"A Messy Morning"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The room was still shrouded in early morning darkness when Arata cracked his eyes open, the soft vibration of his phone on the nightstand pulling him out of a sleep that felt like it had barely begun. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face before blindly reaching for the device. 

A new message. 

Kenjiro Aikawa: Meet me in front of the bar at 7. Don't be late.

Arata sighed, letting the phone drop onto his chest. Seven. It wasn't unreasonable—hell, he was used to waking up at ungodly hours for work. But after pulling an all-nighter on Sunday, his body felt like lead, and his brain wasn't far behind. 

He forced himself to sit up, running a hand through his already messy hair. The dim glow of the streetlight outside filtered through the thin curtains, casting long shadows across his room. His uniform was draped over the back of his chair, already wrinkled from the way he'd tossed it there the night before. 

He grabbed it anyway. His mother might kill him if she found out he was skipping school, but at least if he looked like he was going to school, she wouldn't suspect anything. A small win. 

Pulling the shirt over his head, he caught the faint scent of detergent and the lingering traces of old cigarette smoke. Not from him—he didn't smoke. But bars, restaurants, and the general life he led made it impossible to escape the smell completely. 

He barely had time to button his blazer before the door slammed open. 

"Niichan!!" 

A small storm in the form of his seven-year-old sister, Yuki, came barreling into the room, her tiny feet thudding against the wooden floor as she launched herself onto his bed. 

Arata let out a low groan, tilting his head back. "Yuki. It's six in the morning." 

"I know! But Mama said breakfast is ready! And if you don't come now, I'm gonna eat your share!"

Arata cracked one eye open, meeting her big, mischievous brown ones. He sighed. "You wouldn't."

Yuki grinned, rocking back and forth on her knees. "Try me." 

His lips twitched despite himself. She was a menace, an unstoppable force of nature from the moment she woke up until the second she passed out at night. But… she was also the only thing that made waking up at six in the morning bearable. 

He pushed himself off the bed, ruffling her already messy hair. "Alright, alright, I'm up. Let's go before you decide to steal my food for real." 

She beamed, hopping up and darting out of the room ahead of him. 

Arata sighed, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder before following her out. Today was going to be long.

The smell of miso soup and grilled fish filled the air as he stepped into the small kitchen, the warmth of the stove contrasting against the cool morning air that still clung to his skin. His mother stood by the counter, her sleeves rolled up as she flipped the fish in the pan with practiced ease. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, hair hastily tied back—but at least today, she wasn't in her usual rush to leave. 

Yuki was already at the low dining table, swinging her legs as she shoveled rice into her mouth, completely unbothered by the early hour. 

"Morning." Arata said, pulling out a chair and dropping into it. 

His mother glanced over her shoulder and let out a tired sigh. "Morning. Eat quickly, you're running late for school." 

"I know." He reached for the rice bowl, barely listening as she moved behind him, pouring tea into a small cup. 

"You work too much."She muttered, sitting across from him. 

Arata didn't respond right away, stuffing a piece of grilled fish into his mouth instead. He could feel her watching him, her sharp motherly gaze piercing through his attempt at indifference. 

"I have to." He finally said, taking a sip of miso soup. 

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "You're only eighteen. You should be focusing on school, not running around doing ten different jobs!" 

"Mom, we've been over this." He kept his voice steady, not wanting to start another argument. "It's fine."

"It's not fine! I miss you! I miss my son!" She pressed her fingers against her temples, sighing. "I appreciate what you do, Arata, I do. But you should be worrying about your future, not just surviving the present." 

People always told him he was too young to be this tired. But Arata had stopped feeling young a long time ago.

He didn't have an answer for that, so he kept eating. 

Yuki, oblivious to the tension, finished her bowl with a satisfied sigh. "Mama, can I have more rice?" 

Their mother exhaled, rubbing her face before pushing herself up. "Yes, yes. But you better not be late for school." 

Yuki grinned, holding out her bowl eagerly as their mother refilled it. 

Arata checked the time. 6:40 AM. He needed to go. 

He scarfed down the last few bites of rice, downed the rest of his tea in one gulp, and pushed back from the table. 

"I'm heading out."

"You're not finishing breakfast?" His mother frowned. 

"Not hungry." He lied, grabbing his bag. "I'll be back later." 

She sighed but didn't argue, just watching as he moved toward the door. 

"Be careful, okay?"

He paused, then nodded. "I will." 

Yuki waved with her spoon. "Bye, Arata-niichan!!" 

Arata ruffled her hair on the way out, open the door and stepping into the crisp morning air. 

As Arata stepped into his worn-out sneakers, his hand already gripping the door handle, his mother's voice rang out behind him.

"Arata! Your bento—!"

Too late.

The door clicked shut just as she reached the genkan, the neatly wrapped lunchbox still clutched in her hands. Asuka stared at the door for a moment, pressing her lips together in frustration before exhaling.

"He's always in such a rush" she muttered, setting the bento down on the counter.

She didn't mean to sigh so much. She really didn't. But lately, it felt like every conversation with him was either too short or too tense, like she was trying to hold onto something that was already slipping through her fingers. He never complained, never asked for help, never even hesitated when it came to working himself to the bone.

She should've done more. Given him more. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel like he had to carry so much.

Asuka ran a hand through her hair, glancing toward the small dining table where Yuki sat, happily munching on a second bowl of rice like she hadn't just witnessed their mother's silent moment of guilt.

And then—without missing a beat—Yuki picked up a single rice grain from her bowl and flicked it in Asuka's direction.

It hit her right in the forehead.

Asuka blinked. "Did you just—"

Yuki grinned. "Mama, stop being all mopey! Niichan's fine! He's like, super cool now! He probably doesn't even need a bento—he just absorbs energy from being edgy!" A small, breathy laugh slipped past Asuka's lips before she could stop it. She reached up, rubbing her forehead with a sigh. "Yuki, that's not how food works."

Yuki puffed out her cheeks, dramatically shoveling another bite of rice into her mouth. "Mmmph—I bet it does for him."

Asuka shook her head, finally allowing herself to smile. "Honestly… maybe."

She took a seat beside Yuki, ruffling the girl's hair as the morning light streamed into their tiny kitchen.

Maybe Arata was growing up too fast. Maybe she hadn't done enough.

But at the very least—he still had a home to return to.

<(．＿．)>

He shoved his hands into his pockets, exhaling. 

Kenjiro Aikawa. The name still sat weirdly in his mind. But he'd deal with that later. 

For now, he had a new job to get to.

The morning air was crisp, the kind that bit at the skin but wasn't unbearable. Arata stood outside the bar, hands deep in his jacket pockets, his posture relaxed but his mind buzzing. His school uniform was hidden beneath the thick fabric, the collar neatly tucked away. He didn't need any questions. Not from nosy customers. Not from Kenjiro. 

His black backpack was slung over one shoulder, the weight familiar but irritating. His phone buzzed once in his pocket—probably another shift request from one of his other jobs—but he ignored it. 

He was too busy thinking. 

This job… felt different. Not just because the guy hiring him was some eccentric old man who reeked of whiskey and charisma, but because it wasn't the usual mind-numbing routine of deliveries or bartending. It was something else. 

The rumble of an approaching engine pulled him from his thoughts. 

A sleek black car rolled up to the curb, the window lowering smoothly. Kenjiro Aikawa leaned against the wheel with one hand, the other resting lazily on the gear shift. His sunglasses were perched low on his nose, and he had that same laid-back, almost cocky smirk that made it impossible to tell whether he was actually serious about anything. 

"Yo, kid." Kenjiro called, tilting his head. "Hop in." 

Arata didn't hesitate. He pulled open the door, slid into the passenger seat, and shut it behind him in one fluid motion. 

The car smelled faintly of cigarettes and expensive cologne, but it wasn't unpleasant. The dashboard was surprisingly neat—no crumpled receipts, no trash. Just a pair of sunglasses and a pack of gum resting near the radio. 

Kenjiro tapped the wheel with his fingers. "You sleep?" 

Arata gave him a flat look. "No." 

The hum of the car's engine filled the space between them, steady and rhythmic against the early morning quiet. Arata sat in the passenger seat, one elbow propped against the window, gaze fixed on the city rolling past in a blur of concrete and glass. Kenjiro Aikawa drove with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the other lazily tapping against the dashboard in time with the faint beat of music playing from the radio.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Not because the silence was uncomfortable—Kenjiro didn't seem like the kind of guy who cared much for forced small talk—but because Arata had no interest in conversation. He was used to these quiet moments, used to slipping in and out of places without leaving a trace. It was easier that way.

But of course, Kenjiro wasn't the kind of guy to let things slide so easily.

"You know" he said, voice as casual as if they were discussing the weather, "I don't usually hire high school students."

Arata kept his eyes on the window. "Then why'd you hire me?"

Kenjiro exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "Dunno. Maybe I have a bad habit of taking in strays."

Arata's jaw ticked, fingers tightening slightly against the fabric of his pants. He hated that word.

Kenjiro must've caught the shift in his posture, because he let out a low chuckle. "Relax, kid. I don't mean it like that."

Arata finally glanced at him. "Then how do you mean it?"

Kenjiro didn't answer right away. Instead, he drummed his fingers against the wheel, turning onto a quieter road lined with trees. The morning light filtered through the branches, casting shifting patterns of gold and shadow across the windshield.

"Look" Kenjiro started, voice still calm, but firmer now. "I don't know what's going on with you, and I'm not gonna pry. But I've been around long enough to know when a kid's got more weight on his shoulders than he's supposed to."

Arata's fingers curled against his knee.

"You're a student." Kenjiro continued. "You should be worrying about school, friends, stupid teenage shit. Not working jobs that have you running around at god knows what hours."

Arata scoffed, turning his head back to the window. "Yeah, well. Not all of us get that choice."

Kenjiro was silent for a beat. Then, he sighed, adjusting his sunglasses. "Yeah. That's what I figured."

Something in Arata's chest twisted at that.

He hadn't expected Kenjiro to push for details—most adults would, poking and prodding until he was backed into a corner with nowhere to run. But Kenjiro didn't do that. He just… accepted it.

That made it worse, somehow.

Arata swallowed, forcing his voice to stay neutral. "So, what? You gonna drop me?"

Kenjiro smirked. "Nah."

Arata blinked. "What?"

Kenjiro leaned back slightly, resting one wrist over the top of the steering wheel. "Not my business to tell you how to live your life, kid. But if you're gonna work for me, you do it right. No half-assing, no skipping shifts, and if I find out you're collapsing somewhere because you're running yourself into the ground—"

His smirk faded slightly, just enough to make Arata pause.

"—I'll be pissed."

Something about the way he said it—like it wasn't just about work, like there was something else there—made Arata's throat tighten for half a second before he shoved the feeling down.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Tch. You sound like someone's dad."

Kenjiro snorted. "Damn right I do."

The silence returned, but this time, it was different. Not heavy. Not suffocating. Just… there.

The radio hummed in the background, some old classic rock song drifting lazily through the speakers.

Arata shifted slightly in his seat, tapping his fingers against the car door.

"…What exactly am I gonna be doing?"

Kenjiro's grin was back, easy and amused. "Assistant stuff. Carrying my equipment, setting up shots, making sure nobody touches my camera unless they've got a death wish."

Arata raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

Kenjiro shrugged. "For now."

Arata huffed, letting his head rest back against the seat. This was going to be a pain in the ass, wasn't it?

Still.

He had to admit.

It didn't seem that bad.