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If there was any way Emu loved to help someone, it was through food. Not fancy food, not particularly well-made food—but food made with so much enthusiasm that it was almost impossible to be upset when something came out lopsided or slightly burnt.
Back when the four of them had first moved into the apartment, this enthusiasm had nearly become a disaster. Emu, thrilled at the idea of “housewarming cupcakes,” had put a tray in the oven and then gotten distracted talking about decorating ideas with Nene. By the time Rui remembered to ask, “Wait, didn’t you put something in the oven ten minutes ago?”, a suspicious smell was already curling through the hallway.
They managed to rescue the apartment before anything truly bad happened, but the cupcakes were… not so lucky. From that day onward, the four partners made a personal rule: never bake without a buddy.
In practice, this meant Emu would pop her head into whatever room Rui or Tsukasa were in, wave cheerfully, and ask something like, “Hey hey! Can one of you supervise me so I don’t set off the fire alarm again?” And they always agreed—if only because they’d rather take a few minutes to help than risk another oven incident.
Today, though, she wasn’t baking. She wanted to help with dinner. Tsukasa usually handled it—he liked having a routine, and he’d gotten surprisingly good at putting together meals that weren’t just instant noodles or whatever Nene grabbed from the store. But tonight, Emu’s homework was finished, Rui was tinkering with something complicated in the living room, and Nene had headphones on and definitely wasn’t to be disturbed. So Emu decided: this is my chance! I can totally help!
She marched into the kitchen with the kind of determination that could move mountains… or at least pots and pans. She tied her apron on backwards at first, fixed it with a grin, and scanned the counter as if evaluating a stage before a performance.
The fridge door swung open dramatically. “Okay!” she announced to no one in particular. “Dinner helpers start with… vegetables!” she continued to declare, confidently.
Behind her, from the living room, Rui’s voice drifted in like a complaint carried on a breeze. “If you’re planning to put broccoli in anything, I’m boycotting dinner.”
Emu peeked around the corner. Rui was sprawled on the floor with wires around him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“It’s not broccoli,” she reassured. “Probably.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” he said flatly.
Emu grinned and returned to the fridge. Tsukasa usually tried his best to get Rui to eat at least some vegetables, but it was always a battle of wits—Tsukasa would chop them small, hide them in sauces, or present them with dramatic speeches about nutrition. Rui would either detect them instantly or claim “creative objections.”
Still, Emu grabbed carrots and green onions because they looked colorful and fun. She placed them on the counter with all the ceremony of a magician revealing props.
“Don’t worry!” she called over her shoulder. “I’m only helping with chopping. Tsukasa’s the one who knows how to make things Rui-proof!”
“That is not a real category,” Rui muttered.
“It totally is!” Emu said, already grabbing a cutting board. Her enthusiasm almost made the vegetables look nervous—if vegetables could be nervous.
She gathered ingredients in a small pile, then paused—because even with all her energy, the tiny memory of that blackened tray of cupcakes tugged at her. Tsukasa wasn’t in the kitchen yet.
Should she start on her own? Should she wait?
Emu paused for a few seconds. She remembered the cupcake incident. She remembered Tsukasa insisting gently that she wait for him before turning anything on. So she decided: chopping was okay. Anything that involved heat… she’d wait.
For now, she hummed as she sliced carrots into surprisingly even coins. If Tsukasa walked in right this moment, he’d see a kitchen that looked almost peaceful—Emu working carefully, vegetables prepared, no smoke, and Rui peeking in from the dining table like a suspicious cat.
It was shaping up to be one of the calmer dinners they’d had in a while.
Probably.
~
Tsukasa was finishing up what he’d been quietly working on—just some extra practice for class (or maybe finishing one last problem set). He glanced at the small digital clock on his desk. The hour had shifted: dinner time.
He stepped out of his room, stretched a little, and made his way toward the kitchen. The soft glow of the overhead light guided him. As he slowed in the doorway, he paused.
There was Emu, apron on (still inside-out, because of course), carefully transferring chopped carrots, onions, and a few other veggies into bowls. She hummed quietly, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. The kitchen didn’t smell of smoke or burnt sugar — just clean cutting-board and fresh veggie vibes.
Tsukasa raised an eyebrow, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “What’s all this?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Emu turned, eyes brightening. “I thought I could help—make dinner with you tonight. Since I finished my homework…” She tilted her head as if assessing the ingredients like they were puzzle pieces. “I chopped the vegetables. If you want, I can help with the rest. Or just… watch and learn?”
He chuckled softly. “You already look serious about it. What’s your plan?”
Emu’s smile widened. “Well… maybe you handle the hot stuff. I can stir, or prep sauces, or pass you things like a kitchen assistant ninja. Whatever you need. As long as I don’t accidentally bake something and almost burn the place down again.”
Tsukasa regarded the bowls of vegetables, then looked back at Emu. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s do it — together.”
Emu’s face brightened even more. She picked up a bowl. “Cool! I got carrots and onions. Tsukasa, do you want the green onions?”
He nodded. “Sure — and maybe you can start rinsing those mushrooms while I get the pan ready.”
Emu nodded eagerly and turned to the sink, already reaching for mushrooms. The kitchen was calm, balanced.
Tsukasa washed his hands and moved to the fridge, pulling out the package of chicken they’d bought a couple days ago. Emu, meanwhile, took the bag of rice from the pantry with the kind of determination usually reserved for stage props.
“Tsukasa, you’re okay with the poultry, right?” she asked, setting the rice cooker pot in the sink. “I still get nervous touching it. It’s so… slimy.”
He laughed under his breath. “Yeah, I’ve got it. Just measure out the rice. Remember to rinse it until the water’s clear.”
“Got it!” Emu saluted, nearly splashing water out of the pot as she started washing the rice. “Rinse until the rice looks like it could be in a commercial. Crystal-clear!”
Tsukasa opened the package of chicken carefully and began trimming it, working with a quiet efficiency he’d learned from necessity.
“So!” she said brightly. “Do you think Rui will notice if we put the vegetables in small pieces? Like… tiny-tiny?”
Tsukasa shook his head with a sigh. “He always notices. He has some kind of sixth sense for vegetables.”
“Right? He’s like—” Emu held up a carrot slice dramatically. “—a veggie-detecting robot. Beep boop, nutritional content detected!”
From the living room, Rui’s voice drifted in, unimpressed and absolutely audible. “I can hear you, you know.”
Emu froze mid-robot-impression. Tsukasa paused halfway through slicing.
There was a beat of silence. Then Emu snorted. “…Beep boop?”
Tsukasa pressed his lips together, trying and failing not to laugh.
Rui added, “If you’re planning to hide anything orange in tonight’s meal, I want to formally request advance warning.”
“We’re not hiding anything!” Emu called back, which wasn’t entirely true. “We’re just chopping responsibly!”
Tsukasa leaned closer and whispered, “He’s going to check every bowl now.”
Emu whispered back, “He always checks every bowl.”
And the two of them started chuckling—quiet at first, then louder when they heard Rui mutter something that sounded like, “I’m surrounded by traitors,” under his breath.
Still smiling, Emu returned her attention to the rice cooker. She began rinsing the rice with renewed enthusiasm, the earlier teasing settling into a warm sort of background energy between the three of them.
Tsukasa finished with the chicken, washed his hands, and glanced over. “Alright. Once you get that started, we can move on to the sauce.”
“Rice is rinsed and ready!” Emu announced, tapping the side of the pot proudly.
She set it into the cooker, closed the lid, and hit the button with a flourish. “There! Rice is going. One step closer to dinner!” She moved back to the counter and began organizing the chopped vegetables into the order she thought they’d need them. Color-coded by vibes, mostly.
Tsukasa transferred the cut chicken into a bowl and washed his hands again. “You did a good job with the vegetables,” he said, glancing at them.
“Really?” Emu lit up. “I tried really hard not to make them look like cartoon sound effects—zig-zags everywhere.”
“They look great,” he said, and he meant it. “It’ll make everything easier.”
She rocked on her heels proudly, then grabbed a small container of soy sauce. “Should I mix the sauce? I want to mix something.”
“Go ahead,” Tsukasa said, pulling out the pan and setting it on the stove. “Just follow the recipe on the fridge. And don’t triple the sugar again.”
“That happened once, and Rui and Nene still complain like it was a crime.”
“It was very sweet chicken,” Tsukasa said diplomatically.
“Rui ate two bites!” Emu reminded him.
“Rui also spat them out,” Tsukasa pointed out.
Emu laughed again, pouring soy sauce into a bowl with dramatic precision. “Okay! No disasters today. I promise!”
The peaceful rhythm of cooking settled between them—Tsukasa heating the pan and seasoning the chicken, Emu stirring a sauce that wasn’t overly sugary this time, the rice cooker humming quietly in the background.
In that moment, the kitchen felt warm and lived-in. Like the four of them had been doing this for years instead of months.
With the rice cooker happily humming, Tsukasa heated the pan and added a drizzle of oil. Emu stood beside him, bowl of sauce in hand like she’d been entrusted with something sacred. ”Is this okay? I figured I should ask what you think before we put it in with everything else.”
Tsukasa took a quick look, nodding. “Looks good so far.”
“Okay!” she said. “When do I get to pour this in?”
“Not yet,” Tsukasa said, lifting the chicken with tongs. “We need to cook this first. If you add the sauce too early, it’ll burn.”
Emu nodded seriously. “Right. Sauce last. Got it.”
A beat.
“…Unless Rui hears us talking again and assumes we’re burning vegetables.”
From the living room, Rui muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m choosing to pretend I can’t hear this.”
Tsukasa hid a grin as he laid the chicken into the pan. It sizzled, warm and comforting, and Emu’s eyes sparkled at the sound. “Whoa. It’s like applause!”
“That’s… one way to think of it,” Tsukasa said as he stirred.
Emu clasped her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels as she watched. “Do you think I could learn to do that? Without, y’know… explosions?”
“You already helped a lot today,” he said, glancing at the neatly arranged bowls of vegetables. “And your chopping is getting really good.”
Emu glowed at the praise. “Then I’ll try even harder next time!”
The cooking settled into an easy rhythm—Tsukasa flipping chicken, Emu handing him vegetables one bowl at a time, the two chatting quietly about school, and about how the kitchen weirdly felt calmer than usual.
Halfway through, soft footsteps padded down the hallway.
Nene appeared in the doorway, blinking sleepily. “…Why does it smell like actual food?” she asked. “Nothing’s burning.”
“We’re making dinner!” Emu said proudly. “Wanna help?”
Nene rubbed one eye. “Help how…?”
“Could you set the table?” Tsukasa asked gently. “Utensils, plates—whatever’s clean.”
“Oh. Sure.”
Nene wandered in, tying her hair back as she opened the dish cabinet. She moved quietly but efficiently, gathering plates and chopsticks the way someone might if they weren’t fully awake but had muscle memory on their side.
As she passed the stove, she glanced into the pan.
“…Vegetables?” she murmured. “You know Rui’s going to—”
“Yes,” Tsukasa sighed.
“He already complained,” Emu added brightly.
Nene snorted softly. “Sounds about right.”
She carried everything to the dining table and began setting things neatly: plates in a row, utensils aligned, cups pulled from the drying rack. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt warm—like a shared effort, everyone contributing in their own way.
“Should I get the napkins too?” Nene called from the table.
“Yes please,” Tsukasa replied.
“Got it.”
The three of them moved around the space naturally, weaving around each other with easy familiarity. Even the simmering pan and the faint rice-cooker steam felt like part of the routine.
It was simple. It was calm. It was theirs.
~
The last of the vegetables hit the pan with a soft hiss, and Tsukasa stirred everything together until the sauce coated it all in a glossy sheen. Emu watched closely, leaning in just enough to see but not enough to get in the way.
“Looks like it’s done,” Tsukasa said, turning off the stove.
Emu practically beamed. “We did it! With zero fires! And no sugar disasters!” She held up her hand for a celebratory high-five.
Tsukasa gave her one without hesitation. “You did a great job today,” he said, more seriously than she expected. “Thank you. Really. Cooking with someone… makes everything go faster. And it’s kind of fun.”
Emu’s eyes softened. “Of course! I wanted to help. And I like doing things with you, y’know? It always feels less scary when I’m not doing it alone.”
Tsukasa nodded, understanding that more than she realized. “Then we should cook together more often.”
Emu grinned. “Deal!”
They transferred the stir-fry into a serving dish, the rice cooker clicked into its warm setting, and the kitchen suddenly felt full—of warmth, of good smells, of teamwork done right.
Tsukasa wiped his hands on a towel. “Alright. Time to gather the last member of our team.”
“You mean the picky one?” Emu teased.
From the living room, Rui echoed, “I heard that.”
Emu burst into laughter. Tsukasa shook his head, smiling as he walked toward Rui’s workstation.
“Dinner’s ready,” Tsukasa announced. “Vegetables are involved, but they’ve been cooked thoroughly and responsibly.”
Rui glanced up from his project, suspicious. “Define ‘responsibly.’”
“No explosions,” Emu called.
“And nothing green floating mysteriously in liquid,” Tsukasa added.
Rui considered this. “…Acceptable terms.”
He stood, stretching his back before following them to the table where Nene had already set out plates. The four of them gathered—routine, relaxed, familiar.
Tsukasa brought the serving dish over. Emu set out the rice. Rui examined the food with narrowed eyes but didn’t immediately protest, which was a small miracle. Nene rolled her eyes at her childhood friend/boyfriend playfully.
He stood, stretching his back before following them toward the dining table. Nene was already seated at one of the chairs, chin resting in her hand as she scrolled on her phone with the other.
When she noticed Rui approaching, she set her phone down with a smirk. “If you complain about the vegetables, I’m switching seats,” she warned.
“I haven’t even said anything yet,” Rui replied, offended in tone if not in posture.
“You don’t have to,” Nene said. “Your face does all the talking.”
Tsukasa walked over with the serving dish, trying not to laugh. Emu set the rice on the table with a triumphant flourish.
Rui took his seat, leaning forward to inspect the contents of the dish with narrowed eyes. Nene tapped the table lightly. “If you find one piece of onion and act like it’s poison, I’m leaving you here.”
“I don’t mind onions,” Rui muttered. “It’s carrots I—”
“Then don’t look too closely,” Nene cut in, deadpan. “Problem solved.”
Rui stared at her, then sighed as if greatly burdened by his circumstances. But he didn’t protest further, which—by the standards of the household—was nothing short of miraculous.
And just like that, they all sat down together—another regular night, another shared meal, another small moment that felt like home.
As everyone began serving themselves, Emu watched the little scene unfold—Tsukasa helping Rui without making a big deal of it, Nene quietly nudging the napkins closer to the middle of the table, Rui pretending he wasn’t poking suspiciously at every vegetable piece he found.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fancy. But it was… them.
Emu sat down with her own plate, settling into her chair with a small, satisfied breath. She’d chopped vegetables without turning them into strange shapes. Started the rice cooker without panicking. Helped Tsukasa cook real food that didn’t smoke up the kitchen. And everyone was here, together, eating something she had actually helped make.
She rested her elbows lightly on the table and smiled to herself.
She loved this—helping out, doing things with her friends, making their lives even a tiny bit easier or happier. Even something simple like dinner felt special when she could contribute to it. When she could take part instead of watching from the sidelines. When she could do something that made the people around her smile, even if it was small.
Maybe she wasn’t the most skilled cook. Maybe she still needed to ask a dozen questions and double-check every step. But today, she’d helped. Today, she’d been part of it.
And that was enough to make her heart feel warm.
Nene nudged her plate gently. “Emu? You okay?”
Emu perked up, grinning brightly. “Yup! Just happy!”
Nene raised an eyebrow but smiled back. Tsukasa chuckled. Rui pretended he didn’t look fond of the comment, but he definitely did.
Emu took her chopsticks and joined in, surrounded by the comfortable clatter of dishes and soft conversation between them.
Yeah. Moments like these were her favorite.