Chapter 2: first day on earth
The faint glow of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden light across the room. Shirou stirred beneath the blanket, his mismatched eyes blinking open slowly. For a moment, he lay still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he adjusted to the gentle morning light.
His body felt warm, the bed beneath him soft and comforting—so different from the cold, hard surfaces he vaguely remembered from before. Turning his head slightly, he froze at the sight beside him.
Mikado lay sprawled on her back, one arm draped over her face and the other hanging off the bed in a way that suggested her usual grace had taken a leave of absence during the night. Her red-brown hair, while elegant in the moonlight, now resembled a bird's nest post-hurricane. Her soft snores punctuated the otherwise serene morning, a sound that completely shattered the image of her as a poised scientist.
Shirou's eyes widened as he took in the sight. This was the same Mikado who carried herself with the confidence of someone who could solve galactic crises before breakfast?
She stayed with me.
That thought warmed him, even as the ridiculousness of her current position threatened to elicit a laugh. He quickly stifled the urge, instead focusing on the fact that, unlike the cold, indifferent voices of his past, Mikado's presence felt… human. Messy, loud, and occasionally ridiculous, but human.
His gaze shifted to her hand resting on the blanket near him—the same hand that had held his so firmly the night before. Tentatively, he reached out and poked it.
Nothing.
He poked again, a little harder this time. Mikado groaned, turning her head slightly but otherwise remaining firmly entrenched in sleep.
"Mikado," Shirou whispered, leaning closer. His voice was soft, but his urgency betrayed him.
No response.
"Mikado!" he tried again, louder this time.
Mikado's eyes fluttered open, her emerald gaze bleary and unfocused. "Mmm… Shirou?" she mumbled, her voice hoarse with sleep.
"Yes," he said, nodding solemnly. "You… snore loud."
Mikado blinked at him, her brain clearly struggling to process his words. Then her eyes widened in mild horror as she sat up abruptly, running a hand through her tangled hair. "I do not snore!"
Shirou tilted his head, his heterochromatic eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yes. Very loud."
Mikado groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Great. My reputation is ruined."
Shirou didn't respond, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. Mikado narrowed her eyes at him, then sighed in defeat. "Alright, alright. Let's get up. I need coffee, and you… well, you need food."
--
The kitchen was a battlefield of chaos and curiosity. Shirou crouched by the counter, his wide eyes fixed on the toaster as if it were a mystical artifact.
Mikado shuffled in, her white lab coat hastily thrown over her sleepwear, and yawned. "Good morning, Shirou," she greeted, rubbing her eyes.
"Good… morning," he echoed, the words clunky but earnest.
She smiled, gesturing to the toaster. "What are you doing?"
Shirou pointed at it, his expression both serious and confused. "This… machine?"
"That's a toaster. It's for bread." Mikado grabbed a loaf from the counter, sliding two slices into the slots. "Watch."
Shirou leaned in closer, his nose nearly touching the toaster. When it popped, he yelped and fell backward, his hands instinctively raised in defense.
Mikado burst into laughter. "Relax! It's just bread!"
Shirou sat up, glaring at the toaster like it had personally offended him. "Dangerous machine," he muttered.
"It's not dangerous," Mikado said, still laughing. "Just… surprising."
--
The breakfast that followed was an unparalleled comedy of errors.
Shirou picked up a carton of milk and stared at it like it was a puzzle. When Mikado demonstrated pouring it into a bowl of cereal, he nodded solemnly, then proceeded to pour the milk directly into a glass… followed by the cereal.
Mikado, biting back laughter, intervened. "No, no! Cereal first, then milk. And not in the glass!"
Shirou stared at the soggy mess in his glass, his expression unreadable. "Humans… confusing."
Next, he tried tackling scrambled eggs. He picked up a pair of chopsticks—where he'd gotten them, Mikado wasn't sure—and began stirring the eggs as if performing some sort of intricate ritual. Mikado decided to let it slide until he attempted to pick up the entire clump of eggs in one go.
"Shirou, it's not sushi," she said, finally unable to contain her laughter.
"It's food," Shirou replied defensively. "Same rule?"
"No. Definitely not the same rule."
The grand finale came when Shirou attempted to eat an entire peeled orange in one bite. The moment it hit his mouth, his expression turned to pure panic as he realized he couldn't chew properly. Mikado had to quickly help him spit it out, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
"Food is… hard," Shirou grumbled, glaring at the offending orange.
"You're getting better, though," Mikado said, patting his head. "Who knows? Maybe one day you'll make breakfast for me."
Shirou blinked at her, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Cook… for Mikado?"
"Sure. I've always dreamed of having someone make me breakfast," she said, grinning. "You'll practice, right?"
Shirou glanced at the chaos around him—the broken eggshells, the milk-soaked cereal, the dismantled orange—and frowned. His tone was doubtful but determined as he muttered, "Practice… cook…"
Mikado leaned her chin on her hand, watching him with an amused smirk. "Good. You can start by learning how to make toast without burning it."
Shirou gave her a solemn nod, as if she'd just assigned him a life-or-death mission.
The moment of peace was interrupted by the acrid smell of smoke. Mikado turned sharply to the toaster, where a slice of bread had somehow caught fire.
"Shirou!" Mikado exclaimed, grabbing the fire extinguisher.
Shirou stared at the flaming toaster, wide-eyed. "Dangerous machine!"
As Mikado put out the flames, she couldn't help but laugh, even as her kitchen descended into further chaos. "Okay, maybe toast is a level-two challenge for now."
Shirou, covered in a fine layer of extinguisher foam, nodded seriously. "I will… train harder."
Mikado leaned against the counter, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Breakfast with you is not boring, I'll give you that."
Shirou glanced at the ruined toaster, then at Mikado, his expression determined. "Tomorrow… I win."
Mikado couldn't hold back her grin. "I'll be rooting for you, chef."
Later that morning, Mikado transformed the living room into what could generously be described as a makeshift classroom. It was clear that her teaching method leaned more on enthusiasm than professionalism. A slightly wobbly chalkboard was propped precariously against the wall, a stack of colorful flashcards rested on the coffee table, and a suspiciously mismatched set of chalk pieces sat next to an open bag of potato chips—Mikado's self-proclaimed "brain fuel."
Shirou sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the setup with a mix of curiosity and dread. He'd faced down strange machines and blazing toasters, but this… this looked dangerous in a whole new way.
"Alright, Shirou," Mikado declared, clapping her hands together like a coach about to pep-talk a team of underdogs. "Today, we're learning letters and kanji!"
Shirou tilted his head, his red-and-white hair catching the morning sunlight. "Kanji… is?"
Mikado grabbed a piece of chalk and began writing on the board with a flourish, neatly aligning the English alphabet in one row, hiragana in the next, and katakana in the third. Finally, she added a few kanji characters at the bottom for dramatic effect. She stepped back and gestured to her masterpiece like a magician unveiling a trick.
"Japanese is tricky because we use three scripts: hiragana, katakana, and kanji," she explained, tapping the board with the chalk. "Hiragana is for basic words, katakana is for foreign ones, and kanji—well, that's where things get interesting."
Shirou squinted at the board. The jumble of symbols looked more like an encrypted alien message than anything resembling a language. "So many…?"
"Yep!" Mikado replied, far too cheerfully for his liking. "But don't worry! We'll start simple. Watch closely."
She picked up a flashcard with the letter "A" and its corresponding hiragana character, あ, written in bold. "This is A in English," she said, holding it up. "And in Japanese, we write it like this: あ. Easy, right?"
Shirou's expression remained blank as he stared at the card, then at the board, then back at the card. "Looks… same?"
Mikado laughed. "Trust me, it's not the same. Here, try writing it yourself."
She handed him a piece of chalk, and he grasped it like it was a foreign object destined to betray him. He knelt in front of the board and hesitantly began to write. His first attempt at the letter "A" could charitably be described as an artistic interpretation—it leaned so far to the right that it looked like it was trying to escape.
Mikado blinked, then quickly erased it with a smile. "Good effort! Now let's adjust your grip. Hold the chalk like this." She demonstrated, gently repositioning his fingers.
Shirou frowned but complied, his second attempt resulting in something that vaguely resembled an "A" after a bad haircut.
"Better!" Mikado encouraged, giving him an approving nod.
But her enthusiasm took a hit when she introduced kanji. She pointed to the character for "tree" (木) on the board, her smile faltering slightly at Shirou's blank stare.
"What… picture?" Shirou asked, tilting his head so far he almost toppled over.
"It's not a picture," Mikado explained patiently, though her tone suggested she'd already prepared for this question. "Kanji are like pictures that represent ideas. This one means 'tree.'"
Shirou stared at the kanji, then at Mikado, then back at the kanji. His expression was that of a man who had just been asked to explain quantum physics after waking up. "Tree… hard," he declared.
Mikado couldn't help but laugh, clutching her stomach. "You're not wrong! But once you learn the basics, it'll get easier."
Shirou gave her a skeptical look, as if to say, I've been lied to before.
The lesson continued with mixed results. Mikado introduced a few more simple characters, including the kanji for "sun" (日) and "river" (川). Shirou's attempts to replicate them on the board resulted in shapes that resembled modern art more than language.
At one point, he proudly held up his version of "river," which looked like a series of squiggly lines engaged in a wrestling match.
"Uh… close," Mikado said diplomatically.
Shirou frowned, his determination flaring. "Again!"
By the end of the lesson, the chalkboard was a chaotic mess of crooked letters, wobbly strokes, and several unidentifiable shapes. Mikado sat cross-legged on the couch, munching on a potato chip as she watched Shirou painstakingly write her name in kanji. It was clumsy and uneven, but it was legible.
He stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow, and looked at her expectantly.
Mikado beamed, giving him a thumbs-up. "You're getting it! That's great, Shirou!"
Shirou's mismatched eyes lit up, and he allowed himself a small, proud smile. For a moment, he forgot the frustration of kanji and the weirdness of hiragana. He'd written something—her name, no less—and she was happy.
"Good teacher," he said quietly, earning a startled laugh from Mikado.
"Well, thank you, but you're the one doing all the hard work," she replied, ruffling his red-and-white hair. "And hey, you survived your first kanji lesson! That's more than most can say."
Shirou tilted his head, a hint of mischief in his smile. "Next… toaster lesson?"
Mikado burst out laughing, nearly spilling her chips. "Let's stick to kanji for now, chef-in-training."
As the morning wore on, the living room became a little less chaotic. The chalkboard was erased, the flashcards were neatly stacked, and Mikado returned to her research at the kitchen table. Shirou, however, remained seated in front of the board, his chalk poised as he practiced writing "tree" over and over again.
Each attempt was slightly better than the last, though still far from perfect. But Shirou didn't seem to mind. He'd discovered something new: learning was hard, messy, and often ridiculous—but it was also strangely satisfying.
And with Mikado's laughter ringing in his ears, he felt, for the first time, that it might even be fun.
The afternoon sun was hidden far above the clinic's underground entrance, leaving the sterile, white-walled halls illuminated only by the soft glow of alien technology. For Shirou, the place felt like a maze—every corner, every hum of machinery, every glowing panel seemed to promise a secret waiting to be discovered.
Having finished his kanji lesson earlier, he now roamed the halls with a sense of curious purpose. Mikado had told him to "stay out of trouble," but the phrase had left a lot of wiggle room in his interpretation.
"What is… this?" Shirou murmured, stepping into a room lined with towering machines. They blinked and beeped softly, their screens displaying alien symbols he couldn't hope to decipher. It was like stepping into the cockpit of a spaceship, and his mismatched eyes sparkled with intrigue.
One particular machine caught his attention—a console with a glowing, pulsating orb embedded in its center. It almost seemed alive, like it was daring him to touch it.
Surely, one touch couldn't hurt?
Without hesitation, Shirou reached out, his fingers brushing the orb.
The orb flared to life, its glow intensifying as an ear-piercing alarm blared throughout the clinic. Red lights flashed dramatically, casting ominous shadows on the walls.
"Warning! Unauthorized activation detected!" a robotic voice declared in a language Shirou barely understood.
He froze, eyes wide, as the machinery around him whirred and clicked ominously.
From somewhere down the hall, Mikado's voice rang out in a mix of panic and exasperation. "SHIROU! WHAT DID YOU DO THIS TIME?!"
A moment later, she appeared in the doorway, her lab coat fluttering behind her like a superhero's cape—if superheroes had to deal with overly curious kids poking unknown alien tech.
She took in the scene: Shirou standing in the middle of a now-glowing room, his hands raised high in surrender like a criminal caught red-handed.
"I… not know!" Shirou stammered, his voice edging on panic. "Orb… glow! Hands… touch?"
Mikado sighed deeply, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Why is it always the glowing stuff that tempts people?" she muttered, striding past him to the console. Her fingers danced over the controls, and the alarm abruptly ceased.
The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the machines. Mikado turned to Shirou, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.
"This is why I said no touching," she scolded, her tone firm but more tired than angry.
Shirou lowered his head, his mismatched eyes peeking up at her like a puppy caught chewing on shoes. "Sorry…"
Mikado's expression softened, and she crouched down to his level. "It's okay. But these machines aren't toys, Shirou. Some of them are dangerous, even to me."
"Danger… bad?" he asked, tilting his head like a curious bird.
"Yes, very bad," she emphasized, giving him a stern look. "Some of these machines could explode, release toxins, or, I don't know, summon a small black hole if used incorrectly."
Shirou blinked, clearly not understanding most of her words but grasping the "very bad" part.
"Come on," Mikado said, standing and offering her hand. "Let's leave this room before you accidentally activate something else."
But Shirou hesitated, his gaze lingering on the now-dormant orb. "Orb… alive?"
"No, it's not alive," Mikado replied, pulling him gently toward the door. "It's just a power regulator for the facility's systems. And no, you can't keep it."
Disappointed, Shirou followed her out, though his mind was already spinning with questions about what else might be hidden in the clinic.
--
Their next stop on Shirou's impromptu exploration tour was Mikado's supply room—a treasure trove of tools, gadgets, and items whose purposes Shirou could only guess.
"This is where I keep all my extra equipment," Mikado explained, opening a cabinet filled with neatly labeled containers. "And no, you can't touch—"
Too late. Shirou was already examining what appeared to be a futuristic wrench with glowing blue edges.
"Shirou!" Mikado snapped, startling him into dropping the tool. It landed with a metallic clunk, thankfully not breaking anything.
"Sorry!" he said quickly, his hands shooting back into his pockets like a guilty child.
Mikado sighed again, picking up the wrench and returning it to its place. "Okay, new rule: if it's glowing, you definitely don't touch it."
"Why glow… bad?" Shirou asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Because glowing means it's either dangerous or expensive. Or both," Mikado replied, shutting the cabinet firmly.
"Danger and expensive… bad?" Shirou repeated, his limited vocabulary once again proving to be both endearing and frustrating.
"Yes, Shirou. Very bad," she confirmed, ruffling his hair. "Now, let's move on before you find something radioactive."
--
The final room on Shirou's exploration spree was Mikado's personal office. Compared to the high-tech rooms they'd just left, this space was surprisingly normal. A desk cluttered with papers, books, and a half-empty coffee cup dominated the room. The walls were lined with shelves holding everything from medical texts to small alien artifacts.
Shirou's attention was immediately drawn to a small model of a spaceship sitting on one of the shelves. He picked it up carefully, examining the intricate details.
"What's this?" he asked, holding it up.
Mikado glanced over and smiled. "That's a model of a Nirvalen research vessel. My people used them for exploration and study."
Shirou turned the model over in his hands, his mismatched eyes wide with fascination. "Fly… space?"
"Yes, it could fly through space," Mikado said, taking the model from him before he could test its aerodynamics. "But it's just a model. It doesn't actually work."
Shirou nodded slowly, though his disappointment was evident. "Want… see real one."
"Maybe someday," Mikado replied, patting his shoulder. "But for now, let's focus on keeping you out of trouble, okay?"
"Trouble… bad," Shirou repeated, his tone serious.
Mikado laughed, pulling him into a gentle hug. "Exactly. You're learning."
As they left the office and headed back toward the living area, Mikado couldn't help but smile. Shirou's curiosity was exhausting, sure, but it was also refreshing. For someone who had been through so much, he still had an almost childlike wonder about the world.
And as much as Mikado valued her quiet, she had to admit—life was a lot more interesting with Shirou around. Even if it meant constantly chasing him away from glowing buttons.
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow into the kitchen as Mikado sat Shirou at the table, armed with a notebook, a pencil, and an unwavering determination to instill basic manners into her overly curious ward. Shirou, for his part, looked at the setup as though she'd just announced a pop quiz on nuclear physics.
"Today," Mikado began, her tone official, "we're learning manners."
Shirou tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Manners?"
"Yes. On Earth—especially here in Japan—we have rules about how to act around others. It's important if you want to get along with people." She paused for dramatic effect. "And avoid looking like a feral cat in public."
Shirou blinked. "Feral… cat?"
"Exactly. Now," Mikado said, straightening her posture, "let's start with greetings. The most basic thing you can do is bow. Watch me."
She gave a polite bow, her movements fluid and graceful. "Good afternoon."
Shirou, ever the eager learner, imitated her. Unfortunately, his bow was so enthusiastic that he nearly slammed his forehead into the table.
"Whoa, whoa!" Mikado said, laughing as she reached out to steady him. "Close, but maybe not so low. You're greeting someone, not inspecting ants on the floor."
Shirou straightened up, rubbing his head sheepishly. "Too much?"
"Just a bit," Mikado teased, gesturing for him to try again.
This time, his bow was more controlled, though still a little wobbly.
"Better!" Mikado said encouragingly. "Now, let's move on to handshakes."
She extended her hand toward him. "When you meet someone, you can also shake their hand. Like this."
Shirou hesitated, then grabbed her hand with the enthusiasm of someone trying to win an arm-wrestling match.
"Gah—okay!" Mikado exclaimed, wincing. "Not so hard, Shirou! You're greeting them, not trying to crush their soul!"
"Sorry!" he said, quickly letting go.
"It's fine," Mikado said, flexing her fingers. "Let's try again, but this time, gentle. Like you're holding an egg."
Shirou nodded solemnly and tried again, this time offering a limp, lifeless handshake that made Mikado feel like she was shaking hands with a wet noodle.
"Well, it's… better," she said diplomatically. "Let's call that a work in progress."
Next up was the high-five. "Now, this one's fun," Mikado said, raising her hand. "When someone does this, you slap their palm lightly. Like this."
She demonstrated, their palms connecting with a satisfying smack.
Shirou's first attempt was less satisfying. He swung his hand in completely the wrong direction, missing her palm entirely and nearly smacking himself in the face.
"Close," Mikado said, trying not to laugh. "Let's give it another shot."
The second try wasn't much better—he slapped her wrist instead of her palm. By the third attempt, Mikado was beginning to suspect he might be doing it on purpose.
"Okay, good effort," she said, smiling despite herself.
Shirou looked at her, repeating the phrase clumsily. "Good… effort?"
"That's right! See, you're learning."
--
With the basics of greetings somewhat covered, Mikado moved on to table manners. She placed a bowl of rice and a pair of chopsticks in front of Shirou.
"Now, when you eat, there are rules too. For example, you never stick your chopsticks upright in the rice. It's considered bad luck."
Shirou nodded seriously, taking the chopsticks. "No stick?"
"That's right."
He immediately stuck the chopsticks upright in the rice, staring at her expectantly.
Mikado groaned. "Shirou, what did I just say?"
"No stick?"
"Exactly. So why—" She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. "Okay, let's try again. Hold the chopsticks like this."
She demonstrated, showing him the proper grip. Shirou tried to copy her, but his fingers refused to cooperate. After a few awkward attempts, the chopsticks flew out of his hand entirely, one landing in the rice and the other skidding across the table.
"Chopsticks… tricky," Shirou said solemnly.
"They're not tricky, you're just… okay, maybe they're a little tricky," Mikado admitted, picking up the wayward chopsticks.
She retrieved a spoon from the drawer and handed it to him. "Let's simplify for now. Use this."
Shirou accepted the spoon with an air of resignation, as if he were giving up on a noble quest.
--
The final lesson of the day was on polite speech. Mikado wrote a few phrases in the notebook and read them aloud. "For example, when someone gives you something, you say, 'Thank you.' Like this: 'Arigatou.'"
Shirou dutifully repeated, "Ari… gato?"
"Close! Arigatou."
"Arigatou!" he said, beaming.
"Good! Now, if you want to apologize, you say, 'I'm sorry.' In Japanese, it's 'Gomen nasai.'"
"Gome… nasai?"
"Gomen nasai," Mikado corrected gently.
"Gomen… mistake," Shirou said with a self-deprecating laugh.
"That's okay," Mikado replied, smiling. "See? You're getting the hang of it."
They went through a few more phrases, Shirou's enthusiasm making up for his occasional mispronunciations. At one point, he proudly declared, "Good morning!" in Japanese—except he accidentally used "oyasumi," which meant "good night."
"Close," Mikado said, biting back a laugh. "But maybe save that one for bedtime."
--
By the end of the lesson, Shirou was slumped over the table, exhausted but triumphant.
"Manners… hard," he mumbled.
"They can be," Mikado agreed, ruffling his hair. "But you're doing great. A little more practice, and you'll be ready to charm the entire neighborhood."
"Charm… good?"
"Very good," she said, smiling.
Shirou sat up, a determined look on his face. "I charm. Make Mikado proud."
"You already do," Mikado said warmly, pulling him into a hug.
As they tidied up the table, Mikado couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. Teaching Shirou manners was no small feat, but seeing his genuine effort made it all worthwhile.
And while he still had a long way to go, Mikado was confident he'd get there—just as long as he didn't accidentally bow himself into another table.
They spent the rest of the day rehearsing the lessons till dinner, where they eat delivery food. After that Shirou spent the remaining time before bed, trying to read a illustrated book.
Later that night Mikado took Shirou inside the bathroom. "It's time to clean you up now." Shirou was perplexed. From his experience he never had to clean himself since he was for the majority of the time in a tube.
The room Mikado showed Shirou was something that his immature mind could not comprehend.
The bathroom was divided into distinct areas for bathing, washing, and relaxation, separated by frosted glass or wooden partitions for privacy. The space was large enough to accommodate multiple people without feeling cramped.
At the center of the bathing area is a luxurious deep soaking tub, exuding both warmth and elegance. It is positioned near a large one-sided window offering views of the outside. The tub is equipped with an advanced temperature control system to keep the water warm for prolonged use.
And adjacent to the tub was a open shower with a rainfall showerhead and handheld sprayer.
In Shirou's eyes, it was somehow similar to the underground clinic.
"Now out of those clothes." Mikado spent short time undressing Shirou completely and put him under the shower.
For Shirou it was a novice experience but he liked it. Mikado proceed to clean Shirou body, noticing that his body doesn't show signs of malnutrition or scars.
He must have been a quite precious subject for the researchers if they maintained his physical condition optimal.
When Mikado finisced cleaning Shirou she gave him some clean clothes. "Now wait in the living room for a bit okay?" Mikado was intending to take a quick bath too.
And late that evening, Mikado led Shirou into the small but welcoming bedroom of the night before, the kind of cozy space that practically begged for a good night's sleep. A neatly made bed sat in the corner, topped with fluffy blankets and a pillow so plump it looked like it could double as a cloud. A warm yellow lamp on the bedside table cast a soft glow across the room, chasing away the shadows.
She opened the closet to reveal a modest collection of clothes she'd got online for him earlier—plain shirts, comfortable pants, and a pair of slippers that he'd stubbornly refused to try on. Satisfied that everything was in place, she fluffed the pillow one last time and turned to Shirou with a smile.
"This will be your room," she said brightly.
Shirou, however, wasn't moving. He hovered in the doorway like a wary animal, his arms crossed over his chest. His mismatched eyes—one gold, one silver—darted nervously between Mikado and the bed as though it might spring to life and eat him.
"Alone?" he asked softly, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the hum of the lamp.
Mikado knelt down to meet his gaze, her expression gentle. "Yes, alone. You'll need to get used to sleeping by yourself. It's normal here."
Shirou shifted uncomfortably, clutching the hem of his shirt as though it might offer him some kind of protection. "Not safe?"
"It's perfectly safe," Mikado reassured him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I'm just down the hall. If anything happens, you can call for me, okay?"
He nodded reluctantly, though his eyes remained fixed on the bed like it was a foreign object he wasn't sure he could trust. After a moment's hesitation, he shuffled inside, his movements slow and deliberate.
Mikado gave him a reassuring smile before turning off the light. "Goodnight, Shirou," she said softly, closing the door behind her.
She paused outside the room for a moment, listening. The house was quiet save for the faint creak of floorboards settling. Satisfied, she headed to her own room, though she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in her chest.
--
The house remained silent as the night deepened. Mikado lay in her bed, her breathing slow and even, the soft glow of a bedside monitor casting faint patterns on the wall.
Meanwhile, down the hall, Shirou lay stiff as a board in his bed, clutching the edge of the blanket like it was a lifeline. The room was too quiet, too still. Shadows from the closet seemed to stretch longer in the faint moonlight, and every creak of the house made his heart jump.
He sat up, his heterochromatic eyes glinting faintly in the dark. After a moment of hesitation, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and tiptoed out into the hallway, the cold floorboards creaking under his weight.
Shirou paused at Mikado's door, pressing his ear against it. Inside, he could hear the faint rhythm of her breathing. Certain she was asleep, he turned the knob and slipped inside, closing the door as quietly as possible.
Her room felt different—warm and safe, like the way Mikado herself felt. He crept over to the bed and hesitated for only a second before climbing onto the edge. Moving slowly so as not to wake her, he wriggled under the covers and curled up into a tight ball, his back turned to her.
"Mikado…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
She didn't stir, but that was fine. Just being close to her made him feel safe. He buried his face into the blanket, which smelled faintly of lavender and something uniquely Mikado.
--
Morning came earlier than Mikado expected. She stretched lazily, blinking against the sunlight streaming through her window. As she shifted onto her side, she found herself face-to-face with Shirou, who was curled up like a cat at the edge of her bed, his red-and-white hair tousled and one arm draped over the blanket.
Mikado blinked in surprise, then sighed. "Shirou?"
He stirred at the sound of her voice, his mismatched eyes fluttering open. "Safe… with Mikado," he murmured, rubbing his face sleepily.
Mikado sat up, running a hand through her own hair as she gave him a bemused look. "You were supposed to stay in your room, remember?"
Shirou frowned, lowering his gaze to the blanket. "Alone… scary."
Her annoyance melted away instantly. She reached out to ruffle his hair, her voice softening. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Shirou brightened at her touch, a small smile creeping onto his face.
"Alright," Mikado said with a chuckle, shaking her head. "But tonight, you're going back to your own bed. Deal?"
Shirou nodded, though the twinkle in his eye suggested he wasn't entirely convinced.
"Promise?" Mikado pressed, raising an eyebrow.
Shirou just buried his face under the blanket as a mean to escape the real answer.
author notes:
Just to give a head up.
I plan to write nsfw stuff eventually, so just in case i'm going to say it up front.
If you are not comfortable with that stuff, then this was not a story for you.
For those that are interested instead, it will take a while. So take it easy and keep this story in the back door of your mind.
Thank you for your attention and patience.
See you next week.