---
The sun peeked through the half-drawn curtains, gently washing the condo in pale morning light. A soft breeze rustled the edge of the paper calendar hanging by the fridge. The scent of toasted bread and bitter black coffee wafted through the open kitchen.
Ken stood at the counter in a simple gray hoodie and sweatpants, hair still messy from sleep. He stirred honey into his tea like a monk preparing for meditation, everything deliberate, slow.
He had woken up an hour ago, long before Arashi's bedroom door creaked.
This wasn't a home—it was a war zone disguised as domestic life. And Ken, being raised right, had decided to be the better man.
"Make breakfast for both of us," his aunt had said the night before, patting his head. "Be nice. Arashi's a good boy deep down."
Ken doubted the existence of that "deep down."
Still, he buttered an extra slice of toast. He even cracked two eggs.
And right when he placed everything neatly on the table…
BANG.
Arashi's door swung open like a horror movie jump-scare.
There he was. Shirtless. Sleepy-eyed. Tattoo peeking out from under his collarbone. Messy hair falling over his eyes. A single silver chain glinting on his neck.
Ken nearly dropped the teacup.
"You're awake early," Arashi muttered, scratching his stomach.
"I have class."
"Huh."
Arashi stumbled to the kitchen, completely ignoring the food Ken had prepared. He grabbed a can of soda from the fridge and popped it open.
Ken frowned. "That's not breakfast."
Arashi took a loud sip. "I don't remember hiring a mom."
"You're going to rot your stomach drinking that on an empty—"
"Did I ask for a lecture, Napkin?"
Ken's eye twitched. He took a breath. Stay calm.
"I made eggs. Toast. You could at least say thank you."
Arashi looked at the plate like it was poisoned.
Then, with the grace of a wild animal, he picked up a piece of toast, sniffed it suspiciously, and took a bite.
Ken watched him chew.
Arashi swallowed.
"…Not bad."
That should've been the end of it. But no. Arashi grinned.
"You trying to win me over or something? Got a crush?"
Ken's ears turned pink.
"Excuse me?! I'm just trying to be civil, unlike you!"
"Sure, sure. Civil." He took another bite and plopped onto the couch. "Keep cooking like this, I might let you stay."
"You don't let me stay. I was forced to."
"Still could've run away. But here you are. Making me breakfast like a doting housewife."
Ken grabbed a pillow and threw it at his face.
Arashi caught it midair and smirked.
"Try harder next time."
---
Later that day, they crossed paths again. Arashi came home reeking of smoke and club music, his helmet dangling from one hand. Ken was folding laundry in the living room, clearly annoyed.
"You smell like the inside of a trash bin," Ken mumbled.
"Better than smelling like your granny's laundry soap."
Arashi threw his jacket on the sofa. Ken tossed it back at his face.
"Hang it up properly."
"You hang it."
"I'm not your maid."
"Then stop acting like one."
That night, Arashi showered first and used up all the hot water.
Ken screamed when cold water hit him, and Arashi just laughed from the living room.
"I told you not to wait, Princess."
Ken threw his towel at the wall and swore under his breath.
---
But later, as Ken brushed his damp hair and sat at his desk to study, he glanced at the empty plate Arashi had left behind. He'd finished all the food.
Ken's lips twitched.
And on the other side of the room divider, Arashi stared at the ceiling from his bed, one hand behind his head, thinking:
"…He didn't suck at cooking."
He shut his eyes.
Tomorrow was another day in hell.
But maybe…
A little less hellish than expected.
---