— Takahara Residence, Saturday Morning —
The sun was lazy that morning, pouring light across the Takahara home in wide, golden sheets. It filtered through the kitchen window like spilled warmth, stretching itself over the clean counters, the modest dining table, and the faint steam rising from a pan on the stove.
A soft hum drifted through the air—Hana's voice, barely above a whisper, as she moved with rhythm and grace from the stovetop to the sink. Her hair was still tied back in a low bun, and though she wore a simple apron over a faded green blouse, there was something calming in the way she moved—like the morning itself took its cue from her.
Across from her, Kaito sat at the dining table, one arm rested across the surface, the other holding up a small book he clearly wasn't reading. His eyes were half-closed, head leaning into his palm. The book tilted forward slowly, rhythmically, like it had plans to escape. It was his weekend routine—to pretend he was catching up on something important while secretly drifting into the edge of a nap.
Aya's footsteps echoed down the hallway, quick and light like a bird skipping across stone. She came rushing in with messy hair and an explosion of energy, her pajama shirt half tucked, her eyes bright.
"Mama! Ethan's still asleep! I even jumped on his bed three times!"
Hana raised an eyebrow without turning from the stove.
"That's because you woke up too early, again."
"It's Saturday! It's my favorite!" Aya declared, bouncing onto the nearest chair and immediately reaching for the honey bottle.
"Wait," Hana warned. "Use a spoon. And sit properly. No syrup gymnastics this time."
"That was one time," Aya mumbled.
"It was two," Kaito added sleepily, flipping a page in the book he wasn't reading. "The honey incident and the chocolate syrup disaster."
"That was science."
"It was sticky."
Hana chuckled softly. "Where's your brother now?"
"Probably hugging his pillow. I told him pancakes are ready. If he's not out in two minutes, I'm eating his share."
"You say that every Saturday," Kaito noted. "And every Saturday, you end up giving him the last bite."
Aya huffed. "Only because he makes a sad face!"
"It's a weapon," Kaito whispered. "Inherited from your mother."
Hana glanced over her shoulder, smiling as she caught Kaito's grin. "Flattery won't save you from kitchen duty later."
"Worth it."
As the last pancake slipped onto a plate, footsteps finally echoed from the hallway—slow, dragging, and unmistakably sleepy.
Ethan emerged, still rubbing one eye, his black hair flattened on one side. He wore a plain white T-shirt and loose pants, looking exactly like a boy torn from the arms of sleep and thrown into a bright, noisy world.
"You're alive," Aya announced dramatically.
"Barely," he muttered. "What time is it?"
"Time for you to lose your share of pancakes."
"Not a chance."
He dropped into the seat beside her, eyes still half-closed, and reached for the cup of water Hana had just placed near his plate.
"Morning," Hana said, pressing a hand gently to his head as she passed. "You slept well?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah."
She smiled and returned to the counter.
Kaito set his book down. "You know, I was thinking. Saturdays should start at noon."
"Then Mama would make lunch instead of pancakes," Aya pointed out.
"Terrible idea," Ethan said instantly. "Withdraw your suggestion."
The banter flowed easily, like a well-worn script passed between actors who had rehearsed love and laughter for years. Their small dining table might not have carried gold, but it held something better—warmth, safety, and a quiet rhythm that made the outside world feel far away.
Ethan took his first bite, still chewing sleep out of his brain, and let the pancake melt on his tongue.
And though he didn't say it out loud, he was glad—deeply, wordlessly glad—that he had woken up to this again.