A knock on the sliding glass door stirred Hatori from his stupor.

It had gotten dark. The sunset light that had been glowing through the sheer curtains when he sat down had faded into proper night. He wasn't even sure what time it was. Without getting up from his seat, he tugged the curtain open enough that he could see who was knocking.

From the other side of the glass, Shigure grinned and waved. Ayame was just behind him and would have waved, too, but he was cradling a cloth sack so large it almost hid him completely.

Hatori stared, uncomprehending for a moment. And then a vague memory surfaced of their having invited themselves to dinner.

"We'll stop by later," Shigure said while Ayame nodded along for emphasis. "The three of us can have dinner together."

"I'll fix you something!" Ayame added. "That should make you feel better!"

The rest of the conversation was a blur.

With a groan, Hatori dragged himself up from the couch and opened the door for them.

"Here we are, as promised," Shigure announced cheerfully as the door slid open.

Ayame breezed past them, not bothering with a greeting as he went to set his bag down on the coffee table. "You won't believe the amount of food we brought. It was nearly too heavy to carry! I had to hold the bottom of the bag so it wouldn't tear—It's so dim in here, Tori. Where are the lights?—Gure refused to help, of course, so I had to carry all of it myself!"

His friends knew the layout of the house as well as he did and the lights flickered on before Ayame had even finished asking where they were. He carried on without pause, moving the bag to the floor as gently as he could and starting to unload containers of food from it.

"I offered to help, but you were worried I might bruise the rice or something…" Shigure returned playfully. He hadn't moved from the doorway, waiting for Hatori to invite him in. The concern in his expression was evident, despite his best efforts to cover it up.

Foggy as he was, Hatori took note of it and looked away. It felt wrong to let anyone to worry about him, but he couldn't seem to dredge up the words to put Shigure's mind at ease. They were sunk deep into the hazy darkness at the edges of his mind, out of reach and too heavy to lift even if he could find them. Even something as simple as inviting his friend inside was more than he could manage.

It only took a moment for Shigure to read him. He gave Hatori's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as he came in and closed the door behind himself.

"There isn't room for all these," Ayame fretted obliviously, mentally measuring the space left on the coffee table against the amount of food still in the bag.

"You don't have to set them all out at once," Shigure chided and laughed. He leaned over the collection of containers and turned back to Hatori, still smiling. "I certainly hope you're hungry…!"

The amount of food they'd brought was astonishing. Containers of all sizes, stacked up double—triple in some places—until they looked like they were going to topple off the table onto the floor. And Ayame continued pulling more out of his bag like there was no end. Just looking at it was exhausting.

Hatori wandered back to his place on the couch, his eyes absently following the movement of Ayame's hands. He felt like some part of his brain had shut off. He was watching. He knew where everyone was and what they were doing, but he had absolutely no reaction to any of it, beyond vaguely wondering how they'd fit so many containers into one bag. It seemed like something he should be concerned about. And yet, he wasn't.

Shigure circled around to take the open seat next to him on the couch. "I wish I could say we made everything ourselves," he resumed just as cheerfully as before, "but as it turns out, I'm a terrible cook…!"

"He really is, Tori," Ayame agreed without slowing down.

"Aaya managed to make a few things, though…!"

"More than a few!" Ayame quickly shifted the containers around and built two towers at the edge nearest to Hatori. "All of these, all cooked to perfection! I'm particularly proud of this karaage. I just hope it hasn't gotten soggy…"

Hatori found himself half a step behind the action. He raised his head to look at Shigure, but he was already finished speaking and Ayame had taken over. By the time he shifted his attention to Ayame, the demonstration was over, the towers were built and the unloading of containers had resumed. Ayame was still talking, of course, delivering a meandering and intensely enthusiastic description of the cooking process. But despite his best efforts to pay attention, Hatori just couldn't follow along.

Beside him, Shigure frowned.

"Haa-san… Do you want us to leave?"

The room went instantly still.

Hatori's eyes widened with alarm and darted back and forth between them. He wanted them right where they were—turning on lights and making jokes and talking about things that didn't matter. The thought of being alone again in that dark, silent house, of them leaving him there by himself, was almost more than he could handle.

And yet, the words the words just wouldn't come.

His agony only lasted a moment. Shigure didn't wait long for an answer.

"I'm taking that as a no," he declared and clapped Hatori on the back. Ayame took that as the signal and went back to what he was doing, grinning explanation and all.

It sent a wave of relief through Hatori so strong and unexpected that he wasn't sure how to react. He leaned his elbows on his knees and let out a long breath. As long as they were there, he was okay. As long as they were there, everything was alright.

Another minute or so went by and the clacking of containers finally stopped. Hatori looked up, a little confused. He'd half expected it to really go on forever.

"Looks like that's the last of them," Shigure declared and got up from his seat. "You wait here while we get some dishes. Aaya and I will take care of everything!"

Ayame bounced to his feet. "Of course we will! Well said!"

The pair of them scurried off to the kitchen in high spirits, Shigure leading the way and Ayame prancing after him. Hatori could hear their voices and the sound of cupboards and cabinets opening and closing. But as one minute became several, he started to wonder what the difficulty was. They'd been to his house often enough to know where the dishes and chopsticks were.

He watched the door, listening even more closely to the sounds of them digging through kitchen implements. A part of him wanted to march in there and straighten everything out. If he wasn't so tired, he probably would have. He just couldn't summon the energy. He sighed and let his gaze fall to where his hands hung between his knees.

It was strange. A feeling he'd never had before. Nothing inside him at all but cold, quiet exhaustion. He'd expected to feel sad or angry, the way he'd felt when his mother died. But he didn't. He didn't feel anything at all. He was… empty.

He had to wonder. After the things he'd done—the things Akito had him do—he had to wonder if he had any heart left at all.

A loud crash startled him out of his thoughts and he was on his feet already before Shigure appeared in the doorway looking more than a little sheepish.

"Everything's fine! There's nothing to worry about!" he assured, glancing back down the hallway. "I promise we didn't break anything!"

He couldn't have been less convincing if he'd tried and Hatori started for the door. But before he'd taken more than half a step, Ayame appeared with a stack of dishes looking like nothing had gone wrong at all.

"There weren't any normal dishes, so we grabbed these. Hope you don't mind," he said, ignoring them as he went by, and took the dishes to the table. He set them on the floor beside him and started picking through the stacks of containers to find what he wanted. "What do you want to start with?"

Hatori looked suspiciously down at Ayame and back up to Shigure, who only shrugged and gave him an innocent smile.

"I told you everything was fine," he said. He guided Hatori back into his old seat and sat down as well.

There would have been almost no way to express Hatori's level of exasperation, even under normal circumstances.

The dishes they'd brought out were ones he'd never seen before in his life. He couldn't even fathom where they could have dug them out from. And that, despite having eaten dinner at his house at least once a week for the past decade. More importantly, they'd only brought one plate per person—not even bowls for the rice.

The fact that neither of them seemed to realize there was a problem only made it worse.

"So! Do you remember what we brought? Because I have no idea," Shigure asked, opening a lid halfway to see what was inside. Despite having been present for the entire preparation process, he couldn't remember what they'd made, let alone where to find it on the table. He fully deferred to Ayame, who seemed to know right where everything was.

"Honestly, Gure, you really surprise me sometimes. You could at least try to pay attention," Ayame sighed. He set the containers he wanted on the floor to make room and then started a plate.

There was no denying Ayame's artistic flair. Even with limited space, he found a way to make a decent presentation. Chicken, vegetables, fish and rice, arranged so skillfully around the plate that they managed to look appetizing, even all sandwiched together.

He cleared a space on the table in front of Hatori and set his creation delicately down with an expectant smile.

"There you are, Tori! Eat up!"

Hatori nudged a few things with his chopsticks. He didn't have a clue where to start, and not much of an appetite. But he could feel Shigure and Ayame's eager eyes on him and he knew they wouldn't let up until he tried something. Reluctantly, he plucked the smallest piece of karaage from the top of the mound.

It was soggy after sitting for so long.

"What do you think?" Ayame asked, watching him intently.

"It's good," Hatori muttered back. And he went in for another piece.

He didn't see the bright, excited smiles his friends traded over the table.

Ayame dished out another plate for Shigure and one for himself—though Hatori couldn't help but notice that neither of them had even half the mountain of food that he did. And while the two of them chatted, he worked his way through as much as he could. Two different kinds of vegetables, some quick pickles, several scoops of rice and what must've been a pound of karaage. And somehow, he still didn't seem to have made a dent.

He stopped to contemplate what could possibly be inside the dozen or so containers they hadn't cracked open yet. There was enough food to feed the entire Zodiac and then some.

He was going to be eating leftovers for a very long time.

"You know, Tori…"

Hatori looked up to find Ayame watching him again, even more intently than before.

"I've been thinking. It must be awful being here by yourself," he said sincerely. "Why don't you let me move in and keep you company?"

"What." It was an instant, automatic response.

"Well, why not? There's plenty of room and it isn't as if anyone would object," Ayame explained as persuasively as he could. There seemed to be a chunk of logic missing from his argument and Hatori couldn't quite bridge the gap. "Right, Gure?"

"Uh..." Shigure smiled uncomfortable and held up his hands like he would rather stay out of it.

"I object," Hatori said firmly. "I appreciate the sentiment. But…"

He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of a life that would be. As much as he loved his friends, the thought of spending every waking moment with either of them was enough to give him a headache.

Ayame let out a disappointed sigh. "You don't think it's a good idea? It seems perfect to me…"

Hatori's expression shifted. He knew Ayame was only trying to help and he felt bad for shooting him down. Thankfully, Shigure came to his rescue.

"Say, Aaya, weren't we supposed to go back for your dessert?" he cut in, derailing the conversation.

It was such a sharp turn that it took the others a second to catch up. A light seemed to go on behind Ayame's eyes and he dropped a fist into his palm like he'd just remembered.

"You're right! I almost forgot," he bubbled, hopping lightly to his feet, his disappointment completely forgotten. He was halfway out the door before he finished speaking. "I'll run and get it! Won't be a minute!"

The door closed and the room was instantly calmer. Hatori breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sorry about him. You can thank me later," Shigure said smugly.

"You could've stopped him from giving me so much to eat," Hatori countered, poking at the mountain of food still on his plate.

"Well, you know Aaya!" Shigure countered. But his smile was much warmer than his playful tone implied. "You ought to consider his offer, though. I could talk my parents into letting me move in, too! It could be just the three of us until graduation! What do you say?"

The look of utter unamusement that Hatori gave him would have reduced an ordinary person to ash, but Shigure's grin widened. It seemed being flatly rejected put him at ease.

"Anyway," he said, changing gears, "just wait until you see this dessert."

"What's wrong with it?" Hatori asked bluntly, giving his friend a hard look. The fact that Shigure was looking forward to it made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Wrong with it? You wound me! Always so suspicious!" Shigure said, laying his hand over his heart in mock horror, though it didn't dim his impish grin. "Can't a person just look forward to dessert?"

Hatori sighed and shook his head, turning his attention back to the plethora of containers strewn about the room. "'A person,' sure. You, not so much. And this is way too much food."

Shigure followed his line of sight and his smile turned a little guilty.

"I may have encouraged things a little," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I did so badly with my first dish that my mom decided to take over for me and once she saw how well Aaya was doing… I guess you could say it turned into something of a competition. In her mind, anyway…"

"You're impossible," Hatori sighed.

"Guilty as charged!" Shigure laughed. But he hesitated for a moment, watching Hatori from the corner of his eye. "Listen, I know our moving in for good isn't your favorite idea, but we're here for you if you need us," he said seriously. "If you need anything, we'll be here."

Hatori smiled faintly. "Thanks."

He knew, even without them saying so. He always told people he was stuck with them, but the truth was, he didn't know what he'd do without them. He never had to ask. Whenever he needed them, they were always there. However much he might complain, he was glad he had them.

"Sorry to keep you waiting! You must have been dying of anticipation!"

The tenderness of the moment flew out of the room the instant the sliding glass door opened again and Ayame whirled inside with a small, shallow cardboard cakebox. He didn't notice Shigure cringe at his choice of words. Taking a look at the table and judging there not to be enough room, he carefully balanced the little box on the remaining towers of containers, flipping it open with a flourish, like he was unveiling the grand prize on a gameshow.

"…" Hatori leaned in, confused. He wasn't sure what he was looking at. It looked like it wanted to be a cake, but between the frosting flourishes and flowers, he wasn't sure there was actually anything underneath. He raised his eyes to the beaming Ayame with some concern. "What is it?"

"What is it?" Ayame echoed in disbelief. "What a silly question! It's a cheesecake, of course! —Though, you and Gure didn't join us when we went to the cafe, so it's not surprising that you've never seen one. I'd never seen one, either. They're very popular right now. You'll like it! It's not too sweet…!"

His gaze fell back onto the saccharine monstrosity in the box and he involuntarily shook his head. Even if it had started out being "not too sweet", this particular cheesecake looked sugary enough to kill somebody.

"Aaya decorated it himself!" Shigure chimed in, clearly enjoying Hatori's reaction. "What do you think?"

The level of amusement in his voice was objectively irritating. In all the years they'd been together, nothing seemed to entertain Shigure more than indulging Ayame's off-kilter idea of what was situationally appropriate. The more off base, the more Shigure seemed to enjoy it. And this cheesecake was anything but situationally appropriate. It would've been over-the-top for a wedding, let alone a funeral.

"…Why did you make me a cake?" Hatori mumbled, sinking his head in his hands. He rubbed his eyes with the ball of his hands. He was a whole new kind of tired. "And what do you expect me to do with all this food?"

Shigure and Ayame traded a look.

"We just didn't want you to go hungry," Shigure explained. "We have to look out for each other."

"Besides, now you'll need us to come over and help you eat it all," Ayame added cheerfully.

Hatori's chest tightened and it was hard to breathe around the lump in his throat. Even if they made a mess of his living room—even if they couldn't find the normal dishes—even if their cake was nothing but frosting—even if all the food went bad before he could finish it, he was glad they were there.

"I'll get some plates," he croaked, discreetly wiping the corners of his eyes, and headed into the kitchen.