Chapter 1
The Benefits of Waking Early

Uzuki was an early riser, and she liked to think it gave her an advantage over Kariya. When he didn't keep her up until the early hours, she figured it did.

So it was seven-thirty and she was leaning over a cup of tea, swirling the bag around and giving a yawn. Tomorrow, the game would start again for the first time since Sakuraba's session had jacked up.

Kariya always suggested that the last day she should relax and have some fun before the week started. She considered her tea, then with another great yawn, stretched her arms above her head. Her flung hands knocked the mug back in the action and spilled it all over the counter. "Dammit," she muttered, and leaned over to nab a paper towel or two.

She continued to yawn as she soaked up the tea, tossing the towels in the trash when she was done. Her shirt was wet due to shoddy work on being careful, and she was forced consequentially to change it– to something other than her favorite outfit. She shrugged on a plaid shirt over her bra and buttoned it up, imagining all the things she would do to Kariya when he finally woke up.

He had kept her up late– to paint with her. He had cleared out his room and everything because she had 'nagged' at him about his awful, horrid puce walls for long enough. Finally, he was bothered to do it, but he dragged her down with him. It had been going well until he became bored. He evidently thought flicking paint on her was amusing. That had resulted in many things, one of which being a very long shower in watching the multiple colors he had produced go down the drain.

However, his walls had turned out very interesting and almost tasteful. Perhaps she didn't regret having to stay up late, but she knew that she would never let him know that.

It had taken him exactly one night to return exactly back to normal from the sugar mishap. She accepted him how he came because there was very little she could do. Anything she thought of had a risk paired with it. She would have had given anything for him to be the Kariya she knew again, so now, she decided to keep it that way. If he was better forgetting it all, so was she– or so she told herself.

Getting certain pictures out of her head was the trouble. The butterflies that ensued were the worst. They started coming as soon as she forgot how to be mad at him. He'd smirk, and her mind would go to his lips on hers. Twice. His eyelashes brushing her cheek and how he had to bend himself a little over to kiss her, his fingers in her hair and– no, stop.

Uzuki let out a groan of distress and knocked her head against her closet doors. "I hate his ugly face," she muttered. She did. It was hideous. Awful. Good-for-nothing.
A sigh followed her back to the kitchen, where she prepared a new mug of tea and shimmied herself up onto the counter. Who needed chairs, anyway, when you had counters?

She drank her tea, read the comics in the paper, had a piece of toast, brushed her teeth, and had no idea what to do after that. Only eight forty-five.

Hands on her hips, she stared at the clock, going through her own brain's suggestions.

Breaking into Kariya's apartment sounded like a good idea- but she needed a reason. A reason and something to do when she got there.

So it took a while for her to gather what she wanted together. On the way out, she grabbed two bobby-pins, shoving them into her hair.

Shibuya was just getting warm when she walked through the streets. People were already out- some faster and more urgent than others.

She still didn't have a key to his apartment- his reasoning being that if he wasn't awake to let her in, he didn't want her in there. "Besides," he had told her, "You're with me every second otherwise."

She scowled as she walked up his apartment building steps. When she reached his door, she dropped her bag on the mat and fished for the bobby pins. It was just as easy picking his crappy lock as it had been the time before, and she had it open in no time.

Picking up her things, she slid in through the door and closed it quietly. It wasn't her goal to wake him this time.

What she didn't expect was a Kariya curled up on the couch. It caused her to freeze at first, then she realized to some endearment that he was asleep. He wasn't a light sleeper either.

One leg was up against himself with the other stretched out. His right arm draped itself over his eyes with his hand limp and curled next to his ear. His other arm was up close to his chest, and he wore the paint-splattered black t-shirt that looked exactly like the walls of his room.

She hefted her bag and made her way to the kitchen, which was a little more difficult than usual. He had shoved the furniture from his bedroom into all the empty spaces.

She set out her things and found a tupperware to crack the eggs into. The previously measured (more like haphazardly thrown in because it didn't even matter really) spices, milk and orange juice went in with the eggs.

The pan was heated to cook the soaked bread to a sweet golden color. A pot of brown sugar in corn syrup, vanilla, and cream thickened on the side. All of this was done as quietly as she could manage, and he only shifted once.

It was a little harder not to disturb him when cleared the coffee table, but by the end of it, she had created a small breakfast area.

When she sat down near his foot, she watched as he curled up further and turned his face into the pillow with a small groan.

"Hey."

He took a small breath, muffled by his arm.

"Hey, loser, wake up."

She got him to open his eyes, blinking. His eyes settled on the food first, then swung around to her. Half drunk on sleep, he squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked a few times more, stretching a little. His words were loose and lazy when he said, "This going to become a problem?"

"You don't seriously have a problem with me making you breakfast, do you?" she retorted, pulling her feet up and hugging her legs. "You should be grateful." He yawned in response to her pout, stifling it with a wrist and pushing himself up to a sit. He winced when he moved his shoulder and rubbed at it a little.

"More like... Sleep deprived. As in, I'm not sure my brain can appreciate when my body has different priorities at such ungodly hours," said he.

"Nine is not ungodly."

"It is when you've stayed up 'til three," he pointed out, but nonetheless, he considered the breakfast further and had enough grace to say, "But this looks delicious. I appreciate the effort."

And she, who could never suppress her reactions when it came to compliments, grinned a little in pride. "My mama used to make it on Sundays."

"Cheers to your mom," he said, and smiled back as he reached for a plate.

"All it's missing is strawberries."

"I don't think I mind."

She, too, grabbed a French toast and poured the syrup over it. It tasted like home, to her- but such nostalgics never were a bother and she enjoyed it just fine.

"I see you didn't change your shirt," she began, when everything was finished and he was stacking the dishes.

He glanced down, then over at her. "I see you decided to wear something different for once," he said in return.

She tugged at her shirt gently. "It was behind everything else."

"It looks alright, Uzuki. You should change it up more often," he replied, and that 'alright' was really a compliment, she knew.

She followed him to the kitchen, moving with and around him as they cleaned everything up. "Hm. Okay. I will if you will."

"Change something up every day?" he clarified. He brushed shoulders with her as he passed to the sink. The smell of paint followed.

"Anything."

Uzuki watched his bony fingers rub at the plates and he did it slowly, yet swiftly, thinking. "For how long?"

"Well it doesn't have to be radical. Let's just-" she paused, shrugging. "-keep it that way."

A smile showed on his face. "Guess we're going shopping, then. Because, you know, I only own five or so shirts."

"But you're good on underwear. You're too cool to wear any." She stifled a giggle- more like a hiccup- when he gave a bark of laughter.

"God, Uzuki. Give that up, will you?" He looked over his shoulder at her and flicked water into her eyes. She scrunched up her nose and blinked a little. "See? Underwear."

His thumb hooked in his belt loop and he jerked his waistband down. Red plaid showed before he hitched them back up.

She smirked, wiping at her face a little, and gathered her stuff together while he finished cleaning.

"Before shopping, I have to drop over at my apartment. Get rid of all this crap," she told him- to which he responded with "Didn't taste like crap."

"Hard to botch French toast, really."

He made a noise of confirmation, drying his hands before saying, "Yeah okay, I'll go with you. Just let me get some stuff."

She waited as he weaved around the clutter in the room, hitching his bag up his shoulder and fishing out his keys. "Right. So. Shopping. Then what?" he asked as he closed the door behind them and they made their way down the hallway.

"Massages? Lunch? Cleaning up your apartment?" she suggested.

His chuckle was more of a patient scoff. "You wish."

"We have to get your crap back into your room, anyway," she reasoned.

He gave her a pointed look, stepping out onto the streets of Shibuya. "Not crap. And I'll do what I want with my stuff on my own."

In response to his look, she returned it with a melting, pleading gaze.

"Stop." His eyes had widened a little, and he halted mid-step, swiveling to face her with an accusing finger shooting out to jab her in the nose. "Stop that."

She swatted his finger away, and dropped her gaze to her boots. "Please?"

"Why," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "on Earth would you want to go through my things so badly? There's nothing in there."

"You claim," she quipped. "And yet you refuse to let me help you."

His eyebrows shot up. "Help," said he. "Help with what. I'm not drowning, and I'm fine with my apartment as it is, thanks."

"It's a pigsty."

"It has a character."

She inhaled long and deep through her nose. "You're hiding something."

"I am not! I just don't want your hands all over my stuff!" His shoulders scrunched up, but he made an effort to work himself loose again. It was only when Uzuki kept jabbing at the same things like this that he got riled up at first- but as she kept persisting, he would adjust. However, her persistence with cleaning his apartment clearly rubbed him the wrong way. Consistently.

They had somehow completely switched mindsets on the state of his apartment. A few weeks ago, Uzuki would have rather lived again than clean his apartment. Now, Kariya knew that a deep-clean would conveniently fulfill her new ulterior motives. This made him protective and bothered.

"All you have to say is yes," she said slowly. "I won't damage anything."

His mouth thinned, fingers fiddling at the strap of his bag. After a moment, he said, "I'll think of something."

"For?"

"A challenge. I don't know. Something." He began to walk again. "Something you won't win," he added.

Her blue eyes showed a wicked spark- ignited by the challenge. Her expression maintained that interest for a while as they walked in silence, invisible among the crowds.