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The sun cut through the curtain, rousing Kyouka from sleep. Her bed overflowed with cute stuffed animals and fancy bedding. It was soft. Someday, she woke up fearing that she would be back struggling to live after her parents' death. Someday, she was buried under the weight of this new reality. It was warm and solid.
Things had been warm and solid for Kyouka for a long time, and then everything was real. A fancy private school, two people who genuinely cared about her and her well-being—her happiness: it was undeserved, not with the innocent blood on her hands. She curled into herself and covered her head with the fluffy pink duvet.
The former assassin could already hear Dazai’s lecture about moving on and using those feelings for something positive. It really made no sense that a man like Dazai could give such inspiring advice on life and purpose: mean it with all his heart. She could still remember the look in his eyes—warm and solid.
Her sense kicked in when a smell wafted throughout her room—the smell of miso and grilled fish. The fourteen year old rose from her bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her feet landed on a fluffy rug. Her eyes locked across from her bed, her bookcase filled with well-loved books. The room was big and spacious, yet there was no waste of space. To her right, her desk with a window right above it—her school work currently rests there. Kyouka put on her slippers and opened her door.
She looked at Atsushi's closed door, then looked over the railing to the living room and the kitchen attachment to see a tall, slender man dressed in a blue yukata. Kyouka made her way down the stairs to her right and towards the man.
"Good Morning, Kyouka," the man said affectionately as he started plating the food he was making. The food had an interesting appearance, which raised the question of edibility.
"You didn't need to make breakfast," Kyouka began to help but was stopped by a bandaged man.
"Sit. You just woke up," he slightly eased her into a seat at the table. The table is already set. Dazai’s set of dining ware with a blue handled chopstick. Across from her Atsushi’s with black and white accents. Finally, Kyouka’s eyes fall on the floral-decorated chopsticks—her own.
The bluenette remembered when they had taken her out shopping for everything she could possibly need. Her eyes had lingered too long on the chopstick, but she couldn't bring herself to ask. The words just died in her throat because if she took more, it meant this was real.
So, she just turned her head and watched Atsushi review some of the list. When they reached the checkout, her eyes found the chopsticks. The thing that showed her place at the table. She guessed Dazai had picked them up and placed them in the cart. Most of the items in her room were the same case of Dazai or Atsushi, noted her lingering eyes.
Steps were heard breaking her reverie, and they looked to see Atsushi in his pajamas, yawning and scratching his stomach, which slightly lifted his shirt.
"Kyouka, we talk about this, you don't need to cook for us. Especially with your schoo—," Atsushi was staring at his boss in their kitchen and Kyouka at the kitchen table. "Kyouka is Dazai in the kitchen?"
"Yes," Kyouka blinked back with a blank look.
"And did he make breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Now, that's just rude. Come sit, Kitten," Dazai ushered him to his seat across from Kyouka—Atsushi's scowl present—and soon enough, the food was on the table. Kyouya looked down to see something similar to the Japanese breakfast she would make for them.
"Itadakimasu," they all said. Cautiously, Atsushi and Kyouka began to eat, both pleasantly shocked by the flavor.
"You can cook?"
"What made you come to that conclusion," Dazai rested his head on his hand.
"This,” the weretiger pointed out with his chopstick, “is edible?" Atsushi questioned, looking at the head of the table.
"Yeah, even I can follow a recipe, kitty." Dazai looked at Kyouka almost saying, can you believe this guy.
"I apologize for ever thinking you couldn’t," Atsushi smirked and enjoyed his breakfast. “Though you do tend to burn water,” the weretiger comment.
”Like you are any better,” Dazai throw back all too seriously. Their eyes lock before Atsushi broke out into a hearty laugh.
They all sat in the quiet of the morning, the noise from outside and the sound of pleasant enjoyment until their plates were empty.
"Well, we should get dressed, and then I will walk you to school," Atsushi looked at Kyouka, and before she could respond, Dazai cut in.
"I was planning to take her," Dazai said in an almost challenging tone.
"Don't you have work," Atsushi remarked.
"I Have The Day Off."
"How interesting," Atsushi narrowed his eyes.
Kyouka watched the back-and-forth with slight shock. Her heart felt full. Yet, despite this feeling, she didn't need help getting to school most days; they were asleep from their night work.
"Well, I should call Chuuya to confirm this," Atsushi said, rising from his seat.
"White Reaper, where is your loyalty to?" Dazai’s voice was like a deep ocean.
Atsushi's eyebrow raised at the older, "It's to Chuuya, Sir."
"How dare you!" Dazai stood slapping his chopsticks on the table. "Who do you think signs your checks?"
"Chuuya."
Dazai was ten seconds from crying on the floor to complete his tantrum. Kyouka truly wondered how one person could have to many faces. "You live in my house."
"She doesn't need you to walk her to school. I can do it. Plus, if you go then I need to protect your butt. Not only that you just finish a nearly 48 hour work day—,"
"I don't need either of you walking me to school," Kyouka quietly and steadily interjected. They both closed their mouths and turned to the youngest with shock and hurt.
"You two have been so busy—really, it's fine. You don't have to take me," she said with a small smile, already turning toward the stairs. "I'm just a first year. I can handle it…" Kyouka’s words hung in the air for a moment, then faded as she quietly ascended to her room. Behind the safety of her room, the fourteen year old’s eyes danced across it. She can remember how each item became a part of her room decor. She wondered if she deceived this warmth and love when she had…
"Kyouka, are you okay? We are sorry for being too pushy. If you don't want us to tag along, it's okay. Okay?" Atsushi's calm voice said through the door. She could reply as she sank to the floor. Her mouth was dry. He lingered by the door, and then the floorboards creaked as he walked to his own room. She had to get ready, but now she didn't want to go anymore. Her emotions were fried. Yet, she picked herself up and got dressed.
Now dressed and packed for the day, Kyouka moved quietly through the kitchen and living room, slipping onto the outer deck and closing the door behind her with barely a sound. The crisp morning air lingered just beyond the house, still and expectant. At the threshold, she exchanged her indoor shoes for outdoor ones and then stepped outside.
Dazai and Atsushi blocked the path towards her goal. Atsushi stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze flickering up and down. Dazai, in contrast, was statuesque, his dark maroon eyes locking onto hers.
She made her way to them and walked past them both. Then she turned back to see their dejected faces. "Won't you walk with me?" she spoke in almost a whisper. She wanted them here. She wanted to feel like she had deceived a home again with people who saw her and put her first. She watched as Atsushi's face brightened and Dazai's stance loosened.
"We would want nothing more," Dazai replied. Atsushi rushed to her, "Kyouka, I can take your bag. I’n sure it's heavy."
The former assassin thought about it. It wasn't heavy at all, but the face the mafioso made—he looked like a dejected cat.
"Okay," she placed the bag in his careful hands.
"So, like how do we get to your school," Dazai said, his arms behind his head.
They waved at Kyouka as she entered her school until they could no longer see her. They both turned to figure out how to get back to their house.
“Be honest, Boss. We should be at work?”
Dazai grabbed hold of Atsushi’s arm, and the younger reared back from the contact. “’Sushi,” the bandage smirked brightly and childishly. “Let’s play hooky?”
“You are trying to get us killed by Akutagawa and Chuuya,” Atsushi sighed.
“I'm the boss. Thus, I get to make any call I want,” Dazai proudly stated, dragging the younger man into the streets of Yokohama.