there. For five whole minutes.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“You heard me.”

“Isamu- no, that’s an invasion of privacy-!”

“He’s not even in there,” he interrupted, wiggling his eyebrows. “He’s cleaning the living room or some other chores Dad gave him. Trust me you won’t even see him.”

“I can’t just go in there-”

“You made me drink expired milk. It’s only fair! Do it or you lose the game.” He pointed dramatically. “And you’ll be known as a chicken for eternity.”

You stared at him, scowling. “You are the worst.”

“And yet you’re getting up.” He grinned, victorious.

You stomped dramatically toward the door. “This is illegal, by the waaaay~” you lingered in your speech as you made your way to the hallway.

The door creaked open with the softest sound, like even it was reluctant to let you in.

The room inside was dim, the curtains drawn slightly open just enough to let in the silver glow of the moonlight. You stepped in, careful not to make a sound.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

And clean. Not in a “this-room-is-empty” kind of way, but in a meticulous, almost fragile kind of way. The bed was neatly made, with military precision. Books stacked by size. Sketchbooks piled in a corner. The faint smell of graphite, soap, and something floral lingered in the air.

Your eyes scanned the walls, and your breath caught.

Drawings. Dozens of them scattered across the walls. Most of them were sketches of unfamiliar people, assumed to be his friends. Some of nature. Others were somewhat distorted in ways you didn’t fully understand. 

One of a creature. Another of a hand, reaching for something unseen. A few were unfinished. As if he had started pouring his heart into them and stopped just before the truth came out.

You stepped closer, gaze drawn to one that stood out. More detailed, more expressive. A portrait of a woman… It looked recent. The softness in her eyes, the delicate strokes, it made your chest ache in ways  you didn’t expect.

This… wasn’t what you expected from Senzai.

And then your eyes landed on a closed sketchbook on his desk. You hesitated.

Three minutes left.

Your hand hovered over it as you slid it towards you. “Just a peek… just-”

A sound from down the hall. Footsteps.

You panicked, gently sliding the sketchbook back and stepping away, your heart thudding.

Click.

Creak.

You whipped around, slightly gasping.

Senzai Uchiumi stood in the doorway, caught mid-step with a towel in one hand, hair slightly messy from working around the house. His eyes landed on you first. Then, immediately, on the drawing behind you.

His gaze sharpened. You could feel the shift in the air.

“I-I’m sorry!” you blurted out, hands up like you’d been caught red-handed. “Isamu dared me, I swear, and I wasn’t supposed to touch anything! I just saw the artwork and…”

Senzai didn’t move for a second. His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn't shock either. Just… unreadable. Guarded.

He stepped into the room slowly and shut the door behind him with a quiet click. His voice, when it came, was soft. Dull. Like an old song you’ve only ever heard once, and it still makes you ache. “…You were looking at that one.”

You swallowed. You felt small—like you’d trespassed into a memory that wasn’t yours. “It’s… beautiful,” you said, voice barely a whisper. You turned to glance at it again.

Her face. Gentle, kind, with deep eyes that held something both warm and wistful. Her hair was pulled gently over one shoulder, a soft smile framed by the lightest shadows. Even in black and white… she felt alive.

“…Is that your mom?” you asked quietly, your eyes not leaving the drawing. He didn’t respond at first. Then, he stepped beside you.

“Yeah,” he said. Just that.

A small silence passed between you both. Then–

“I drew that a few nights ago,” he added under his breath, barely audible. 

Your heart clenched as you glanced at him. “She’s really beautiful.”

“She was.”

His voice cracked the tiniest bit at the end. Almost undetectable. But you heard it. And it made your chest ache.

You looked at the sketch again, taking in the lines, the detail, the emotion practically woven into every stroke. “You really miss her…” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

You turned toward him again, and for the first time, his eyes met yours.

They weren’t cold like before. Just tired. Worn.

Vulnerable.

He shrugged lightly, trying to brush it off. “It’s whatever. Just a drawing.”

You shook your head. “No. It’s not just a drawing. You poured a part of yourself into it.”

That made him go quiet.

For a second, something flickered across his face—like surprise. Like he didn’t expect you to see him.

He looked at the sketch one last time before murmuring, “Not a lot of people notice that.”

You offered a small smile, softly nodding in appreciation.

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long.

Then, outside the door–

“Y/N?! You’ve been in there for over five minutes! You better not be touching his socks or something weird~!”

Isamu’s voice shattered the silence like a brick through glass. You flinched, and groaned out of embarrassment. Senzai immediately turned away, pulling the towel off the table.

“…You should go,” he said, back to his usual tone. Calm. Blank.

But you didn’t miss the way his shoulders stiffened- or how his eyes lingered on the drawing for just a second longer.

“…Yeah,” you said softly, walking toward the door. “Thanks for… not kicking me out.”

As your hand touched the doorknob, he said behind you,

“…You can come back. If you want.”

You turned slightly, lips parting- but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was folding the towel. Quiet as ever.

You then stepped out into the hallway, heart pounding, head spinning. The sketch of Senzai’s mother was still burned into the back of your mind. Every line, every shadow, the weight of it all clinging to your chest.

As you entered Isamu’s room, he was sprawled out on his bed with a bag of chips, controller in hand. He looked up.

“Damn,” he said, one eyebrow raised. “You took so long, I thought you fell asleep in his laundry basket.” 

You didn’t answer right away. Just slowly lowered yourself back onto the floor cushion near the game console, still feeling like the air was heavier than before.

“…You okay?” he asked, peering at you more closely. “Did he say something weird?”

You hesitated. Then, “He caught me.”

Isamu’s eyes widened. “Wait- seriously?!”

“Yeah. He walked in while I was looking at… one of his drawings.”

“Oof.” He winced dramatically. “On a scale of one to murder, how dead are you?”

You didn’t laugh like you normally would. Instead, you hugged your knees to your chest and stared at the floor. “It wasn’t just any drawing.”

“…Yeah?”

You looked up, voice quieter now. “It was your mom.”

Isamu froze.

You saw his posture change instantly. His playful smirk vanished, replaced by something far more serious. His shoulders lowering slightly, his gaze darkening with a flicker of pain.

“He… draws her?” he asked, softly.

You nodded. “He said drew her a few nights ago.”

“…Huh.”

Silence fell over the room for a moment. Isamu looked away, the controller resting loosely in his hand.

You weren’t sure what to say. The weight of it still lingered, how reverently Senzai had looked at that sketch. How gently he spoke about her. How different he seemed, just for that brief moment.

“You guys really miss her,” you murmured.

“Yeah..” Isamu said quietly. “She was everything to us.”

You looked over at him.

“But, most of the time, he just… doesn’t show it,” he added. “Not like how I do. I cry, I rant, I punch shit. Senzai just… puts it into art and shuts the world out.”

You swallowed.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I could tell.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then Isamu turned toward you again, eyebrows raised like he was trying to lighten the mood.

“So…” he smirked. “Does this mean you have a crush on my brother now?”

You gasped offendedly, immediately grabbing the nearest pillow and hurled it at his head. “BRO– Bad timing much?!”

“AH- HEY!” He burst into laughter, shielding himself. “I’m just asking!! You were in there for more than five minutes, staring at his art and blushing like someone in a coming-of-age drama-”

“I was not blushing—!”

“You totally were!”

“Was not!”

“Were too—!”

But even as the teasing returned and your laughter rose, something inside you still felt… different. Changed.

That drawing wasn’t just a picture. It was a window. And for the first time…

You were starting to see him.

Not just the cold, brooding Senzai who kept his distance.

But the one who mourned in pencil lines.

The one who remembered his mother through shadows.

The one who let you stay.

Chapter Text

Back in Isamu’s room, you were both sprawled out on the floor now, your legs tangled in a blanket, half a bag of chips between you, and your shoulders sore from how much you’d laughed already.

“Okay okay okay,” Isamu said, breathless from laughter, “last game of the night..”

“Guess That Lie.”

You blinked. “What, like Two Truths and a Lie?”

“Exactly!” He held up his finger like he just dropped a life-changing revelation. 

You snorted and leaned back against the wall, getting excited as well. “OohhoohOo– okay~”

You drummed your fingers, then smirked.

“Alright:

1. I once ate an entire roll of wasabi because I thought it was avocado.
   
   
2. I had a dream where I married your dad.
   
   
3. I think your dinosaur socks are cute.”
   
   

Isamu choked. “WHAT—?!”

You burst into laughter as he flailed.

“Why would you dream-marry my dad?! WHAT IS THAT—??”

“I’m not saying which one’s true!” you laughed. “You have to guess!”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “...The socks one is obviously true, because they are cute and you’ve looked at them like three times tonight.”

“No comment.”

He rubbed his temples. “Okay… you know what? The wasabi one? That feels too specific to be fake.”

“Final answer?”

“Final answer.”

You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Wrong!”

“WHAT?!”

“The socks were the accident. I actually think they’re cute.” You gave a faux-innocent smile. “But you’ll never catch me saying it again.”

“You’re evil,” he whispered, betrayed.

“Thank you.”

Then it was your turn to guess.

Isamu crossed his arms dramatically. “Alright. Ready for this?

1. I once got kicked out of a bookstore for yelling at a historical fiction novel.
   
   
2. I think the garden gnome outside our house is secretly alive.
   
   
3. I have never farted in front of a girl..”

He smirked.

You stared. “…Isamu.”

“Yes?”

“That last one is a lie. Like an actual lie.”

He grinned. “It was a trick. I’ve farted at least five times since you got here.”

“EWW–You’re disgusting-!”

You lunged for another pillow, whacking him again as he laughed and curled up in defense.

—

After the laughter died down, the room got quieter. You both lay on your backs, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above. The air was warm, the hour growing later.

Isamu yawned.

You turned your head slightly, eyes wandering back to the door. Something about the silence now… made your thoughts wander.

Back to him.

You still saw the way he looked at that drawing. Heard the way his voice softened. And even though he barely said ten words to you, it echoed louder than anything else tonight.

“…Hey,” you whispered.

Isamu cracked one eye open. “..Huh.”

“I’m gonna get a glass of water.”

He waved a hand sleepily. “Mm.. Try not to marry my dad on the way back.”

“Oh- Shut up.” You snorted.

You stepped out quietly… the house creaking gently under your steps.

The house was quiet now.

You padded down the hallway barefoot, your footsteps hushed against the floorboards. The faint hum of the fridge buzzed from the kitchen, but what caught your eye was the light leaking under a nearby doorway.

Not Isamu’s

Not the bathroom.

Not the kitchen.

Senzai’s.

You paused. Your hand hovered by the wall, curiosity curling in your chest like smoke.

And then, You heard it.

The soft scratch-scratch-scratch of pencil on paper. 

Slow, methodical. Focused. Alone.

You should have turned back.

 You should’ve just gone to get your water. But your feet moved first and you stepped closer.

And then… the door creaked open. Just a little.

Inside, dim lamp glow spilled over a cluttered desk, sketchbooks scattered like fallen leaves. And in the middle of it all,

Senzai Uchiumi.

Shoulders tense. Hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. A pencil dancing between long fingers. One earbud in, the other hanging loose. Eyes focused.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

He looked… different in the soft light. Less sharp. Less cold. His features carved more by exhaustion than anger. A faint furrow to his brow.

And in front of him… You saw her again.

His mother.

A new sketch—unfinished, delicate, lovingly done.

You didn’t realize you made a sound until he stopped drawing.

The pencil froze. His shoulders stiffened. And slowly, his head turned. Those dark eyes met yours.

Still. Sharp. But wide.

Almost… panicked.

“…You again,” he said quietly. 

You swallowed, hand gripping the doorway. “I—Sorry. I didn’t mean to—I just—saw the light, and—”

“You didn’t knock.” His voice was low. Not angry. Not raised. Just… quietly disappointed.

You winced. “I know. I just…” You hesitated, eyes flicking to the drawing again. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

Silence.

He didn’t answer. Just followed your gaze… then slowly turned the sketchbook around, as if to shield it.

“I didn’t think anyone would be awake,” he muttered. “Especially not you.”

“…Why me?”

He glanced at you again.

His jaw twitched. Something flickered behind his expression—too fast to name.

“Because you laugh a lot,” he said simply. “Didn’t think you'd notice anything that wasn’t a joke.”

You blinked.

That stung more than you expected.

But before you could speak, he sighed—like the words came out heavier than he meant them to.

“…Sorry.” It was barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You took a few hesitant steps into the room. “I do notice things,” you said softly. “Especially when someone draws like that.”

He looked at you. Really looked. For the first time since dinner. The wall he kept so carefully built around himself wavered—just a little.

And then—

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. But it sounded more like a warning to himself than to you.

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Okay.”

You turned to leave. But just as your fingers touched the doorknob, his voice stopped you.

“…Do you draw?”

You blinked. And slowly, you looked back. “Not like you do.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He replied. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable.

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. I do. A little.”

He hummed. Barely audible.

Then, to your complete surprise, he turned the page of his sketchbook—blank.

He slid it toward you.

Along with his pencil.

“…Show me,” he said.

Senzai’s pencil sat between you and him like another dare. Your fingers hovered above it, unsure. He’d offered it without flinching, like it was nothing. But you could feel it—the weight of trust, the unspoken thread between you both.

He didn’t share this space with anyone.

Yet here you were.

“You’re not gonna draw?” he asked quietly, almost neutral. But there was a twitch in his brow. A flicker of anticipation he didn’t bother hiding.

“I just…” You looked down. “I don’t usually show people.”

He didn't reply, but instead gave a raised eyebrow, curious as to why.

You hesitated. Then gave a soft shrug.

“I guess… it always felt like something just for me.”

He nodded—like he understood that completely.

But then tilted his head, gaze flicking down to the blank page.

“You’re here now,” he said. “Might as well make it count.”

You swallowed, heart fluttering. And then—

You picked up the pencil.

At first, your lines were light. Careful. You outlined a soft little curve, then added ears. A nose. A sleepy eye. Senzai leaned slightly forward, watching.

And you?

You started drawing a bunny. Curled up. Peaceful. Safe. You’d drawn it a thousand times before—it always came out when your thoughts felt too loud. Something soft. Familiar. Yours. But this time… You weren’t drawing just for yourself.

When you were done, you gently turned the sketchbook toward him, the paper still warm beneath your palm. “…There,” you said, quietly.

Senzai blinked. His gaze dropped to the page. Then it stayed there. Longer than expected.

He said nothing at first. Just stared at your bunny—every careful line, every soft shadow, the faint strokes around the fur that made it look like it was breathing.

Then his eyes flicked up to you.

“…That’s good.”

You gave a soft chuckle. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

You raised an eyebrow. He looked away.

“I just didn’t expect… that.” His fingers rested near the corner of the page.

“It’s not just good. It’s…” He paused, like the words caught in his throat. “Gentle.”

Your breath hitched. Something about the way he said that…

You looked down at your sketch again, cheeks warm.

“I draw bunnies a lot,” you mumbled. “It sounds dumb, but… it helps. When I’m nervous. Or thinking.”

Senzai’s gaze didn’t leave the page. “…Not dumb,” he muttered. “It’s nice.”

Another silence.

And then—he reached for a nearby pen. Clicked it once. You watched as he carefully drew something small beside your bunny. A little clover. A barely-there scribble of green ink.

Your eyes widened. “Did you just—?”

He slid the sketchbook back to you.

“I added lunch,” he said casually.

Your laugh broke the silence. Soft, but real.

And then—His eyes flicked to you again. And stayed.

“You… should show people more,” he said, voice low. Honest. “Even if it’s just this.”

You looked at him. Really looked. And for the first time, you saw it—not the bitterness, not the silence—But quiet admiration. He liked your art. He liked that you trusted him with it.

The bunny sketch sat between you both like a whispered memory—still warm, still soft, like it belonged in this pocket of quiet, only you and Senzai had discovered.

“…Can you teach me something?”

He looked up from his own sketchbook, head tilting slightly. “Teach you?”

You nodded. “I wanna learn how you draw trees. Like… cherry blossoms.”

Senzai blinked. Something shifted in his expression—not smug, not flattered—but… something softer. The corners of his mouth twitched just barely.

“…Sakura?”

“Yeah.” You smiled faintly. 

He didn’t answer right away. Then he simply murmured, “Okay.” And reached for the pencil.

You scooted closer, watching. He turned to another blank page and started slow—sketching the outline of a tree trunk, letting the pencil curve into elegant, natural shapes. The roots twisted slightly, grounding the sketch. Then the branches, spiraling like reaching fingers.

You watched. His hands moved with purpose, like he knew every step before the pencil even hit the page. He paused. Then turned the pencil toward you.

“Here. You try.”

Your heart skipped, but you took it carefully.

You mimicked his lines, but the curve wasn’t quite right. The branches looked a little awkward. You frowned, trying to adjust—

“Wait,” Senzai murmured.

His hand—gently reached for yours. Not abrupt, not hesitant. Just… steady. Before you could speak, his fingers laced lightly over yours, guiding the pencil.

He leaned in, his voice low beside your ear.

“Don’t press so hard,” he said. “Let the weight move with you. Like wind in the petals.”

Your breath caught. His hand moved yours with quiet precision, helping shape the arc of the branch. His palm was warm, calloused. His touch was careful. Focused. The pencil glided across the paper. He drew a few tiny blossoms, then let you take over as he let go of your hand. You felt the warmth fade away as he did.

You added your own—soft, clumsy petals at first—but slowly, they began to look like his. They bloomed beneath your touch. “…Like that?” you asked.

He looked down at it. And nodded. “Yeah. That’s it.”

The two of you sat like that for a moment, side by side, sketching in silence. You added a small hill beneath the tree. And then, almost without thinking—You drew a tiny figure underneath the sakura’s shade. A little girl. Facing away. You gave her a pink hat as her hair flowed in the wind.

Senzai’s pencil paused.

His eyes lingered on the page. “…Who’s that?”

You glanced up at him. “I dunno. It just felt right...”

He was silent.

And then… he smiled. Not a full one. But enough to break the stillness around his eyes. You didn’t know that sketch was someone he hadn’t spoken about in a long time. He recognized the feeling in your art. Something lost. Something remembered. And he let it stay there, between you both. A secret only the sketchbook would ever know.

Senzai shifted behind you, rising just slightly to fix an angle. And now—

He was standing right behind you. You froze. You could feel the warmth of him at your back. His breath was soft near your temple.

And as you turned your head—just to say something—

your face met his. 

Inches away. Your eyes locked. His lips parted slightly.

He didn’t move. You didn’t either.

For a second—one long, fragile second—the world held its breath.

Neither of you spoke. But your heart was screaming.

He blinked first, and looked away. “…Your hand’s cramping,” he mumbled, pulling back slightly.

You quickly sat up straighter, cheeks burning. “Y-Yeah. I guess.”

He picked up the pencil again, his tone quieter than before. Almost flustered. “We can… finish it later. If you want.”

You looked down at the tree. The blossoms still swirled across the page. And under them—that little girl. So still.

“…Yeah,” you whispered. “I want that.”

Chapter Text

You stood slowly, brushing your hands off and trying so hard not to make things awkward again.

Senzai closed the sketchbook, fingers lingering over the cover like it might vanish if he let go. He didn’t say anything, but… something in his posture had changed. Softer. Quieter. Still guarded, but not completely shut.

“I should go,” you finally said, thumb pointing toward the hallway. “Before Isamu starts sleep-talking again or something.”

Senzai raised an eyebrow. “He does that?”

You didn’t reply as you just stared at him, smiling, and huffing out a chuckle.

“…That’s actually not surprising.”

You laughed softly, and for a second—just a second—he looked like he was going to smile again. But he didn’t. He just glanced back down at the sketchbook and gently tugged it closer.

You tilted your head. “…You’re keeping it?”

He paused. Didn’t meet your eyes. Then finally said, quietly, “I’ll finish the shading tomorrow.”

You felt a flicker in your chest at that. It wasn’t just about the drawing. And somehow… you both knew it. 

“…Okay,” you murmured.

You turned toward the door, feet quiet against the wood. But just before stepping out, you stopped and glanced back. He was still at the desk. One hand resting over the closed book. His hair shadowed half his face.

“…Goodnight, Senzai,” you said gently.

A pause.

Then,

“…Goodnight, Bunny Girl.”

You smiled to yourself and left the room.

The hallway was quiet when you stepped out, the only sound was your own soft footsteps padding down the floorboards. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth in his voice or the nickname—Bunny Girl—but your face felt warm. Too warm. Like something had cracked through that cold silence between you, and now it was settling under your skin.

You shook your head, trying to breathe it off as you tiptoed past the bedroom door where Isamu had already flopped asleep again. His light snores filtered through the crack under the door. You couldn’t help but smile a little.

The Uchiumi house was dim now, with only the faint orange glow of a night light flickering down the hall. You found the kitchen easily, cool and hushed, the marble counters lit by a sliver of moonlight cutting through the window.

You opened the cabinet, quietly grabbed a glass, and filled it with water from the sink. The sound of the tap seemed too loud in the silence, too real—like it was dragging you out of whatever just happened upstairs.

You leaned against the counter and took a sip, letting the cold sting your throat. Your eyes then stared at the flickering candle still burning beside the Uchiumi family photo display—frames nestled together on a short shrine-like stand. 

Their mother’s face smiled warmly from her portrait, surrounded by her three boys. A younger Isamu, clinging to her sleeve. Akihito, his hand rested on her shoulder, stiff and unreadable even in the photo. And then, there was Senzai. His expression was softer back then. Brighter even. Eyes not yet dulled.

You swallowed.

You shouldn’t have gone in his room. You shouldn’t have looked through his things. But then again, if you hadn’t… you never would’ve seen that drawing.

You never would’ve seen him.

You thought you’d barely survive five minutes with him without clashing. You didn’t expect… that look in his eyes. That drawing. The way his voice had softened, just barely, like it hurt to let it happen.

You exhaled, pressing the glass against your cheek.

There was something behind those guarded looks. Behind the sarcasm, the glares, the tightly held sketchbook. A heaviness. You weren’t supposed to care. You came here for your best friend. Not his bitter older brother with sad eyes and sharp teeth.

And yet… You could still hear his voice echoing in your mind.

“Goodnight, Bunny Girl.”

He said it like a joke, but it didn’t feel like one. Not really. There was something oddly delicate about it. Like he’d tested the words on his tongue before letting them go. Your chest fluttered—soft and stupid. You scrunch your nose and mutter to yourself.

“…This is so dumb.” But you didn’t stop smiling. You turned the glass in your hand, stared out the kitchen window into the night, and wondered,

What if there’s more to him?

You closed your eyes and let out a long breath. Your heart shouldn’t be pounding like this. He didn’t like you. He barely tolerated you. And yet… something had shifted.

This wasn’t the last time you’d find yourself thinking about Senzai Uchiumi.

Not. Even. Close.

You then set the empty glass upside down on the kitchen counter and made your way back down the hallway. The floor creaked under your steps, but everything else was still. You paused right between Isamu’s and Senzai’s room, but you leaned closer towards his door. For a moment–just for a breath, just to listen.

Nothing.

But somehow that silence held more weight than it did before. You moved on.

Isamu’s room greeted you with the cool air and the soft breathing of his sleeping, sprawled like a dead starfish across the futon. One leg kicked over the blanket, his mouth slightly agape as he muttered something inaudible under his breath.

You smiled, holding back a snicker. Despite everything, he's the same old and silly little Isamu you adore.

You climbed back under the covers. and shifted until you found your little nest beside him, until you were comfortable. The warmth of the blanket suddenly wasn’t enough to stop the chill blooming in your chest. Because even now, lying here in Isamu’s room, you weren’t thinking about your best friend, or, ideally your ex-crush.

You were now thinking about his brother. And the strange, impossible ache in his eyes.

— Hours later.

The room was dark, save for the soft blue hue of the moonlight leaking in through the curtains. The quiet was almost surreal—no voices, no games, just the low rhythm of Isamu’s breathing on the other side of the room.

You blinked awake, your eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness. Your body betrayed you.

...Bathroom.

You sat up sluggishly, limbs heavy with leftover sleep, groggy and disoriented. The blankets slipped off your shoulders as your sock feet hit the floor with the softest -shff- sound.

Isamu didn’t stir. He was dead asleep—face half-buried into his pillow, one arm dangling off the bed, the other sat next to his head.

You stifled a sleepy laugh. “Dork.”

You grabbed your phone off the nearby nightstand and tapped it lightly—2:37 AM.

The hallway outside was darker, cooler when you opened the door. You hugged your arms as you made your way to the bathroom, moving slowly and quietly, trying not to wake anyone else.

You flipped on the light inside, squinting a bit as your eyes adjusted again from the sudden beam of light. The bathroom was cold. A quick rinse of your hands, you blinked sleepily at your own reflection in the mirror. A yawn, and you were done.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, tugging down your top and fully intending to crawl back to your bed and pass out—

A soft clink echoed from the kitchen nearby.

You froze.

A glass? The fridge?

You peeked down the hallway… And that’s when you saw him.

Senzai.

Still in that loose dark shirt, hair slightly messy, sipping water in the dim kitchen light. The glow caught on the edge of his cheekbone, the soft line of his jaw, the slouch in his posture like he wasn’t expecting anyone to see him like this.

You hesitated, and he hasn’t noticed you yet. So of course–

The floor creaked.

He looked up, eyes locking onto yours instantly. You gave an awkward little wave. “Hey…”

He blinked at you. “…Do you always stare at people in the dark?”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you always lurk in the kitchen like a horror game NPC?”

He hummed in response. “…Touché.”

You stepped closer, the soft sound of your socks brushing the tile. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He took another sip of water. “…Didn’t try.”

You gave a little nod. “Me neither. Isamu tried to kick me once but I shoved him.”

Silence. But it wasn’t awkward. Just quiet. Heavy. Comforting.

Then Senzai actually exhaled a tiny breath of amusement. “Good.”

You stood there, holding onto the counter now for no reason at all, and watching the way his fingers curled around the glass. For a second, neither of you said anything.

“…You draw at night too?” you asked softly.

Senzai set the glass down, fingers brushing the counter. “Sometimes. When I can’t stop thinking.”

“…What were you thinking about tonight?”

He didn’t answer right away. But instead, he turned to face you fully. His gaze wasn’t sharp like before—just… tired. Raw. Maybe even a little surprised you were still standing there.

“…You,” he said quietly. “Still wondering why you came back.”

Your breath hitched.

You opened your mouth.

Paused.

Looked away.

“…I don’t know,” you murmured, half-truth. “But I’m glad I did.”

Another silence.

He stepped a little closer.

Not much.

But enough that you could see the way the kitchen light caught in his eyes.

“You always draw bunnies?” he asked, changing the subject—too suddenly.

You snorted. “What, you don’t like bunnies?”

“…I didn’t say that.”

You met his gaze again. And something in the stillness felt… like it might shatter if either of you spoke too loud. 

It was quiet for a while. Not uncomfortable. Just there. The air between you held something fragile—like a thread you were both afraid to pull on.

“I always thought this hallway would feel… warmer,” you said eventually, picking at your pajama sleeve. “But it’s kinda sad.”

Senzai looked over at you, resting his elbow on his knee. “It used to be warmer.”

You turned to him, brows knitting slightly.

“…Before she died,” he added, eyes fixed ahead. 

You remembered the stand in the living room—the carefully placed pictures, the soft flicker of votive lights, like a shrine made of grief and glass.

“She looked kind,” you murmured.

Senzai didn’t respond right away. He just held the glass loosely, then finally said, “She was. Too kind.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know if there was anything to say. But your hand brushed against his—accidentally at first. Then not.

You didn’t pull away.

“You really miss her, huh?” you asked softly.

He swallowed, jaw tightening. His voice came out almost inaudible. “Every day.”

It hit something deep in your chest.

The boy beside you—so cold, so distant earlier—suddenly felt too human. Too breakable. You wondered how long it had been since anyone saw him like this. Not the ghost of his brother. Not the quiet one in the corner. Just Senzai.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He didn’t look at you, but his fingers twitched beside yours.

“It’s not your fault.” he murmured.

The silence stretched again.

But this time, it felt… different. Warmer. You stood side by side, hands on the cold counter. The distance between you is smaller than it used to be. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second, heavy with sleep but unwilling to leave.

“…You called me ‘Bunny Girl’ earlier,” you mumbled.

Senzai finally glanced at you. A faint smirk ghosted his lips.

“Yeah..?”

You cracked an eye open. “Why?”

He leaned his head back. “You just… remind me of one.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasingly. “What? Jumpy and annoying?”

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh. “Small. Curious. Soft.”

You blinked.

Your throat caught a little, and suddenly the cold counter wasn’t the reason for the shiver running up your spine.

“…Oh.”

Another pause.

Then, barely above a whisper, “…You can go back if you want.”

His voice was soft, letting you go. Not to push you away or anything. But part of you didn’t want to move,

You looked up at him slowly, your fingers still grazing the counter slightly, knuckles pale. “Do you want me to?”

He didn’t answer right away at first. His gaze then flickered down to the floor, then to your hand.. Then to your eyes.

“Not really,” he said, like the word stung a little before coming out. “But you probably should.”

Your heart thudded.

You stayed quiet, watching how his shoulders tense up as he shifted his weight, like he wasn’t used to someone being so close.. without backing off.

“…You’re not as mean as you pretend to be, you know..” you said, suddenly.

That got him to glance at you again. With a raised eyebrow.

You smiled at his reaction. “Don’t look so shocked.” you chuckled.

That earned you a short, tired exhale. But the next moment, his gaze found yours again–and this time, he didn’t look away. 

And just like that, something pulled in your chest. You didn’t know what you were doing when your fingers inched closer across the counter, but you definitely knew what you were doing when they brushed his. And this time,

He didn’t pull away.

You looked down at where your hands barely touched. The smallest thing. But somehow it made your breath feel unsteady.

“…You okay?” you asked gently.

Another pause.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, softly, “I don’t know.”

You swallowed.

Then, without really thinking about it, you said,

“Do you want me to stay for a bit?”

You felt his hand shift—just slightly, like he was grounding himself. “…Yeah.”

So you stayed.

Neither of you said much after that. You just stood beside him in the dim kitchen, shoulders almost touching, hearts too loud for the silence. And when your head leaned slightly, sleepily toward his arm, and he didn’t move away—only stood there as you slowly, and unknowingly,

drifted off into slumber.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

You blinked awake to sunlight filtering softly through the curtains. Warm, gentle, and a little too bright for your liking.

You stretched sluggishly beneath the covers and turned your head to your left, only to find Isamu sleeping beside you, mouth open, one arm flopped dramatically across his face like he was posing for a cover of vogue.

You blinked again.

Wait.

You sat up slowly, glancing around. Yep. This was definitely Isamu’s room. Definitely the futon he laid out for you last night and definitely his chaotic blanket-tornado on the other side.

But…

How did you get back here?

The last thing you remembered was the kitchen. The water. The late-night haze. The way Senzai’s voice softened, and how the silence between you had felt just a little less lonely.

Didn’t you stay?

You remembered leaning against the counter, body heavy with sleep, his shoulder a quiet anchor by your side. You were sure you’d be there for just a few minutes. But you never knew that you’d actually fall asleep, 

on his shoulder.

You looked down at the blanket tucked around you. Neatly. Carefully. Like someone had taken their time.

Your heart skipped a beat. There was no exact proof. But something in your chest knew.

Senzai had carried you here. 

He picked you up, brought you back, and tucked you in nicely.

You felt your stomach do a slow, soft flip.

Then–“Grrugh…” Isamu groaned beside you, face smooshed into the pillow. “Ts- too early...”

You muffled a laugh, amused as you stared at him. “It’s almost 10, drama queen.”

He muttered something and rolled over like a worm. You grabbed your phone from the floor, checking the time, and paused when you noticed the tiniest crinkle in your sleeve.

Not much. Just a faint trace of something darker near your shoulder. It looked like a soft smear of pencil. Graphite, maybe.

Your finger brushed it absently, and you bit your lip slightly.

Senzai.

He hadn’t said a word. Just quietly carried you here and left you safe.

You suddenly shook your head, trying not to let your thoughts distract you from starting your day. 

You tossed the pillow back onto the futon and got up. Isamu stayed flopped like a ragdoll behind you, refusing to get up while groaning something as you padded towards the bathroom down the hall.

You needed to wake up. That’s all.

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. Just the faint hum of the house and the lingering weight in your chest.

You turned the faucet on. Cold water rushed out, and you splashed it on your face like you were trying to wash off the whole night. Like maybe if you scrubbed hard enough, you could pretend you hadn’t fallen asleep beside him–hadn’t leaned into his quiet warmth like it was something safe.

It didn’t mean anything. You were just tired. He was just… there.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, water dripping down your cheeks. Your reflection looked… softer somehow. Your eyes are tired, but not in a bad way. Maybe a little held. 

You wiped your face, grabbed your toothbrush, and began brushing with unnecessary aggression. You weren’t thinking about him. Not even a little bit. Nope. You were just brushing your teeth. Like a normal person. Who hadn’t maybe accidentally fallen for a boy with dark eyes and too many walls.

—

Back in the bedroom, Isamu was now hanging halfway off the futon like a lazy cat. He peeked open one eye as you walked back in.

You then yanked the blanket off Isamu with the fury of a betrayed housewife.

“UP. Get up, you slug,” you snapped, tugging at his leg with one hand. “I swear if you make me eat with your dad and brother alone I will poison your rice.”

“Are you done fighting your demons?” 

“I will push you off this futon.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Damn.”

You stood at the doorway, arms crossed. “C’mon. We’re eating.”

He groaned. “What are we, seventy? You woke me up at 10 AM for breakfast? I was having a dream about—”

You grabbed his wrist. “Tell your legs to move before I hit you with mine.”

His eyes widened in betrayal. “You wouldn’t.”

You yanked. “I would.”

He flailed dramatically, but let you drag him across the hallway, down the stairs, and toward the dining room like a soggy paper towel.

The house smelled like something warm and good. Something comforting. Miso. Rice fresh from the cooker. Grilled salmon. Tea. And the unmistakable sizzle of tamagoyaki on a pan. You blinked in surprise—and then smiled.

“Ah, good morning you two.” Mr. Akihito greeted from behind the stove, apron tied around his waist, sleeves rolled up as he expertly flipped something in a pan. “You’re late to breakfast.”

“You made grilled salmon?” Isamu gasped like it was the first food he’d seen in years. “Father. My savior!”

Akihito raised a brow, “You’re welcome, Isamu.” he said, unimpressed.

You giggled under your breath and bowed exaggeratedly toward Akihito. “Good morning, sir.”

He smiled at you warmly. “Good morning, sweetheart. Slept well, I hope?”

“Yeah.” you said quickly, before adding, “Thanks for everything.”

He nodded, before turning back to the stove. You and Isamu sat at the table next to each other, and you tried to pretend your heart wasn’t thumping stupidly against your ribs every time you thought about last night. You were mid-sip of tea, when–

Footsteps. Slow, muffled and half-asleep.

You turned your head just as a figure rounded the corner, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of a black hoodie that looked a size too big, hair ruffled, posture loose with sleep.

Senzai.

Your fingers froze around the teacup.

He didn’t seem to notice you at first. His eyes were half-lidded, the heavy, half-aware kind that came with someone who didn’t mean to wake up yet. He gave a vague grunt that probably meant morning and moved straight for the sink to wash his face, the cold splash echoing in the room.

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. 

Isamu leaned toward you and whispered dramatically, “It lives.”

You almost spat out your tea from sudden laughter.

Senzai turned then–toweling off his face with one hand, his expression mostly blank except for that familiar, lingering tiredness in his eyes. Then it suddenly landed on you.

Just for a second.

You swore the air tilted.

He paused, a bit too long, like he hadn’t expected you to still be here. Like he was trying to figure out whether last night had been real, too.

You looked away first.

Just barely. Just for a second. But you felt it. That brief flash of recognition. And you knew.

He remembered last night, too.

His gaze flicked to the chair across from you. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Just pulled it back and sat down without a word. You avoided his eyes, focusing hard on your rice bowl. But your chest was a little too warm, and your sleeve still had that faint mark. You were very aware of it now. Of him.

Of everything.

Akihito set a bowl down in front of Senzai, patting his head briefly as he passed. “Eat, then sleep more if you want. You’ve been staying up too late.”

Senzai didn’t reply, just picked up his chopsticks with that same quiet slowness. He still hadn’t said anything to you. But under the table, your knee was almost touching his. And he didn’t move.

The clink of dishes filled the room as Mr. Akihito plated the last of the food—steaming bowls of rice, grilled fish, soft omelet slices folded to perfection. You thanked him as politely as you could while trying very hard not to glance in Senzai’s direction.

You cleared your throat as you reached for the soy sauce again, trying to will the heat off your face. 

Act normal. You’re normal. Nothing happened. It was a dream. A hallucination. 

“So,” you started, a bit too brightly, “did you know your brother breathes like a dying vacuum when he sleeps?” 

Isamu choked on his miso. “EX—CUSE me?!”

You didn’t even look at him as you smirked. “I almost called the priest.”

Across the table, Senzai let out a soft, sharp exhale. A sound so quick and faint that it could barely be called a chuckle, but it curled in your ears all the same. The kind of breath that might’ve meant “she’s actually pretty funny.” or maybe, nothing at all. But it caught you off guard.

Only you seemed to have noticed it. Only you watched him lower his head slightly, the corner of his mouth barely twitching.

Mr. Akihito didn’t miss a beat as he picked up his utensils with a small laugh. “I warned you, he sounds haunted.”

“You’re both fake. I do not!?” Isamu argued, scandalized. “That’s just how I recharge my body. Like- a high-performance engine!”

“Or a broken blender.” You muttered into your tea, smirking brightly.

“That’s style,” Isamu said proudly, pounding his chest. “It’s called aesthetic.”

“You kicked me in your sleep,” you added. “Twice. I almost died.”

“You were on my half of the futon! Now THAT was a self-defense move.”

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize sleeping was a threat.”

“Every time you roll over, you sound like a dying cat.”

“I am a cat. At least I didn’t drool.”

“I don’t—”

“You did.”

He did it again. Senzai, who had been quietly sipping his tea beside you, let out the faintest chuckle—almost a laugh. Your heart jumped.

You froze for half a second and dared to glance at him from the corner of your eye. He was looking straight ahead. Calm. Quiet. But his fingers were curled gently around the ceramic of his teacup, and for the briefest second, he smiled.

But Isamu didn’t miss a beat.

“Wow,” he said, dramatically leaning over towards your side. “getting approval from the Ice King himself? Damn, maybe I should roast you more often too.”

You widened your eyes as you turned sharply towards him, inhaling strongly and dramatically raising your right hand up in the air, gesturing to hit him in a playful manner. Isamu saw it coming and so he flinched—from muscle memory—when he noticed your hand, yelping slightly before–

“You’re loud.” Senzai sighed.

“Oh my god?” Isamu gasped dramatically as he placed a hand on his chest. “He ACTUALLY spoke.”

“I hope your rice is cold.”

You pressed your fist over your mouth, failing to hide a laugh as you looked down at your plate. Just another day at the Uchiumi household, where absolutely nothing happened and no one had any feelings and everyone was normal.

Yep.

Isamu, completely oblivious, pointed his chopsticks at his brother. “And there he is.. MY FAVORITE gremlin. I thought you died for a sec.”

Senzai didn’t even glance at him. “Wish I had.”

You muffled a giggle as Isamu gasped, again. “He’s come back edgier! Who ARE you? And what have you done to my brother?”

Senzai sighed before finally looking at him. “He’s still sleeping. You can join him.”

You choked on your rice. Isamu cackled.

“Okay okay..” you started, waving your hand as you coughed. “Truce. Truce before I pass away from secondhand sibling murder.”

Senzai looked at you then. And for a second. JUST a second—The corner of his mouth twitched. The smallest ghost of a smirk.

Your heart fumbled in your chest like it had tripped over itself. You then looked back at your plate like it was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen in your life.

You cleared your throat. You then later tried to joke around in order to hide your flustered self.

“Anyway, I should get an award for not smothering you in your sleep–”

“–Mmph! Nope! Not this again.” Isamu instantly muffled after shoving his mouth full of rice, like he knew you were going to bring up his awkward sleep behaviors.

“Y’know– *lip smack* I had a dream last night–” He said, while chewing. 

“Ah–manners, Isamu.” Mr. Akihito reminded him straight away, exactly like a disciplinary teacher. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Isamu then aggressively swallowed in order to speak. “Sorry.. So– yeah, I was saying. I had a dream that I was falling. Like, really falling. Off a cliff.”

 You snorted. “Was I there by any chance?”

“You were the one pushing ME.”

You grinned. “Sounds right.”

He gasped. “See?! Betrayal!”

You rolled your eyes. “It was a dream, Isamu..”

“Yet, I feel betrayed…” He frowned dramatically. “Should’ve made you sleep in the garden.” 

And across from you, Mr. Akihito raised an eyebrow—just slightly.

“Glad to see everyone’s awake now,” he said lightly, before taking another bite of the salmon. 

“Even you, Senzai.”

The boy gave a quiet hum and reached for more rice. His eyes were still a little heavy-lidded, half-dreaming and unreadable.

“Barely.” he finally muttered, voice low and gravel-soft. “Would’ve stayed asleep if people weren’t yelling about betrayal and cliffs.”

You snorted. Isamu pointed a finger accusingly. “Hey– YOU try getting dream-pushed off a cliff by your best friend. It’s not fun.”

“Maybe you deserve it.” Senzai said flatly.

Isamu stared at him, mouth agape. “You’re taking her side now?! Unbelievable..”

You tried so hard not to laugh. A quiet giggle still escaped your nose, and you immediately covered it with a napkin. But even so, your shoulders shook anyway.

“I’m surrounded by traitors. All turning on me at ten in the morning.” Isamu grumbled dramatically, flopping back against his chair.

You tapped your chopsticks against your bowl, smirking. “It’s what you deserve for snoring like a possessed person all night.”

“I DON’T snore.” He defended, dead serious.

“You DO.”

Both you and Senzai said at the exact same time.

Your face went warm. Your eyes flicked towards Senzai just in time to see him glance away again. Too casually.

Mr. Akihito let out a single chuckle, low and amused. “She’s been here one night and already knows the house better than you, Isamu.”

“Ughhh..” Isamu groaned, resting his forehead onto the table. “I should’ve slept outside, at least the stray cats would appreciate me.”

You reached over and gave him a pitying pat on the head as you shook yours. “Yeah sureeee, Emperor of Snoring.”

Isamu groaned louder. “This is bullying. I’m being targeted in my own home–“

“Ah—Correction! Your Kingdom of Crumbs.” You smirked before sipping your tea.

Senzai let out another quiet and stifled sound beside his cup. The same sound that makes your heart jump.

Mission: Make Senzai laugh—Nearly succeeded.

The clinking of empty bowls and chopsticks signaled the end of breakfast, and before Isamu could even begin to slither away like the post-meal gremlin he was—

“Alright kids.” Mr. Akihito gave a pointed look. “Dishes. Now.”

You didn’t even try to fight it. Mostly because it meant you weren’t alone with either of them… but also not not alone.

So somehow, by fate or by Isamu’s terrible luck, the three of you ended up crammed together at the kitchen sink.

Senzai had taken up the role of rinsing and passing, Isamu stood at the drying rack with a towel draped over his shoulder like some kind of half-baked house husband, and you… you were stuck in the middle, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing like your life depended on it.

“Why do I feel like this is a weird cooking show challenge,” you muttered under your breath.

“Because it is,” Isamu said solemnly. “And I’m winning.”

“You’re drying spoons,” you shot back. “Calm down, MasterChef.”

Senzai, next to you, handed you a plate silently—but his lips quivered. Barely. A faint tug at the corner. You glanced at him and caught it. A rare smile-in-progress.

Your stomach did a full somersault.

“Earth to you,” Isamu waved a wet ladle in your face. “You’re spacing out again. This is how accidents happen.”

“Switch.” you replied flatly, handing him the wet plate, signaling to swap roles as you swapped spots with Isamu. You then grabbed the ladle and nearly slapped his forehead with the soapy end.

Senzai snorted quietly, like he tried to suppress it but failed. It made your ears burn.

“Be honest,” Isamu huffed dramatically. “If either of us ends up soaked in dishwater, who’s the real winner here?”

You blinked. “Me.”

Senzai passed you the last bowl. “Agreed.”

“TRAITORS!”

You laughed—loud, full, and honestly, kind of happy. The warm water on your hands, the way your arms occasionally bumped theirs, and the domestic rhythm between you all… it felt unreal.

The last traces of soap and suds swirled down the sink as you stretched your arms overhead, groaning softly at the ache in your shoulders. Your hands were slightly pruny, sleeves still damp, and Isamu was loudly proclaiming that the dishwashing session had permanently altered the shape of his spine.

“Alright,” Isamu cracked his back like an old man. “Shower, then we gotta figure out what to do today. Maybe go out—get bubble tea. Or ramen. OR bubble tea AND ramen.”

“Ramen again?” You gave him a look. “Your sodium levels are crying.”

“Let me live,” he groaned dramatically, already padding off toward the hallway. “See you in ten, loser.” He stuck his tongue out at you, but trudged toward the hallway anyway, and you rolled your eyes before turning to follow him—until you felt something nudge your lower back.

You blinked, turning over your shoulder just as Senzai stepped up behind you, quiet as ever.

Your gaze dropped to his hand, which was now subtly holding something out toward you. A piece of paper, carefully smoothed flat at the edges.

Your bunny drawing.

The same one you’d drawn in his room at midnight, back when everything felt like it was pulsing too loud in your ears. He’d kept it. And now—he was giving it back?

You hadn’t even realized he’d kept it.

Carefully, he nudged it toward you. His fingers just barely brushed yours as he passed it over, but they were warm. Intentional.

“Thought you’d want it back,” he murmured softly, not quite looking at you. “Didn’t wanna leave it behind.”

Your breath hitched.

He could’ve left it in the room. Could’ve ignored it entirely. 

But he didn’t.

You took the drawing slowly, heart suddenly full and fluttering. You unfolded it slightly—only to see that he had added to it. Light pencil shadows hugged the bunny’s ears now, and tiny stars sparkled in the background. His lines and yours overlapped like a secret you two weren’t supposed to share, but did anyway.

You didn’t even realize you were smiling.

“Thank you.” you whispered as you looked up from the drawing

And even if he didn’t say anything back, you saw it. The faintest tug at the corner of his lips.

Senzai didn’t walk away just yet.

He lingered, maybe out of politeness, maybe out of something else entirely. He still wouldn’t quite meet your eyes—but he didn’t move either. You stared at his profile, watched the way the morning light caught on the dark strands of his hair.

You stared down at the bunny drawing in your hands, still feeling the lingering warmth of his touch. A strange silence settled between you and Senzai—quiet, but not uncomfortable. Like the kind that lingered when something almost happened but neither of you dared to reach out and grab it.

And so–

“Hey…” you said softly, just barely above a whisper.

He stilled. He blinked once, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

Your eyes flicked up, unsure if it was the right moment, but the question had been sitting in your chest since the second you woke up. Now it was bubbling out, shaky but sincere.

“…Was it you?”

His eyes met yours again. Cautious. Curious.

You clutched the paper a little tighter. “Last night. I fell asleep in the kitchen, and I forgot what happened after that…”

You hesitated, then added, even quieter,

“…Did you bring me back?”

The silence stretched. Not cold. Not empty. Just full of something unsaid.

Senzai’s expression didn’t shift much. His eyes lowered just slightly, his lashes casting soft shadows as he leaned his weight against the wall behind him. And for a second, you thought maybe he wasn’t going to answer.

Then—

“…You fell asleep.” he said, voice quiet and almost too nonchalant.

You blinked. “So…”

“I carried you back,” he admitted.

Simple. Right?

But those four words knocked the air out of your lungs as you didn’t respond right away. Just looked down at the paper in your hand again, trying hard to pretend your heart wasn’t doing cartwheels.

He glanced toward you again, his eyes unreadable but softer now. “You really don’t remember?”

“I thought it was a dream,” you murmured. “It… felt too gentle to be real.”

His gaze lingered for a second longer. Then, in a tone so soft you almost missed it, he said,

“…It wasn’t.”

Your heart thudded in your ears. And just like that, he started walking away—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just casually wrecked your entire soul.

But then he paused.

“…Don’t sleep in the kitchen again,” he said over his shoulder, voice barely above a murmur. “Next time, I might not feel like carrying you.”

You stood there stunned, face burning.

Liar.

—