Chapter Text
Senku shuffled into the kitchen, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. He filled the kettle at the sink, placed it on the base, and pressed the switch, watched the indicator light turn on, and then moved to the counter.
Rice went into the pot next. He washed the rice at the kitchen sink, rinsing a few times before the water went clear. The rice cooker clicked shut and then let out a soft beep as it started.
The light came in through the window of the small kitchen. He adjusted the curtain so that the sun was not shining directly into his eyes. He’d been saying for months now that he should just get a new one that would block the morning sun, but he hadn’t been able to find the time.
He grabbed two bento boxes from the dishwasher and placed them on the counter side by side. Next he pulled out a pan and placed it on the stove, the pan scraping lightly on the burner.
“Sweetheart, how would you like your eggs?”
His daughter, Suika, was already sitting at the kitchen table. She was still in her PJs, wearing mismatched socks. One striped one that was longer and then one short plain one. Senku had smiled softly when he noticed.
She was watching an educational video on her tablet. She never slept in and was often awake even before Senku like she had been today. He had already made sure she brushed her teeth and made her bed before she had run off ahead of him to the kitchen this morning.
"Sunny, please!" She called, bright and immediate.
Senku glanced over his shoulder to her. She hadn’t even looked up from her tablet. He grabbed some green onions and eggs from the fridge.
“What are you watching?” Senku asked as he chopped up some green onions.
“I’m watching a video on black holes.” Suika said brightly. “Did you know if a black hole the size of the Sun replaced it, Earth would keep orbiting?”
Senku glanced over his shoulder at her. "Same mass, sweetheart. Not the same size."
She hummed in acknowledgment, already absorbed again. Senku turned back to the stove, tired, fond, and oddly content as the morning continued around him.
The rice cooker finished. He plated the rice and egg and placed the plate and a juice in front of Suika. “Tablet off while you eat please.”
“Thanks dad!” She grinned, smiling as wide as she could make it. He watched as she turned off the tablet and reached for her chopsticks.
He turned back to the counter to begin working on the bentos he had laid out earlier.
He’d balanced Suika’s without thinking about it. Protein, vegetables, carbs. Rice. Sweet omelet, little octopus sausages that smelled faintly smoky. Green broccoli pressed into the corner, and a cherry tomato tucked in so it wouldn’t roll. A tiny cup of sesame dressing placed in the designated spot. A note left on top of the box stuck on with a small panda sticker. Practical and healthy, perfect for Suika.
He made his own bento mostly the same but with a little extra protein.
"Don’t forget, Grandpa’s video calling at six," Senku said as he wrapped up her bento box in the space-themed cloth, folding the corners with practiced care. "Remember, that’s one a.m. for him, so we don’t want to be late."
He tied the knot and glanced up at her, mouth twitching. "It’s past the old man’s bedtime, after all. We shouldn’t keep him waiting."
"Grandpa Byakuya said adults don’t need bedtimes," Suika said between bites.
"Oh, he’s being funny now, is he?" Senku laughed as he picked up her bento and slid it into her backpack. "Adults without bedtimes are very grumpy in the morning."
Suika squinted at him, then smiled around her food. "You were grumpy this morning."
Senku paused, then snorted. "That was unrelated."
She giggled, clearly unconvinced.
"Eat a little faster, Bug," Senku said, amused. "You still have to get dressed, and I need to detangle and brush your hair. Did you let a rat sleep in it last night?"
He walked over and reached out, immediately regretting the attempt as his fingers caught in her hair.
Senku froze, then gave her a long, long dad look. "Oh, you’re definitely going to yell at me while I try to brush this."
***
She did. More than once.
He sprayed leave-in conditioner into her hair, working carefully through the knots while Suika protested at full volume. She demanded to do it herself but Senku pointed out, gently but firmly, that if she wanted to make it to school on time, he had to be the one handling it.
When the worst of it was finally over, he smoothed her hair down with his palm. "Sorry, Bug," he murmured. "I know it hurts."
She sniffed, then leaned briefly into his side, forgiving him just as fast.
He handed her the freshly washed and ironed uniform he’d taken care of the night before, then retreated back into the kitchen to grab something quick for breakfast for himself while he waited for her.
He helped her into her shoes, double-checked that everything was in her backpack before she slipped it on, then settled her safety hat onto her head. Suika reached up automatically to adjust it, muscle memory from a hundred mornings like this.
Senku smiled at her, warm and quiet, as she did and he adjusted her backpack straps more out of habit than necessity.
A quick weather check on his phone showed she would not need an umbrella and that her light weight jacket would be sufficient.
Before leaving, Suika stopped in front of the small shrine tucked beside the shoe cabinet. She bowed, hands pressed together, the way Senku had taught her.
“Bye,” she said softly.
She turned to Senku and tossed a quick, "See you after school, Dad!" over her shoulder before darting out the door. Her foot caught on the step in her hurry.
Senku flinched, arm already shooting out on instinct, heart jumping, but she caught herself just as fast, laughing as she took off down the short stretch of sidewalk.
As his heart finally settled, Senku watched from the doorway as Suika met the neighbor’s kid at the end of the sidewalk, the two of them falling into step, already talking over each other. By the time they reached the crosswalk, three more kids were waiting, the group forming easily around her.
Once she was out of sight, Senku stepped back and closed the door. For the first time since he’d woken up, the house was completely silent.
He lingered there a moment, eyes drifting to the small shrine by the shoe rack. "I knew she wasn’t actually going to fall," he murmured. "I just panicked. You know how I am."
No answer came, but the silence felt less empty even if just for a moment.
After another beat, Senku turned and shuffled back toward his bedroom, already reaching for his button up to finish his own routine as he got ready for the day ahead.
***
By 8:10, Senku was out the door. At 8:25, he was standing on the train platform when his phone buzzed with a message from Suika, telling him she had made it to school and was leaving her phone tucked in her cubby.
Senku sighed. She was not supposed to bring the phone to school,and she knew it. The fact that she texted him anyway, with no excuse or attempt at a cover story was very her. She had never been very good at lying. Senku had made sure of that when she was younger.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, already resigned. He would have to address the phone issue with her tonight.
Again.
***
Suika got home just after three. She waved an overenthusiastic goodbye to her friend at the corner, then unlocked the front door with the key she kept tucked safely in her backpack.
She sent her dad a quick i’m home. i’m going to make ramen with the microwave text as she kicked off her shoes, already reaching into the cabinet to pick out a flavor. His reply came almost immediately.
Don’t microwave it too long this time.
Suika huffed and sent back the eye roll emoji, trying to hide how embarrassed the reminder actually made her. Senku already knew though.
While the ramen cooled on the counter, she pulled out her homework and started her math drills. These went quickly. Senku had been working on math with her since she was little, and numbers made sense to her.
Kanji was harder.
She stared at the practice sheet, copying each character slowly, trying to keep the strokes neat and even. Senku always made her do extra practice on weekends to improve her accuracy and handwriting. She hated it, but she mostly did not fight him on it. She understood why he insisted, even if she did not like it.
***
Senku always got home just before six, just barely in time to catch Byakuya’s call.
The conversation usually started with ten minutes of Byakuya talking to him. Asking about work. Asking how he was holding up. Asking if he had heard from any of his childhood friends and how they were doing. Senku watched Suika grow more and more impatient beside him, clearly waiting for her turn to talk to her grandfather.
“Byakuya,” Senku said, already handing his phone to Suika, “talk to your granddaughter so I can make dinner.”
He listened to their voices drift through the house as he put something simple together. Thin slices of beef and onion simmered in soy sauce. He added a soft-boiled egg and spooned everything over rice.
“Little Comet, how is school going?” Byakuya asked. “You still like that teacher of yours? Suzuki-sensei, was it? The one you said was named after a metal?”
Senku realized, distantly, that he had not met the teacher yet. He had been juggling too much. A full-time job, raising his daughter on his own, and remembering to take care of himself on top of it all was more than enough to keep him occupied.
He tried his best though, and Suika never complained.
***
Suika was always good at going to bed when told. That did not mean she actually went to sleep. More often than not, if Senku went to check on her later, he would find her huddled beneath the blankets with a flashlight and a book. Usually, he gave her about an hour before saying anything. Staying up late to read was one rule he was willing to let her bend.
Once Suika was tucked in, Senku went through her backpack. It was a nightly routine, for a few reasons. The first was that she almost always forgot to put her bento box in the sink. He also checked for any half-eaten snacks she might have stuffed into a pocket and forgotten about.
The second reason was that his daughter was not particularly good at mentioning notices sent home from school. Her school-issued envelope did, in fact, contain something new today.
Carefully folded inside was a notice about the upcoming observation day.
Suika was usually good at remembering to tell him about observation day, so the fact that she hadn’t said anything surprised him. He made a mental note to let his employer know he would be coming in late that morning. Ever since it had become just the two of them, Senku made a point to attend every school event, no matter how small.
Senku checked for the faint line of light beneath Suika’s door. Sure enough, the light from her flashlight shone through. He used it as an excuse to move around the house. If she wasn’t ready to sleep yet, that meant he could take care of the louder chores without worrying about waking her.
He loaded the dishwasher, scrubbed a few pans, and reheated leftovers in the microwave. He ate standing at the counter, letting something mindless play on the TV in the background.
After about an hour, he made his way back to Suika’s room. He paused outside her door and gave it a light tap. The glow beneath the door vanished instantly, an sign that she had turned off the flashlight as fast as she could.
“All right, Bug,” he said, gentle but firm enough that she knew he meant it. “Go to sleep for real now.”
He heard the faint rustle of bedsheets as she finally settled beneath her blanket, and only then did he make his way to his own bedroom. He changed into an old T-shirt, the fabric thin with age, holes worn through it and a torn seam under one arm. Suika insisted he throw it away, but it was one of the few things he still felt any real sentiment for. He did not know how to explain that to her without making her sad, so he told her it was still good enough to sleep in.
He pulled on a pair of flannel sleep pants and climbed into bed.
He leaned back against the headboard, laptop resting on his legs, and idly scrolled through the notes one of his interns had turned in late that afternoon. They were good. Incredibly messy, but full of signs that the kid was making real progress for once.
Eventually, the words began to blur together. He shut down the laptop, set it in the empty space beside him on the bed, and finally let sleep take over.