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“Sir Katou, master Daisuke specifically requested for you not to move around too much-”
“Lincoln, I’m fine, I’m just going to do the laundry-”
“Sir Katou, the sheets are incredibly heavy when they’re wet-”
“I know, Marie. It really isn’t a big deal-”
“You are a guest, and injured at that! You mustn't be doing such a task!”
Both of the head staff stopped Haru in his tracks. “Come on, it’s been like, days already, cut me some slack?”
“Sir, three days is not enough time to heal your wound.” Lincoln says.
Haru sighs. Well, they got a point. He’s just being unreasonable. But if he doesn’t do something soon, the inactiveness will only devour him whole. Nevermind the lingering pain in his leg. “Okay, how about we make a deal?”
Marie and Lincoln stood still.
“You are quite the mule.” Marie comments dryly.
“I’ve been told.” Haru chuckles. “And as a stubborn mule, I’m going to die if I stay put any longer so how about you guys give me the two least tedious chores in the mansion and I swear I’ll do just that for the rest of the week.”
“Master Daisuke seems to be fond of your cooking.”
“Lincoln!”
The head butler shrugs his shoulders. “He asked.”
Marie looks at him in concern then slowly dissipates into soft fondness. Haru’s instantly reminded of his own mother back in Japan. “Alright, starling. You promise you’ll do just the two?”
Haru nods. “Just the two.”
Marie kisses her teeth. “You can assist Jean in the kitchen only and only during dinner.”
“Got it.”
“For now, you can fold the master’s clothing upstairs. Yours as well.”
Haru rushes upstairs as fast as an injured leg can carry him.
👔👔👔
Haru brings a basket of unfolded clothes to the master (Daisuke’s and sorta his) bedroom.
He never thought that he’d be using that sentence-much less living it-yet here here he is.
He holds up a baby blue shirt, examining it. Even his casual wear seemed to cost more than Kamei’s forever 21s combined.
At first, he separates his and Daisuke’s clothes. One pile for him and another for the latter. It honestly didn’t feel right leeching off of his partner like this (even though he was sleeping over most of the time). Although an extra guest at the mansion probably didn’t make a dent, Haru never liked feeling like he was a burden. He’d do anything he can for now.
“Like folding expensive-ass clothes.” He laughs to himself. It’s not really much of a chore. He recognizes some of the things that Daisuke wore at home. Like this weird pleated-shirt and sweatpants. Haru also noticed how contrasting their preference for clothing is. Daisuke seemed fond of monotone palettes, wool, and silk. His own clothes were pastel colored at most, with shapeless outlining and cheap cotton.
But still. When Haru takes a step back, they compliment each other, in a way.
He’ll pretend his heart didn’t fold into a buoyant cloud.
“What are you doing?”
Startled, he turns around. “You’re home early.”
“Meeting ended early.” Weird. Daisuke told him the night before the said meeting could take days. Then again, Haru won’t pretend to know how his businesses and meetings work.
“What are you doing?” Daisuke repeats.
“What does it look like? Ever folded clothes before, young master?” He teases instead.
Daisuke, still clad in that suit of his, does not hesitate to sit beside Haru on the floor. “Can’t say that I have,” He mumbles, all business-like. “I never had the opportunity.”
Haru hands him the plated-shirt from earlier. “Now you do,” He scoots closer to the Kambe head. It was completely unnecessary that Daisuke repeated the action and that resulted in their knees being closer than normal. Haru may or may not purposely bump their shoulders together as well.
“Okay so, you need to start…”
👔👔👔
“You’re terrible at this.”
“You’re a terrible teacher.”
Haru pinches his nose at retaliation. “I’ve shown you the process about twenty times now. You don’t have the right to call me a bad teacher.” This feels familiar; the sky turning autumn to a violet dusk, bickering, and clothes. Haru’s feeling a small tingle of deja vu at this point.
When he sees Daisuke’s determined face, it clicks. “You’re just like my dad.”
“...pardon?”
“He was awful at household chores.” He explains. “Cooking, laundry, folding the laundry, you name it. But he liked watching my mom so much he wanted to do it with her. So everytime the laundry would dry, she would call him and he’d be running to her in a hurry.”
Daisuke stops trying to analyse his pleated-shirt (the poor thing, it’s been through so much) and sets it aside. Apparently, the man had some unused professional-I’m-the-boss-attitude laying around so he directed it at Haru. Crossing his arms, Daisuke nods at him. “By all means, continue.”
“You’ve given up, huh.” He places a newly folded sweater into Daisuke’s pile. “Anyways, I would watch them after I finished folding my own. Mom had the patience of a saint because after fourteen years of marriage, he still sucked. But I think she found a solution, though.”
“And that is?”
Absentmindedly, he says, “She’d sit between his legs and let him watch first person. At first, he didn’t really pay attention but then mom threatened to stop letting him help with all the chores and so he’d...”
Haru doesn’t see the sudden gleam in Daisuke’s eyes as he continues to ramble about his childhood. He wishes he did. But Haru hasn’t really talked about his family in a long while and having someone listening to him blocks out any kind of awareness in him. The billionaire crawls over to Haru and sits behind him, caging him in-between his legs. “Like this?”
It finally registers to Haru as the proximity between them starts to grow non-existent.
“What are you-”
“Testing if your mother’s method works.”
Daisuke perches his head on his shoulders. “Go on, fold.” And there goes the buoyant fold again.
“Stop acting high and mighty.” He chastises lightly. But proceeds to show him again.
Haru shoves a neatly pleated turtleneck into the man behind him. “Well?” He questions. “Do you get it now?”
“No,” Daisuke’s arms somehow found their way around Haru’s waist. He tightens the grip. Haru’s heart tightens along too. “Show me again.”
💸💸💸
The end result was passable (if Haru was being nice). Daisuke got better, albeit by not much. He was still so confused on how to cleanly fold long-sleeves and jackets. But he had the determination, and Haru appreciates that. It’s a small celebration.
“I’ll return these. Stay here.” Daisuke says. “You are injured, after all.”
“Now you remember my injured leg.”
“Never forgot.”
“Didn’t stop you from patting it from time to time.”
Haru watches the man tenderly place the folded piles into the drawers. “Just to make sure,” Daisuke replies.
“That it’s still injured? Yep.” He glances at his right leg. “I doubt it disappears whenever you pat it.” Haru hoists himself up to look at how Daisuke settles the clothes into the drawer. After the whole folding fiasco, it was only right that suspicion would arise whenever “chores” and “Daisuke” were in the same sentence.
Although he was bad at this chore, doesn’t mean he’s terrible at other things. Like right now. “So organized.” Haru whistles. It seems that Daisuke himself was the one who was responsible for arranging his own clothing.
Hold on. Haru’s eyes squint at a familiar star hoodie- on top of a familiar pile of clothing -the one he wore just this morning. “Aren’t those…?”
“I think it’s more convenient to share, don’t you?” Fondly, Daisuke caresses the fabric. A tiny smile makes its way unto his face.
Haru’s heart cannot take this anymore. His heart has folded too many times and now it felt like it wasn’t just a buoyant cloud. No, no, from what was once a humble cumulus now formed into a raging pile of cumulonimbus. It feels so big yet it was light-it wasn’t evasive, it was the weight he didn’t know he needed.
Just what is this domesticity and why is it fueling Haru’s sudden poetic surge?
“Well, yeah. I guess. But I don’t want to intrude.”
Daisuke takes a quick, judgeful look at him. “We’re sharing the same room? I would think sharing clothes would not be as shocking.”
“Are you sure? I thought you would commission a new one or install a walk-in closet.”
“...would you like one-”
“No.”