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DAY (MONTH) 12
-Satoru-
-ˋˏ ೱ ˎˊ-
Morning
Satoru woke up before Suzume. Again.
He blinked slowly, the familiar dim light filtering through the curtains not giving him any real sense of time. It never did anymore, but that wasn't what concerned him. What bothered him-what had been bothering him for days-was that Suzume was still in bed. She was always the early riser, always up before him, bustling around the house, making her absurdly calming teas, or wrapped up in some project before he even thought about dragging himself out of bed.
Not anymore, though. Now, she was still there beside him, her breathing steady, her body unmoving under the heavy blanket. Satoru turned his head to look at her, a frown tugging at his lips. She looked peaceful, which, under normal circumstances, would be a good thing. But peaceful wasn't the right word for what this was. It was more like exhaustion. Deep, bone-deep exhaustion that kept her from waking up like she used to. It felt too... final.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, which was probably a mess. Normally, Suzume would have made some teasing comment by now, something about him looking like a disheveled bird or whatever ridiculous comparison she'd come up with. But the silence next to him stretched on, uninterrupted, and the only sound in the room was her soft breathing.
He reached out, brushing a lock of her dark hair away from her face. She didn't stir, didn't even shift under the blanket. His fingers lingered for a moment, smoothing the hair back as he watched her. Her skin felt cool beneath his touch, and he resisted the urge to wake her, to make sure she was okay.
This wasn't right. Suzume was always up before him. Always.
With a heavy sigh, he gently pulled the blanket up higher over her shoulders, tucking her in. If she needed sleep, fine. He wasn't going to wake her. Let her rest. She needed it more than she'd ever admit. He'd take care of things for now, or at least pretend to. Not that he was any good at it.
Quietly, he slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen. The air was chilly, biting, but he barely noticed. What he did notice was the lack of the usual scent of herbs or tea. The kitchen felt empty, cold. Suzume's absence was palpable. It shouldn't be this strange-he'd lived on his own for years, done perfectly fine before her. But now, without her quietly moving around the house, everything felt... wrong.
Satoru grabbed a pan and decided to try his hand at eggs. How hard could it be, right?
Turns out, a little harder than he thought.
He sat at the small table, staring down at the sad excuse for breakfast he'd managed to put together: slightly burned eggs and bitter tea. His lips twisted into a grimace as he stabbed at the eggs with his fork. How did people live like this? How had he lived like this?
