“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that.”

that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.

you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.

he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb to soothe it.

the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.

“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.

“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”

satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.

“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.

“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”

“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”

he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”

you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.

“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.

“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).

“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”

“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t. we have kids together--”

“you randomly brought them home one day.”

“-- you take care of me.”

“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.

that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.

he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.

“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”

“no.”

this time was included in the 30%.

“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that.”

that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.

you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.

he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb to soothe it.

the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.

“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.

“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”

satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.

“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.

“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”

“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”

he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”

you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.

“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.

“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).

“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”

“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t. we have kids together--”

“you randomly brought them home one day.”

“-- you take care of me.”

“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.

that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.

he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.

“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”

“no.”

this time was included in the 30%.

“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that.”

that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.

you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.

he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb to soothe it.

the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.

“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.

“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”

satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.

“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.

“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”

“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”

he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”

you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.

“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.

“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).

“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”

“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t. we have kids together--”

“you randomly brought them home one day.”

“-- you take care of me.”

“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.

that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.

he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.

“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”

“no.”

this time was included in the 30%.

“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that.”

that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.

you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.

he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb to soothe it.

the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.

“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.

“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”

satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.

“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.

“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”

“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”

he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”

you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.

“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.

“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).

“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”

“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t. we have kids together--”

“you randomly brought them home one day.”

“-- you take care of me.”

“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.

that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.

he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.

“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”

“no.”

this time was included in the 30%.

“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that.”

that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.

you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.

he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb to soothe it.

the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.

“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.

“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”

satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.

“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.

“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”

“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”

he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”

you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.

“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.

“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).

“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”

“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t. we have kids together--”

“you randomly brought them home one day.”

“-- you take care of me.”

“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.

that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.

he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.

“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”

“no.”

this time was included in the 30%.

“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that.”

that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.

you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.

he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb to soothe it.

the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.

“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.

“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”

satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.

“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.

“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”

“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”

he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”

you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.

“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.

“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).

“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”

“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t. we have kids together--”

“you randomly brought them home one day.”

“-- you take care of me.”

“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.

that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.

he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.

“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”

“no.”

this time was included in the 30%.