Chapter Text
🏠
The scent of chocolate hits Taiga’s nostrils before he even reaches the kitchen. Rich, warm, and entirely too domestic for seven-thirty in the morning.
He adjusts his tie, hovering at the kitchen entrance. Hokuto stands at the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he guides Ema’s small hands around a whisk. Their matching dark heads bent together over a mixing bowl, completely absorbed in their task.
“No, sweetie, slower or it’ll splash everywhere.”
“Like this, Papa?”
“Perfect.”
Flour dusts the counter, and measuring cups lie scattered about like casualties of their baking endeavor. The sight makes Taiga’s fingers twitch. His perfectly organized kitchen has transformed into what looks like a cooking show gone wrong.
This is temporary, he reminds himself.
“Tiger-san!” Ema spots him, her face lighting up with that unguarded joy only children seem capable of. “We’re making cookies for my class! Want to help?”
“I have work,” Taiga says, wincing at how cold it sounds.
Hokuto wipes his hands on a dish towel. “We won’t keep you. I know you need to head out soon.”
Taiga notices the absence of Hokuto’s usual work attire—the crisp button-downs and slacks replaced by a comfortable sweater and jeans. Something’s off.
“Don’t you usually leave early?” The question slips out before he can stop himself.
“Ah, I requested to work remotely today.” Hokuto’s hands guide Ema’s as she carefully folds chocolate chips into the cookie dough. “It’s the preschool Christmas party. Parents are supposed to bring homemade treats.”
Of course it is. Taiga shifts his weight, uncomfortable with how domestic this all feels.
“I made breakfast.” Hokuto adds, nodding toward the dining table. “Ema and I already ate, but yours is still warm.”
Sure enough, a bowl of oyakodon sits on the table, steam rising invitingly. The sight of it makes Taiga’s stomach growl again, louder this time.
He edges around Hokuto and Ema’s baking station, careful not to brush against them as he reaches for the coffee machine. The familiar whir of grinding beans offers a moment of normalcy in this surreal morning scene.
Coffee secured, he retreats to the dining table. The first bite of oyakodon hits his tongue—perfectly seasoned, the egg silky and the chicken tender. He’s still not used to having Hokuto and Ema in his house — it’s only been a week since, after all — but he does appreciate a homecooked meal.
From his seat, Taiga has a clear view of Hokuto and Ema’s baking operation. Hokuto’s movements are precise but slower than usual, his shoulders slightly slumped. The usual healthy glow of his skin seems muted, making the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced.
He looks exhausted.
Taiga opens his mouth, a question about Hokuto’s health forming on his tongue, but Ema’s sudden burst of giggles interrupts him.
“Papa, you have flour on your nose!” She reaches up with flour-covered fingers, leaving more white smudges on Hokuto’s face.
“Do I?” Hokuto’s voice carries a warmth that contrasts sharply with his pallor. “I think you have some too.” He dabs a spot of flour on Ema's nose, making her squeal with delight.
Taiga’s phone buzzes against the table. Jesse’s name lights up the screen:
Can’t wait to see you tonight! 7 PM still good? 😊
The message pulls Taiga back to reality, away from the domestic scene unfolding in his kitchen. He focuses on typing a reply, grateful for the distraction. His stomach does a small flip at the thought of another date with Jesse—not unpleasant, just... anticipatory.
7 PM works. See you then.
The nervous energy coursing through him feels different from his usual reluctance about dating. Jesse’s forward nature and obvious interest should set off warning bells—they usually do. But something about Jesse’s straightforward approach and lack of emotional demands makes this feel safer, more manageable.
Another giggle from Ema draws his attention back to the kitchen. Hokuto leans against the counter now, his movements more careful, deliberate.
Something’s definitely off with him.
Taiga glances at his watch and nearly chokes on his coffee. Shit. Almost eight already? He’ll never make it to the office in time for his nine o’clock meeting at this rate.
He shovels the last few bites of oyakodon into his mouth, the flavors barely registering in his haste. His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, drawing Ema’s attention.
“You’re leaving already?” Her lower lip trembles slightly.
“Work,” he manages while chewing, avoiding those big eyes.
Hokuto pushes himself off the counter, movements oddly stiff. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”
“You don't have to—” Taiga starts, but Hokuto waves him off.
“It’s the least I can do.” Hokuto’s smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. His complexion looks almost gray in the morning light, and there’s a slight tremor in his hands as he reaches for Taiga’s empty bowl.
Taiga hesitates, torn between his pressing schedule and the nagging concern about Hokuto’s state.
Not my problem, he reminds himself. I’m already late.
“Thanks for the breakfast,” he says, grabbing his bag. “I’ll see you both later.”
The crisp morning air hits his face as he steps outside, quickening his pace toward the station. But his mind keeps drifting back to his kitchen—to Hokuto’s pallor, the careful way he moved, how he leaned against the counter for support.
Stop it, he scolds himself. He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.
The station comes into view, commuters streaming through the gates like a choreographed dance. Taiga joins the flow, swiping his pass without breaking stride.
But even as he settles into his usual spot on the platform, the image of Hokuto’s exhausted face lingers.
🏠
Taiga bursts through the office doors with two minutes to spare, his tie still crooked from the morning rush. The usual buzz of activity fills the marketing and development team floor—keyboards clacking, phones ringing, Noel’s exasperated sigh just as he picks up his laptop.
He drops his bag at his desk and grabs his laptop, making it to the conference room just as Minagawa starts speaking.
“Ah, Kyomoto! Perfect timing.” Minagawa’s booming voice fills the room. “We were just about to dive into last month’s engagement metrics.”
Taiga slides into an empty chair, pulling up the data he’d prepared. The familiar rhythm of numbers and analytics washes over him, clearing his mind of... whatever else he was worried about this morning.
The presentation flows smoothly. He points out the spike in user engagement following their latest app update, the increased retention rates among new users, the promising click-through rates on their—
“Speaking of click-throughs,” Minagawa interrupts, grinning broadly, “have you seen the numbers on Jesse’s latest campaign?”
Heat creeps up Taiga’s neck as several heads turn his way. He keeps his expression neutral, focusing on the screen. “Yes, the data shows a significant increase in brand awareness and—”
He dives deeper into the analysis, drowning out the subtle elbow nudges and whispered comments with a flood of statistics and projections. His phone buzzes twice more during the presentation, but he maintains his focus.
Back at his desk, he finally checks his messages:
Found the perfect spot for tonight! You’ll love the view.
[Photo] Their dessert menu looks amazing too.
No pressure to respond! Just excited. 😊
Something loosens in Taiga’s chest. Jesse’s enthusiasm should feel overwhelming, but there’s an ease to it—no hidden expectations, no emotional manipulation. Just simple, straightforward interest.
He turns his attention to the engagement reports, losing himself in the familiar comfort of data analysis. The morning slides by in a blur of spreadsheets and metric adjustments.
“Earth to Kyomoto?” Noel’s voice cuts through Taiga’s concentration. “Lunch?”
Taiga blinks at his screen, the numbers swimming before his eyes. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at spreadsheets. His shoulders crack as he stretches, muscles protesting the hours hunched over his laptop.
“What time is it?”
“Almost one. You’ve been in spreadsheet heaven all morning.”
Thank god for Noel’s impeccable timing. His stomach growls on cue.
The cafeteria bustles with the usual lunch crowd—marketing teams huddled over campaign ideas, developers arguing about code optimization, Jesse’s latest promotional posters plastered on every wall. Taiga follows Noel to the bento display, grabbing a simple salmon set.
Their usual corner table sits empty, a small mercy in the crowded space. Taiga settles into his seat, already plotting how to maximize his afternoon productivity.
He’s mid-bite when three shadows fall across the table.
“Well, well, well.” Chaka’s sing-song voice makes Taiga’s chopsticks freeze halfway to his mouth. “If it isn’t our favorite workaholic.”
Machu and Shime flank him, wearing identical grins that set off warning bells in Taiga’s head.
“Whatever it is, no.” Taiga takes a bite and starts chewing.
“We haven’t even said anything yet!” Shime protests, sliding into the seat beside him. His grin widens. “Though now I’m curious what you think we’re going to ask.”
“Nothing good, clearly.” Noel sighs, but Taiga catches the slight upturn of his lips.
Traitor.
Chaka leans forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So... a little bird from HR told us something interesting.”
Taiga picks up another morsel of salmon. “What interesting thing?”
“Well...” Shime rocks back in his chair, drawing out the moment. “I happened to pass by HR earlier to submit my leave request, and I couldn’t help but overhear the most fascinating tidbit about you and Matsumura.”
Heat floods Taiga’s face before he can control it. Shit. He struggles to keep his expression neutral, but his burning cheeks betray him.
“Oh?” Machu leans in closer. “That blush says there’s definitely something going on.”
“It’s not—” Taiga’s voice cracks. He clears his throat. “It’s not what you think. His apartment burned down. I ran into him and his daughter that night. They needed a place to stay.”
“And you just... offered your house?” Chaka’s eyebrows shoot up. “Mr. ‘Don’t-Touch-My-Things’ himself?”
“What was I supposed to do? Leave them on the street?” The words come out sharper than intended. Taiga stabs at his croquette, avoiding their eager stares.
“Does Jesse know about this little arrangement?” Machu’s grin turns sly. “Because last I checked, you two were getting pretty cozy.”
“That’s none of his business.” Taiga’s grip tightens on his chopsticks. “It’s temporary. Just until Matsumura finds a new place.”
“Ooh, defensive are we?” Shime waggles his eyebrows.
“I swear to god—”
“That’s enough.” Noel’s stern voice cuts through their teasing. He fixes each member of the Chaos Trio with a steely glare. “Unless you want me to mention to Matsumoto-buchou how you three were the ones who replaced her green tea with instant coffee last month?"
The color drains from their faces. Chaka scrambles to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
They retreat in record time, leaving behind the echo of their hurried footsteps.
Taiga slumps in his chair, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Thanks,” he mutters.
Noel shrugs, returning to his bento. “They mean well, but they don’t always know when to stop.” He pauses, chopsticks hovering over his rice. “Though I have to admit, I’m surprised you’d open your home like that.”
So am I, Taiga thinks, but keeps that to himself.
A shadow falls across the table just as they are packing up, and Taiga looks up to find Wakana standing there, her usual composed expression tinged with concern.
“Kyomoto, do you have a moment?”
Something in her tone makes his stomach twist. He nods, pushing back from the table. “Of course, buchou.”
He follows her past the busy cafeteria tables, through the glass doors, and into a quiet corner of the hallway. His mind races through possible scenarios—a problem with his latest metrics? An issue with Jesse’s campaign?
Wakana turns to face him, her dark eyes serious. “I just received a call from First Steps Academy.”
Ema. His heart stutters.
“Apparently, Matsumura has been running a high fever. He collapsed during the Christmas party.”
The cookie-baking scene from this morning flashes through Taiga’s mind—Hokuto’s flushed face, the slight tremor in his hands as he measured ingredients.
Shit. He should have said something.
“He’s resting in the preschool’s infirmary now,” Wakana continues, “but they need someone to take him and Ema home.”
Heat creeps up Taiga’s neck. “I…”
“I know about your living arrangement.” Wakana’s voice softens slightly. “HR informed me when Matsumura updated his temporary address. Would you be able to bring them home?”
Taiga’s throat tightens. He thinks of Hokuto—always pushing himself too hard. The idiot probably dragged himself to the Christmas party just so Ema wouldn’t be disappointed.
“Of course,” he manages. “I’ll head there now.”
Wakana nods, relief flickering across her features. “Take the rest of the day. I’ll explain to Minagawa. Make sure he gets some proper rest.”
His phone buzzes in his pocket—probably another message from Jesse about their date. But right now, all Taiga can think about is Hokuto burning up with fever, trying to smile through it for Ema’s sake.
“Thank you, Matsumoto-buchou.” He’s already turning to pick up his belongings, phone out to calculate the fastest route to First Steps Academy.
“And Kyomoto?”
He pauses.
“Take care of him.”
The words follow him down the hallway, settling somewhere beneath his ribs like a weight—or maybe a warmth.
He’s not sure which is more terrifying.
🏠
The taxi lurches to a stop, and Taiga nearly opens the door before the driver could. “Wait here, please. Keep the meter running.”
His shoes click against the polished hallway floors as he follows the receptionist’s directions. The infirmary’s sterile scent hits his nose before he reaches the door—antiseptic and something vaguely medicinal.
He hesitates at the threshold. Through the gap, he spots a small figure in a red dress, perched on a plastic chair beside one of the cots.
The dress from the thrift store, his mind supplies unhelpfully. The sight of Ema’s slumped shoulders makes something twist in his chest.
A man in a polo shirt notices him first. “Ah, you must be Kyomoto Taiga-san.” His smile is warm but concerned. “I’m Morimoto Shintaro, Ema-chan’s teacher.” He extends his hand, and Taiga shakes it automatically.
Ema’s head snaps up at the sound of his name. Her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed, tear tracks still visible on her cheeks. “Tiger-san,” she whispers, her voice wobbly.
Taiga shifts his weight, unsure what to do with his hands or where to look. On the cot, Hokuto lies still, his face flushed with fever. His usually neat hair sticks to his forehead with sweat.
“The fever spiked during our Christmas party,” Shintaro explains softly. “He insisted on staying for Ema-chan’s performance, but...” He trails off, glancing at Ema with gentle concern.
“Papa fell down,” Ema says, her lower lip trembling. She clutches Mr. Bunny tighter, the stuffed rabbit’s singed ear poking out from her embrace. “After my song.”
Shit. Taiga takes an awkward step forward, then stops. What’s the protocol here?
“The nurse gave him some fever reducers,” Shintaro continues. “But he needs proper rest. I understand you’ll be taking them home?”
“Yes, I…” Taiga clears his throat. “There’s a taxi waiting.”
Shintaro nods, then crouches beside Ema. “Remember what we talked about? Tiger-san is going to help take care of your papa, okay?”
Ema nods solemnly, her tiny fingers reaching for Hokuto’s hand. The gesture makes Taiga’s throat tight.
“I’ll get his things,” Shintaro offers, moving toward a pile of bags in the corner. “He brought cookies for the class party.” A shadow crosses his face. “Should have known something was wrong when he nearly dropped the container this morning.”
Taiga remembers Hokuto’s shaking hands in the kitchen, the way he’d brushed off Taiga’s concerned glance. Stubborn idiot.
“Tiger-san?” Ema’s small voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Will Papa be okay?”
She looks up at him with those big brown eyes, so much like Hokuto’s, and Taiga feels completely out of his depth. He’s not good at this—at comfort, at reassurance, at whatever it is kids need when they’re scared.
But Ema is waiting for an answer, and Hokuto is burning up with fever, and somehow they’ve both ended up being his responsibility.
“He’ll be fine.” Taiga’s voice comes out rougher than intended. “Your papa just needs rest and medicine.” The words feel hollow, inadequate for the weight of Ema’s worry, but they’re all he has.
Shintaro returns with Hokuto’s bags—the familiar black backpack and a festive tote decorated with cartoon reindeer. “The cookies were a hit,” he says, attempting a smile. “The kids loved them.”
Taiga nods absently, his attention on Hokuto’s flushed face. “Hey,” he says, touching Hokuto’s shoulder. “We need to get you home.”
Hokuto’s eyes flutter open, glassy with fever. “The performance—”
“Is over.” Taiga’s chest tightens at Hokuto’s obvious disorientation. “Come on.”
Between them, they manage to get Hokuto upright. He sways dangerously, and Taiga instinctively wraps an arm around his waist.
Too warm, Taiga thinks. Hokuto’s skin radiates heat even through his dress shirt.
“Careful,” Shintaro murmurs, steadying Hokuto’s other side.
They navigate the hallway slowly, Ema trailing behind with Mr. Bunny clutched to her chest.
The December air hits them like a slap. Hokuto shivers violently, and Taiga tightens his grip. The taxi idles at the curb, exhaust mixing with the winter chill.
“I’ve got him,” Shintaro says, helping Taiga maneuver Hokuto into the backseat.
Hokuto slumps against the leather, his eyes already closing again.
Taiga turns to Ema, who stands uncertainly on the sidewalk. “Come on, Ema-chan. You can sit next to your papa.”
She climbs in carefully, settling against Hokuto’s side. Her small hand finds his larger one, and something in Taiga’s chest aches.
“Thank you,” he tells Shintaro. The words feel insufficient for the hours the teacher spent watching over them both.
“Of course.” Shintaro’s eyes linger on Hokuto with obvious concern. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”
Taiga slides into the front seat, pulling out his phone as the taxi merges into traffic. His thumbs hover over the screen before typing:
SOS. Matsumura’s sick. Need supplies. And maybe actual adulting skills.
He sends it to both Yugo and Juri, then glances in the rearview mirror. Ema watches the city blur past, her chin quivering slightly.
“Hey,” he says, softer than he knew he could be. “Your papa always takes care of you, right?”
She nods, not looking away from the window.
“Now it’s our turn to take care of him. Can you help me with that?”
This time she meets his eyes in the mirror. “Like a mission?”
“Exactly like a mission.” His phone buzzes with rapid responses from Yugo and Juri. “And we’re going to have backup.”
🏠
The taxi slows to a stop, and Taiga spots Juri’s familiar silhouette through the window. His friend stands at the gate, juggling plastic bags from the pharmacy and what looks like enough groceries to feed an army.
Thank god for competent friends.
“Got everything you asked for,” Juri says as Taiga climbs out. “Yugo’s tied up at Golden Hour, but he sent his magic porridge recipe.”
Taiga nods, his attention split between Juri and the backseat where Hokuto has slumped further against the window. “Help me with him?”
Juri sets the bags down and moves to the car door. “Of course. Careful with his head.”
They maneuver Hokuto out of the taxi while Taiga tries not to focus on how hot Hokuto’s skin feels, or how his usually sharp eyes are unfocused and distant. Getting him upright is a challenge—Hokuto’s legs seem unwilling to cooperate, and he mumbles something about cookies that makes no sense.
“Ema-chan,” Taiga calls, keeping his voice steady despite the strain of supporting Hokuto’s weight. “Can you carry Mr. Bunny and your papa’s Christmas bag?”
She nods solemnly, clutching her stuffed rabbit with one hand while dragging the reindeer tote with the other. The sight twists something in Taiga’s chest.
“I’m not great in the kitchen,” Juri says as they navigate through the gate. “But I can manage Yugo’s recipe. You focus on getting him settled.”
Taiga fumbles with the keycard while trying to keep Hokuto upright. Juri takes more of Hokuto’s weight, allowing Taiga to unlock the door.
“Go make the porridge now,” he tells Juri once they’ve managed to get Hokuto inside. “I’ll handle...” He gestures vaguely at Hokuto, who chooses that moment to lean more heavily against him.
“Got it.” Juri’s eyes are knowing, almost amused despite the situation. “Come on, Ema-chan. Want to help me make something special for your papa?"
Ema hesitates, looking between Hokuto and Juri with obvious concern.
“Tiger-san will take good care of him,” Juri promises. “And we need to make sure the porridge is perfect, right?”
She nods, though her lower lip still trembles slightly. Taiga watches them disappear into the kitchen, Juri already asking Ema about her favorite foods in that gentle way of his.
Taiga adjusts his grip on Hokuto, who seems to be drifting in and out of awareness. “Hey. Few more steps, okay?”
The stairs prove challenging. Hokuto’s feet drag, and his breath comes in short, warm puffs against Taiga’s neck. Each step requires careful maneuvering to keep them both balanced.
“Should’ve installed an elevator,” Taiga mutters, more to distract himself from Hokuto’s proximity than anything else. “Or maybe just lived in a normal house without stairs like a reasonable person.”
Hokuto makes a sound that might be a laugh or a cough. “Sorry,” he whispers, the word barely audible.
“Shut up.” Taiga’s voice comes out rougher than intended. “Save your energy for walking.”
They finally reach the guest room—Hokuto and Ema’s room, his mind supplies unhelpfully. The bed is still unmade from this morning, sheets tangled like Hokuto had rushed to get ready for the Christmas party.
Getting Hokuto onto the mattress is an awkward dance of limbs and mumbled instructions. When he finally settles against the pillows, his eyes are already closing again.
“You’re an idiot,” Taiga tells him. “Who goes to a Christmas party with a fever?”
Hokuto’s eyes flutter open, glazed with fever but somehow still earnest. “Ema was excited,” he whispers. “She’s been looking forward to this since...” His voice cracks. “Since the fire. She lost so much already.”
The words hit Taiga like a physical blow. He stands beside the bed, hands clenched at his sides. “And what happens to her if you make yourself worse? Who takes care of her then?”
Hokuto’s face darkens, a flash of something fierce breaking through his feverish haze. “You don’t know,” he says, each word deliberate despite his weakness. “You have no idea what I feel, what I’ve gone through.”
Heat rises in Taiga’s chest, sharp and sudden. Don’t know?
Images flash through his mind—years of watching his father stumble home drunk, crying about failed gigs. Endless nights spent budgeting their meager savings while Masaki chased his dreams. Shuichiro’s manipulative texts, the constant drain of emotional labor, the suffocating weight of being someone’s entire support system.
His jaw clenches so tight it hurts. “You’re right,” he says, the words coming out clipped and cold. “I’ll get your medicine from Juri.”
He turns sharply, nearly knocking over the bedside lamp in his haste to escape. His feet carry him to the door in quick, angry strides.
“Kyomoto—”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look back. Just pulls the door shut behind him with more force than necessary and stomps down the hallway.
Who the hell does he think he is? The thought pounds in his head with each step. Acting like he has a monopoly on suffering. Like no one else knows what it’s like to—
The sound of Ema’s laughter drifts up from the kitchen, followed by Juri’s gentle voice explaining something about stirring carefully. Taiga freezes mid-step, his anger colliding with something else—something complicated and uncomfortable that he doesn’t want to examine too closely.
He forces himself to keep moving. To focus on the practical. Get the medicine. Check the porridge. Make sure Ema’s okay.
Don’t think about the way Hokuto’s words felt like a door slamming shut. Don’t think about how familiar that feeling is.
His feet hit each stair with unnecessary force as he descends toward the kitchen. Just get the damn medicine and be done with it.
Taiga storms into the kitchen, the sharp bite of ginger and garlic hitting his nose. Juri stands at the stove, stirring a pot while Ema perches on a stepstool beside him, clutching Mr. Bunny to her chest.
“Is Papa better now?” Ema asks, her eyes wide and hopeful.
The question stops him cold, draining some of his anger. Shit. He can’t snap at a four-year-old worried about her father. “He needs medicine first,” he manages, forcing his voice into something resembling calm.
Juri shoots him a look over Ema’s head. “The bags are on the counter.”
Taiga rummages through the plastic bags, focusing on the rustle of packaging rather than the mess of emotions churning in his gut. His fingers close around a box of fever reducers, and he reads the dosage instructions three times, letting the clinical text steady him.
“Tiger-san?” Ema’s small voice breaks through his concentration. “Can I help make Papa feel better?”
Like father, like daughter. Both of them so eager to help, to fix things, to—
He cuts the thought off sharply. “The best thing you can do is let him rest,” he says, pouring water into a glass.
“But—”
“No buts.” The words come out harsher than intended, and he sees Ema’s shoulders droop.
Great job, asshole. Snapping at a kid because you’re mad at her father.
Juri clears his throat. “Hey, Ema-chan, want to help me check if the rice is soft enough?"
She nods, though her enthusiasm seems dimmed. Taiga watches her lean forward, carefully blowing on the spoon Juri offers her, and something twists in his chest.
He grabs the medicine and water, needing to escape before the feeling can take root. His feet carry him back upstairs, each step echoing with Hokuto’s words.
You don’t know. You have no idea.
The guest room door looms before him. He considers knocking, then decides against it. It’s my house, dammit. He pushes the door open, ready to drop the medicine and leave.
Hokuto lies exactly where Taiga left him, but his eyes are open, fixed on the ceiling. Even in the dim light, Taiga can see the flush of fever across his cheeks.
“Here.” Taiga sets the glass and pills on the nightstand with more force than necessary. “Take these.”
Hokuto struggles to sit up, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Something in Taiga’s chest clenches at the sight, warring with his lingering anger.
Don’t help him. Don’t get involved. Just leave the medicine and go.
But his hands are already moving, adjusting pillows behind Hokuto’s back. The heat radiating from Hokuto’s skin seems worse than before.
“I’m sorry,” Hokuto whispers, his voice rough. “What I said… it wasn’t fair.”
Taiga’s jaw tightens. He focuses on opening the medicine packet, refusing to look at Hokuto’s face. “Doesn’t matter. Just take these.”
“It does matter.” Hokuto accepts the pills with trembling fingers. “I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“Stop talking and take the medicine.”
Hokuto complies, swallowing the pills with careful sips of water. His hand shakes as he tries to set the glass down, and Taiga catches it before it can spill.
Their fingers brush. Hokuto’s skin burns against his, and Taiga yanks his hand back as if scalded.
“Ema—” Hokuto starts.
“Is fine,” Taiga cuts him off. “Juri’s got her helping with the porridge. She’s worried about you, so go get some rest and stop being an idiot.”
He turns to leave, needing to escape the suffocating mix of fever-heat and guilt and something else he refuses to name.
“Thank you,” Hokuto says quietly. “For taking care of her. For everything.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Taiga’s feet freeze mid-step, his hand clenched around the doorframe.
Don’t turn around. Don’t engage. Don’t—
A harsh cough breaks the silence, followed by the rustle of sheets as Hokuto sinks back against the pillows. The sound travels straight to that complicated, uncomfortable place in Taiga’s chest.
🏠
“It’s not fair,” Ema says, crossing his arms. “I want to sleep with Papa.”
“You can’t, sweetheart,” Juri explains, crouching to her level. “We don’t want you getting sick too.”
Taiga stands in the doorway, watching this exchange with growing dread. The evening has settled into a deceptive calm—dishes done, Hokuto’s fever finally down, Ema bathed and changed into her bunny-print pajamas.
But now comes the part he’s been avoiding thinking about.
“You can take my room,” he says, the words feeling strange in his mouth. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Juri shoots him a look that’s equal parts amusement and sympathy. “That’s very kind of you, Taiga.”
“It’s not kind, it’s practical.” He shifts, uncomfortable with Juri’s knowing expression. “She needs proper rest.”
“But Tiger-san—” Ema clutches Mr. Bunny tighter.
“No buts.” Christ, I’m starting to sound like a parent. The thought sends an uncomfortable jolt through him.
Juri straightens up, gathering his coat. “Remember what we talked about, Ema-chan. The sooner your papa gets better, the sooner you can cuddle with him again.”
Ema’s lower lip trembles, but she nods. Taiga feels a flash of envy at how easily Juri handles her emotions.
“Thanks for today,” Taiga mutters as he walks Juri to the door.
“Text me if you need anything.” Juri pauses, hand on the doorknob. “And Taiga? Try not to overthink this."
“I’m not—”
But Juri’s already stepping out, leaving Taiga with the unfinished protest and a four-year-old staring up at him expectantly.
The silence feels oppressive. Ema stands in the middle of his pristine living room, looking impossibly small in her pastel pajamas. Mr. Bunny dangles from one hand.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
“Is it bedtime?” Ema asks, her voice smaller than usual.
Taiga checks his watch. 7:05 PM. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He hesitates. “Do you... need anything?”
“Papa always reads me a story.”
Of course he does. Taiga resists the urge to check on Hokuto again. “Right. Well, I can…” The words stick in his throat. Reading bedtime stories isn’t exactly in his skill set.
“Can we check on Papa first?”
“He needs rest.” The response is automatic now, worn smooth from repetition. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”
Ema follows him up the stairs, each step accompanied by the soft pat of her feet and the drag of Mr. Bunny against the wall. Taiga’s bedroom door looms ahead, and he realizes he’s never had a child — or anyone else for that matter — in this space before. The thought makes him oddly self-conscious.
He pushes the door open, grateful that he at least keeps things tidy. The room feels different through Ema’s eyes—too stark, too adult, lacking the warmth of her usual space.
“The bed’s big,”
“Yeah.” Taiga hovers awkwardly by the door. “The bathroom’s right there if you need it. And I’ll be downstairs if...” He trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence.
Ema climbs onto the bed, looking impossibly tiny against his dark sheets. “Tiger-san?”
“What?”
“Can you leave the door open? Just a little?”
“Sure,” he says, softer than intended. “Want me to turn on the hall light too?”
Something in her voice makes his chest tight. He remembers being four, remembers the vastness of unfamiliar rooms at night.
Ema nods, her fingers twisting into the sheets. Something about the gesture reminds Taiga of Hokuto—the same quiet acceptance of help, even when it hurts their pride.
“Where’s Waddles?” he asks.
Taiga blinks. “Who?”
“My penguin. From Mori-sensei.” Her eyes dart around the room as if the stuffed toy might materialize.
Great. Another thing to track down. “I’ll check downstairs.”
The living room feels colder now, the silence broken only by the hum of his smart devices. Taiga spots the penguin peeking out from one of the Christmas bag. He grabs it, noting how worn the fabric feels.
Back upstairs, Ema’s eyes light up at the sight of Waddles. She arranges him next to Mr. Bunny with careful precision, creating a little fortress of plush at the head of his bed.
“Tiger-san?” Her voice is small again. “Can you tell me a story?””
“I don’t really…” He shifts his weight, uncomfortable with the naked hope in her expression. “I don’t know any stories.”
“Papa makes them up sometimes.” She settles against his pillows, expectant. “About princesses and dragons and—”
“I’m not your papa.” The words come out sharper than intended, and he sees her flinch. Shit. “I mean… I’m not good at that stuff.”
Silence stretches between them. Taiga’s throat feels tight, like he’s swallowed something bitter. He should leave—she’s settled, she has her toys, what more could she need?
But his feet won’t move.
“What if…” Ema’s voice breaks through his spiral. “What if you tell me about the house?”
“The house?”
“Yeah. Like...” She pets Mr. Bunny’s ear. “Like why does the vacuum move by itself?”
Taiga latches onto this lifeline. Tech, he can handle. “That’s Zoomie,” he says, remembering her nickname for the robot. “He’s programmed to clean at specific times, following a map of the house.”
“But how does he know where to go?”
“Well…” Taiga finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed. “He has sensors that help him see walls and furniture. Like having really good eyes.”
Ema scoots closer, dragging her stuffed animals with her. “Does he get scared of the dark?”
“No, he...” Taiga pauses, considering. “Actually, the dark helps him sometimes. His sensors work better without too much light getting in the way.”
“Like a superhero?”
When did this become a superhero story? But he finds himself nodding. “Sort of. He’s brave and smart, keeping the house clean while everyone sleeps.”
“Even when he’s alone?”
The question hits differently than intended. Taiga thinks about his pristine, empty house before Hokuto and Ema arrived. All his smart devices running their programmed routines, perfect and predictable and utterly lifeless.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Even then.”
Ema yawns, snuggling deeper into his pillows. “I like Zoomie,” she mumbles. “He’s like you.”
“How’s that?”
But her eyes are already closing, breath evening out.
Taiga sits there, watching her curl around her stuffed animals, feeling something uncomfortably warm in his chest.
He should move. He has a whole list of things to do—check Hokuto's temperature again, grab spare blankets for the couch, maybe even tackle some of the work emails piling up. But his legs won’t cooperate.
Ema’s chest rises and falls in the gentle rhythm of deep sleep, her small fingers still curled around Mr. Bunny’s ear. The sight stirs something uncomfortable in Taiga’s chest.
Like Zoomie, she’d said. What did that even mean? He’s nothing like a robot vacuum—predictable, reliable, designed to serve others.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, shattering the quiet moment. Taiga pulls it out, careful not to disturb Ema.
Jesse: Just wrapped the shoot! Omw to pick you up. Hope you're hungry 😘
Shit. Taiga’s stomach drops. Between Hokuto’s fever and Ema’s bedtime crisis, he completely forgot about texting Jesse. The timestamp shows two missed messages from earlier.
Jesse: Can’t wait to see you tonight
Jesse: Hello? You there?
The sound of Ema shifting makes him freeze. She mumbles something in her sleep, hugging Waddles closer. Taiga holds his breath until she settles again.
His fingers hover over the keyboard. How does he even explain this? Sorry, can't make it. My sick coworker and his daughter are staying at my place sounds ridiculous even in his head.
But Jesse’s probably already in his car, expecting...what? A romantic late-night dinner?
Taiga: Can’t tonight. Something came up.
The reply comes instantly.
Jesse: Already on my way! What’s wrong?
Taiga glances at Ema’s sleeping form, then toward the hallway where Hokuto rests in the guest room. His carefully compartmentalized life is crumbling, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.
Taiga: Family emergency
He winces at the words. Since when did he start thinking of this as family anything?
Jesse: Can I call?
Taiga stares at Jesse’s text, the words blurring on his screen. He glances at Ema, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Hokuto's earlier words echo in his mind: “You don’t know. You have no idea.” The raw pain in Hokuto’s voice had caught him off guard, making him feel small and ignorant.
He rises from the bed with practiced stealth, years of avoiding his father’s drunken ramblings coming in handy. His sock-clad feet make no sound on the hardwood as he backs toward the door.
Ema stirs. Taiga freezes, but she only hugs Waddles closer, mumbling something about cookies. He waits another moment before slipping out, leaving the door cracked just as promised.
In the living room, his phone screen glows with another message.
Jesse: Starting to worry here 😟
Taiga sinks onto his couch, rubbing his temples. The smart lights dim automatically, sensing his movement. He types out a quick response.
Taiga: Fine. Call if you want.
The phone rings immediately. Taiga answers, keeping his voice low.
“Hey.” Jesse’s warm tone fills his ear. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
The genuine concern throws Taiga off balance. He’s used to Yugo’s mother-hen tendencies and Juri's quiet support, but this feels different. When his father called, it was always about his own problems. When Shuichiro checked in during rough patches, his sympathy came with strings attached.
“I’m fine,” Taiga says automatically. “Just dealing with some stuff.”
“Must be serious if you’re canceling last minute.” A pause. “Want to talk about it?”
Taiga’s throat tightens. The truth sits heavy on his tongue—about Hokuto’s fever, about Ema’s stuffed animals on his bed, about how his carefully ordered life has turned into something he barely recognizes.
“Not really,” he manages.
“That’s okay.” Jesse’s voice softens. “I just want you to know I’m here if you need anything. Even if it’s just takeout delivery or a distraction.”
A distraction. That’s what Jesse had been, wasn’t it?
“Thanks,” Taiga says, the word feeling inadequate. “I appreciate it.”
“You sound tired.”
“It’s been a long day.”
Jesse hums sympathetically. “Want me to sing you a lullaby? I’ve been practicing for that children’s show commercial—”
“God, no.” But Taiga finds himself almost smiling. Jesse’s earnest attempts at humor remind him of Yugo, minus the years of shared history.
“At least I made you laugh.”
“I didn’t laugh.”
“You were close.” Jesse’s smile is audible. “Seriously though, are you sure you’re okay?”
The question hits differently this time. Taiga glances toward the stairs, thinking of Ema curled up in his bed and Hokuto fighting fever dreams down the hall.
“I...” Taiga rubs his face, the weight of the day pressing down on him. “Remember our first date?”
“Yeah, how could I forget?” Jesse chuckles.
Taiga blushes at that. “On my way home, I ran into my coworker’s apartment burning down.” The words tumble out before he can stop them. “He’s got this four-year-old daughter, and they had nowhere to go, so I just... offered my house.”
A pause. “Wait, what?”
“I know it’s insane.” Taiga’s fingers twist into the fabric of his pants. “I barely know him outside work. But there they were, standing outside their burning building, and his kid was clutching this singed stuffed rabbit, and I just—” He cuts himself off, the memory too raw.
“That’s actually really sweet of you.”
“It’s not sweet, it’s stupid.” Taiga’s voice comes out harsher than intended. “I finally got away from my dad’s constant neediness, finally broke things off with my ex and his emotional manipulation, finally had my own space. And now...”
“Now you’re taking care of a coworker and his daughter?”
“He got sick.” Taiga closes his eyes, remembering Hokuto’s flushed face at the preschool. “Had to pick them up early from his daughter’s Christmas party. And I thought, hey, I’ve dealt with my dad's hangovers and my ex’s drama for years. How hard can this be?”
Jesse stays quiet, letting him continue.
“But it’s different. Everything about this is different. I couldn’t carry him without help, and his daughter was scared, and I had no idea what to do. Then he said—” Taiga’s throat tightens. “He said I didn’t know. That I had no idea why he pushes himself so hard for her.”
“And that hurt you?”
“It pissed me off.” Taiga’s free hand clenches. “Like what, the years I spent holding my dad together don’t count? The times I had to be the responsible one, had to clean up his messes, had to—” He stops, catching his breath. “But Matsumura was right. I don’t know. Not about this.”
“About being a parent?”
“About any of it. About choosing to care for someone instead of being forced into it. About… About loving someone more than your own comfort.”
The silence stretches between them. Taiga listens to the soft hum of his house, to the distant sound of cars passing outside. Somewhere upstairs, a child sleeps in his bed, trusting him to keep her safe while her father recovers.
“I’m sorry,” Jesse says finally. “This is a lot to handle alone.”
“I’m not alone. My friends have been helping.”
“Still. It’s not what you signed up for.”
What did I sign up for? Taiga wonders. A life of perfect solitude? Running from anything that might need him?
“You know what this reminds me of?” Jesse’s voice brightens. “My first commercial shoot. I was supposed to be this cool, sophisticated guy selling watches. But halfway through, this stray cat wandered onto set and wouldn’t stop rubbing against my legs.”
Taiga shifts on the couch, wondering where this is going.
“The director was furious, but I couldn’t shake the cat. Every time we reset, there it was. Finally, I suggested we include it in the shot. Turned out to be the company’s most successful campaign—the cat stealing the show, teaching me that sometimes the best things happen when life interrupts your perfect plan.”
A small laugh escapes Taiga before he can stop it. “Are you seriously comparing my situation to a cat crashing your commercial?”
“Hey, that cat changed my whole career trajectory. Now I’m known as the guy who’s good with animals. Got me the EaseWorks gig, actually.” Jesse pauses. “Sometimes the mess is the message, you know?”
“That’s terrible.” But Taiga’s smiling now, really smiling. “Listen, about tonight—I’m sorry for canceling last minute.”
“Don’t worry about it. Rain check?”
“Yeah. My treat next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Kyomoto-san.”
The formality suddenly feels wrong. “Taiga,” he says. “Just... call me Taiga.”
A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Really?” Jesse’s excitement is palpable, like a puppy given a treat. “Taiga. Taiga. Has a nice ring to it.”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“Too late. We’re on a first-name basis now. No taking it back.” Jesse’s voice softens. “And hey, I meant what I said. I’m here if you need anything. Good days, bad days, stray cat days—all of it.”
Something warm unfurls in Taiga’s chest. It’s different from Yugo’s protective concern or Juri’s quiet support. Lighter, somehow. Easier.
“Thanks.” Taiga rubs his neck. “I’m keeping you. You should head home.”
“Yeah, probably should. Text me when you can?”
“Sure.”
“Goodnight, Taiga.”
“Night, Jesse.”
The call ends, and Taiga stares at his phone, a small smile lingering. For the first time since meeting Jesse, he feels something—a flutter of genuine fondness, warm and unexpected.
Silence hangs over the house like a weighted blanket. Taiga tilts his head, listening for any sound from upstairs. Nothing. His gaze drifts to the second floor landing, barely visible in the dimmed lights.
They’re probably already asleep. The thought brings an odd mix of relief and something else he can’t quite name. His perfectly ordered life had shattered the moment he saw them standing outside that burning building. No more peaceful mornings with just the hum of his smart devices. No more quiet evenings spent answering emails without interruption.
And yet...
The memory of Ema’s small voice talking about Zoomie tugs at something in his chest. Even Hokuto’s fever-bright eyes and stubborn determination to attend the Christmas party had stirred feelings Taiga thought he’d buried deep.
Stop it. He pushes off the couch, needing to move. The storage room beckons—he needs blankets if he’s camping out on the couch tonight. His feet carry him up the stairs, each step carefully placed to avoid creaking.
The storage room door slides open with a soft whisper. Inside, boxes line the shelves in perfect order, labeled with his precise handwriting. He’d organized everything when he moved in, determined to start fresh. A clean slate. No chaos, no dependency, no messy emotions.
So much for that plan.
His fingers brush against a soft fleece blanket, still sealed in its original packaging. He’d bought extras, of course—his need for preparation extending even to guest supplies he never intended to use.
His laptop bag is on the couch. He took a half day off today, so he needs to catch up on work. Work will help. Work always helps, providing structure when everything else feels uncertain.
His couch isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not meant for sleeping. Taiga arranges the blanket, creating a semblance of order in this disrupted space. The laptop whirs to life, its blue glow casting shadows across his makeshift bed.
Emails flood his inbox—marketing reports, campaign updates, meeting requests. Normal things. Safe things. He clicks through them mechanically, trying to lose himself in the familiar rhythm of work.
A notification pops up: Monthly User Engagement Analysis Due.
Right. The report he’d planned to finish tonight, before everything went sideways. Before fever-glazed eyes and stuffed penguins and bedtime stories about robot vacuums.
His fingers move across the keyboard, the gentle tapping a poor substitute for the silence he once cherished. Above him, the house creaks gently, settling into its nighttime rhythm. Somewhere in that darkness, two people sleep, trusting him to keep watch.