Chapter Text
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Fukuzawa awoke to a crash from what sounded like inside the kitchen. He blinked sleep away from his eyes, and dragged himself out of bed to go investigate the cause. The house felt eerily quiet as he slipped out of his room, and the only thing he could hear were the wooden floorboards creaking under him, his own thoughts, and his own breathing. The cold air gave him goosebumps and a shiver ran up his spine from the cold. As he got closer, he got faster. “Who's there—?!” He froze right in his tracks as he saw Ranpo trying to clean up the mess he made from dropping the entire glass container of sugar onto the kitchen floor. His palms were cut a little as he shakily picked up glass, clearly a little spooked from his accident.
“Nh—” He tensed up as he heard Fukuzawa and swiveled his head around, his heterochromatic brown-green eyes, wide and filling up with tears. “I'm sorry, Sir…” He sniffled and looked down at the large mess of white grains. “I didn't mean to,” he wiped the tears from his eyes, pressing his bloody palms against his cheeks, smearing red onto his face. Ranpo got even more flustered as he thought about how much of a ‘baby’ he looked like. An emotional mess just because of some spilled sugar. One time he heard someone say: "Don't cry over spilled milk.” Was this the same but sugar as a substitute?
“Hey, hey…” Fukuzawa quickly ran to Ranpo's side and rested his hand gently on the boy's shoulder. He looked deep into the glassy eyes staring up at him and smiled softly, his hand moving to Ranpo's back and rubbing it. “Accidents happen. It's okay. I don't think of you as any less. Give me the glass in your hands.” He put his hands together and cupped them, holding them out for Ranpo to put all the glass in Fukuzawa's hand. He stood up and went to throw it away in the trash. “Come here,” the older man beckoned as he shifted over to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the box of bandages and alcohol wipes.
Ranpo nodded and stood up walking over to Fukuzawa. He looked at his hands and examined the blood and cuts, a deeper frown forming on his face. Now that he got his emotions a little more undercontrol, his attention was diverted to the piercing sting on his digits and palms. The sugar sticking to the cuts wasn't helping either and Ranpo bit his tongue, water blurring his vision again. “I was trying to make crepes for you before you woke up and–and—” He began to choke on his own spit and words and placed his hands on his hair, tugging at the dark, ashy brown strands. “I–Hggk–probably r–ruined your morning..” He tried to force a smile but it only turned into more sobs.
Fukuzawa diverted his attention to Ranpo and firmly moved his hands away. “Ranpo-kun,” an affectionate whisper left him as he held his head in his large palm, gently caressing the younger boy's cheek with his thumb. “It's okay. This is a simple clean up for me. There's no need to be worried. I'll clean you up and fix you a hot glass of milk. Do you need a hug..?” The last part came out cautiously. Fukuzawa honestly had no idea if he was doing anything right, but he was trying his best to make Ranpo feel better. Ranpo didn't answer and instead jumped into Fukuzawa's arms, sobbing loudly into his shirt. He picked up Ranpo and carried him to the living room and set him down softly onto the couch.
Ranpo gazed up at the ceiling, and then to Fukuzawa. Fukuzawa was laying a warm, soft, white blanket on him. It was Ranpo's favorite from the living room. “Sorry…again…for making such a mess and waking you up and…thank you for doing all of this for me,” He quietly apologized again. Fukuzawa then told him he was going to grab bandages and cottonwipes, and Ranpo let his eyes follow him until he left the room.
When Fukuzawa left, his eyes focused on a random bookshelf. He felt ashamed, embarrassed, sad, guilty, angry at himself, etc. “I…” he started but didn't finish. There wasn't any point in being self-deprecating–especially to the point of saying it out loud. Ranpo knew that much, even if he was feeling horrible about his clumsy self.
Thankfully, Fukuzawa returned rather quickly. Tucked into his armpit was Ranpo's favorite shark stuffie. Fukuzawa, (begrudgingly), bought from a plushie shop that Ranpo had begged him to take him to a month ago. It was light blue, furry, and soft. It was also pretty cute! No wonder it was Ranpo's favorite. The older man approached Ranpo and passed him the shark, turning away to get a cottonwipe. He grabbed Ranpo's hands and he cleaned the cuts, swiping the wet wipe over the fresh, pink, wounds. He also reached up to Ranpo’s face and wiped off the blood, careful not to sting his eyes with the alcohol wipe.
When all the glass cuts were cleaned, Fukuzawa grabbed tan, stick-on bandages, one for each cut, and laid them precisely on the brunette's palms. He smoothed out the bandages and pulled his hands away. “Do you want some hot milk?”
“Mhhm..” Ranpo hummed and held his shark to his chest, nuzzling its nose. Fukuzawa was humming a quiet lullaby while stroking Rano's hair back. The same lullaby his mother used to sing for him. The memory warmed his heart—he yawned and drowsily started to shut his eyes, falling back into the blankness of sleep.
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As the world awoke and the orange light from sunrise flooded through the blinds and into the living room, Ranpo did too. He was curled into himself, his thighs pressed against his stomach and his arms wrapped tightly around his plush. His eyes still felt heavy, and his hands itched a little. He let out a small yawn and tossed his shark and blanket away, sitting up and scooting off the couch. He heard sizzling coming from the kitchen, as well as a pleasant assortment of smells, such as Bacon, Eggs, and the faintest trace of freshly cut fruit. He padded towards the area, and saw Fukuzawa with his hair up cooking over the stove top. The older man immediately noticed the boy, and offered a smile.
“Good morning, Ranpo. How'd you sleep?” His head tilted as his eyes roamed over Ranpo's expression.
“Awful,” Ranpo replied, a groan leaving him. “Ooh! Are those mangos?” He noticed the yellow fruit, the only fruit NOT peeled, and smiled. He liked mangos, but they weren't his favorite fruit. Though, compared to the other fruit on the cutting board, (Orange slices, grapes, and watermelon), it might as well be his favorite. He didn't mind the other options, however.
“What do you think? I've been learning how to cook lately.” Fukuzawa turned the burner off, moving the pan of bacon he finished on to the side. “It may not taste the best, but I'm try—”
“You made a lot.” Ranpo stated.
“—...Yes I see. Is that a problem??”
“No! Thank you!” He shook his head and walked to the table, sitting down and grabbing two little ceramic cats to play with.
Fukuzawa chuckled and began to plate him and Ranpo food, making sure the ratios were perfect. He also made sure that Ranpo's food wasn't touching at all. In the end, there was a meal left for the both of them, and Fukuzawa couldn't help but feel a sense of relief he wouldn't have to cook tomorrow's breakfast.
“Breakfast is served!” He exclaimed and placed Ranpo's food in front of him. Watching his eyes light up and practically twinkle was the best part of Fukuzawa's morning by far. God, he was becoming such a sap for this boy. He was like his own son. It felt really nice.
“Thank you, Fukuzawa-san!” Ranpo beamed and began to dig in. “It's really good,” Ranpo tried to talk with his mouth full, but it came out muffled and he spat out some food. Fukuzawa gave him a slight, unimpressed look, and Ranpo blushed in embarrassment. He swallowed his food and mumbled out a quick: “Sorry,” before continuing to eat. Fukuzawa ate much slower than him, taking the time to enjoy his food. And by the time Ranpo was licking his plate clean—He was still only about three-fourths of the way through.
“Remember to rinse and stack your dish, Ranpo-kun.”
“Gotcha!”
“Do you still want me to cut up that mango?” Called after him.
“No.” Ranpo replied back.
“Okay I'll save it for you.”
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