HOME/LAB [maruki family thread tracker]

[takutomaruki]

I AM A SINNER...

╰┈➤ ❝ When we get to the pearly gates. You'll get the green light, I'll get the old door in the face ❞

date

type

link

desc

status

02/01

Toplevel

link

Welcome, dreamer, to the new dream

closed

15/01

Thread

link

Rank 1: Glass, nightmares and Hopes.

closed

27/01

Thread

link

Quick adjustments.

closed

03/02

Post

link

Rank 2: Before my goodwill crumbles away in these sterile lands.

closed

01/05

Top level

link

Rank 3: A gift

active

...YOU ARE A SAINT

Comments

[ at Maruki's apartment, late at night / cw horror b/c nightmare]

[paradisefraught]

The room is an endless hospital hallway filled with shattered glass window-combs and sirens glistening over the intercom.

"Room number -̵̨̠̩͎̗̺̘̼̟͍̼̻͖͖̎͒̄͜-̶̡̢̘̭̝̣̮̥̖͖̩̻̰̮͑̀̒̋͆̿̈̓-̸̼̩̦̌͐̃̍́͠-̷̧̱̖̪͔̲͔͇͚͖̉̒̆̑̉̉̓͛͒̾̚," says the nurse. Akira turns and looks up. The nurse at the station doesn't have a face, just another hand, long and snakelike and made from charred bones. She looks like the skeleton of a dead tree. "Fourth on the right."

He looks down the infinite hallway. He sees his reflection in the glass combs. He's young, small. He has two broken sandals on his feet.

Quietly, he moves forward. His sandal taps the side of a glass shard and

"YOU DID THIS TO ME."

Akira flinches back. The words echo through the hallway and screech in his bones, clawing his nerves, convulsing him forward-- another piece of glass goes flying as he stumbles--

"GET AWAY FROM ME. I WON'T LET YOU HURT MY FAMILY!"

what did he do? what-- what happened? It's a different voice, one that heaves desperation and vomits terror-- and his palm-- he's on the floor and his hand goes right on a shard of glass--

"YOU'RE SO CLUMSY. I CAN'T BELIEVE I GAVE BIRTH TO SOMETHING AS PATHETIC AS YOU."

Help! His cries are muffled. The nurse at the station doesn't hear. He slips again--

"HELP? GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Help me--! Somehow, he's at the door, the hospital room, crawling on his hands and knees through the glass on the white, uncaring tiles. I love you! Please, what are you doing? shaking hand reaches for the door fingers on the handle-- it glows sickly green and black and it's moist and wriggling in his hand-- Help! Please--! I love you--!

""I HATE YOU!""

Mom!

Mom! Akira wakes up in a scramble trying to get free and then there's nothing to tear into it's just the floor and the floor is hard and he didn't even notice he was falling until his knees were already bruised his hands were already scratched from the fell and where's his glove the air is like cold water in his lungs where is his glove which way is up he finds his desk and hauls himself up his glove his glove his glove is on but it's not even enough

where's dad dad knows everything dad makes everything better dad can fix the world dad can fix me

out into the hallway he turns on the light but then it's just the hospital again and he turns it off before the glass comes back

dad's room dad's room it's right down the hall dad's room is

closed.

Oh. His stomach churns; reality hits him square in the abdomen. He hunches over, leaning on the wall for support.

This...isn't home. Isn't Dad's apartment. And Dad isn't here. The only person who is here is Dr. Maruki, who doesn't like it when he's too clingy or needy or...

Akira flops over, slumping down to the ground. He considers knocking anyway. Thinks better of it, of course. Wraps his arms around his legs, skin digging into leather, curling into a ball.

He's only been awake for like a minute, and he's already so exhausted. Each exhale into his knees fills him up with more of it, the dizzying static of exertion. His knees are...wet? Oh. He's crying.

When the static of exertion turns into the whispers of sleep, of the faint lullaby dreamer, come back to us sung by humming electronics and shifting carpet, he offers no resistance. Akira passes out in the hallway, in front of a door he won't open that leads to someone who doesn't want to see him. The lullabies promise him escape into something better.

Maybe this time they'll be right.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki ran his hand through his hair, glancing at the book spread open before him: 'The Whole-Brain Child.' The words on the page stared back at him, full of conviction and clarity.

“What your child needs most is to feel safe, seen, and soothed. This creates the foundation for secure attachment and emotional regulation.”

He underlined it with a faint frown, the tip of his pen pressing a little too hard. Safe, seen, and soothed. They made it sound so simple, so straightforward—as if all he had to do was flip a switch, say the right words, and Akira would magically feel secure in his care.

But execution? That felt like a mountain he had no idea how to climb.

He reached for his notebook, flipping to a page where he’d scribbled notes in blocky, almost frantic handwriting:

Morning (Akira):
- Eager to please, but avoids deeper emotional discussions.
- Childlike enthusiasm—defense mechanism? regression?
- Sudden withdrawal when Rumi mentioned—why? (Different connection?)

Theories swirled in his mind, clashing with the parenting principles he was trying to absorb. Maruki sighed, staring at the highlighted phrase again. "Safe, seen, and soothed." Could he even give that to Akira?

His thoughts wandered, unbidden, to his own childhood. Being the middle child in a family of five meant he was... overlooked. His older siblings were praised for their accomplishments, his younger siblings doted on for their potential. Maruki himself? He was fine. He was good. Not extraordinary, not special.

Even his achievements as a student—excellent grades, glowing recommendations—were brushed aside with faint praise. "That's what you're supposed to do," his parents would say. And then came the comparisons. Why aren't you more like your older brother? Your younger sister is already excelling at piano; maybe you should try harder.

When he chose psychology instead of the more prestigious fields his family valued—medicine, engineering, anything with a capital-S Science—he could still hear the cold disappointment in his mother’s voice. "Psychology? What kind of future will that give you?"

Maruki shook his head, trying to brush away the memory. He looked back at the book, at another passage he’d underlined:

“Children don’t need perfect parents. They need present ones.”

He scoffed lightly, more at himself than the words. Present? He could barely hold himself together most days, juggling his research, his complicated feelings about this world, and now Akira’s well-being.

And still, that boy—not his boy—had looked at him as if he could make everything better.

Maruki rubbed his temples. Parenting in theory made sense. He could analyze behaviors, understand triggers, and craft a psychological framework for almost any situation. A support that would bridge them in comfort. But in practice? When faced with a child who was hurting—one who sought safety and stability he wasn’t sure he could provide—he felt utterly lost. Especially without Azathoth and he knew that whatever Maruki was helping this Akira before, used that persona to sort out through his needs.

How could he be what Akira needed when he didn’t even know where to begin?

He glanced at the laptop screen, where a paused YouTube video displayed an overly cheerful title: “Five Simple Strategies for Building Trust with Your Teen!” The frozen host seemed to mock him with their too-perfect smile.

Maruki leaned back in his chair, the pen slipping from his fingers. His gaze wandered to the notebook filled with theories about Actualization, about Akira’s fragile mental state.

How do you build trust with someone when you’re still learning to trust yourself?

[takutomaruki]

The faint creak of wood beyond his door broke his thoughts, dragging him back to the present.

He raises his head then makes a quiet deduction that Morning might just have woken up to go to the bathroom. Looking away, he sighs as he looks up at the time. 2:30 pm.

Azathoth stirred in the infinite, formless void that brushed against Maruki's subconscious. It wasn't malice, nor was it compassion—merely an endless, yawning hunger to exist in the cracks of perception. And Maruki, for all his resolve and intellect, was an open door to the being’s influence.

The room around Maruki was silent save for the soft scratching of his pen and the quiet hum of the laptop. But in the folds of his mind, there was a discordant whispering, an ancient rhythm that beat faintly but persistently, like a distant drum in a suffocating fog.

Why do you toil so, Takuto? The voice didn’t speak in words, not truly—it was a swelling pressure, a suggestion that slithered through the recesses of his consciousness. You seek answers in books, strategies in pages...but you already know they are useless, don’t you?

Maruki frowned as a cold wave rippled through him.

This child...this boy. You think you can fix him? What a delightful fantasy. Fixing him requires fixing yourself. And you know better than anyone, don’t you, that you are...unworthy of such a task.

Maruki slammed the book shut, startling himself with the sharpness of the motion. He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. The pressure in his skull swelled, a dull ache that throbbed like an offbeat metronome.

Azathoth was relentless. It didn’t rage; it didn’t scream. It whispered with the patience of eternity, gnawing at his resolve.

Even now, you flinch from your past. You build theories about parenting, but you are still the forgotten child, aren't you? The one who never measured up. You wear the mask of a caregiver, but beneath it, you are empty. Empty without me.

You could have snapped away all your problems if you took the throne. You still can but you won't. I don't think even pity can measure up to how I feel about the misery you seek for yourself.

W̵͓̮̄ḧ̵̪̭̲̳͖́ỷ̵͕̒̐́̑ ̵̯͉̆f̶̟͎̤̙͕̍̏̂̎i̵̢̗̩̔͐g̶̻͍͗̈̍ĥ̶̨̬͙̘̺͗̆̈́͝t̵̗̔̈́̄ ̴̱̫̾̏̌͂i̷̤̝̋t̴̛͖͗̉͋͝ͅ?̷̭̖̽̊̓͝ ̵̛̥̭́̋̑͑ͅW̴͎͓͂͆͊h̸̢̩̜͌y̷̺͎̼̕͝ ̴̠͙͐̄t̶̺̹̀̐̿͌ṙ̵̹̖͎͂̈̄y̷͈̥̌?̴̢̜̹̗̿̀͌̐ ̸̡̰̙͕̀̀̔͠Y̶͕̐͑̿͝o̵̢̪͖̖̍͝u̴̻͛́̈́͘ ̷̨̺̭̠͔̍̐c̷̡͇͍͉̉̾̀̓̀o̴̺͍͓̤͂̏u̶̠͙͍͛̃̾l̵̡̰̱̪̾d̶̡͍̹̫́ ̷̘̙͚͍̇̏͑ș̵͐͐l̷̦̹̳̲̑̓͗͊ẻ̴̡̮̱͉͐͜e̷̘̬͔̺̒̋̏͂p̸͙͕͚̤̔̐͋͝͝,̸̛̟͍̦̀̉͐ ̴̢̧̖͓̻̌̀̉̄̕T̶̗̩̰̜̕ȧ̸̙̠̜k̴̤͎͗͋͜ṳ̵̼͉̼̻̃̿̚t̷̖͊͊̔̾̋o̵̯͓̍̃̅̂͝.̵͎͒͒͊͒ ̵̧͈͔͎͕͋̏̿͝͝J̴̪͇͈̝̠͆ú̶̞͂̏̈́s̴̯̜͖̲͎̓͊̾̀t̴͔̊͠ ̸̭̜͌͜c̷͔̖̜̿̂l̴̨̛̖̹̋o̶̞̳̞͈̭̊̂s̶̜̓́e̷̦͗̋͐̌ ̵͙̺͛̊y̶͙̻̼͕͊̉ͅo̷̼̐͆́̒u̸̠͓͉̞͈̒́̈́͘ȑ̴̄͜ ̴̨̼͆̋e̶̞̲͉̍̂́̋y̵̤̽ê̶̜͕̝̑̈́̈́͊ṡ̵̱͍̫͉̂̅̏͘,̷͉̤͓̀̔͠͝ ̸̖͉͈͔̮̀̋̕l̸̛̜͒̓͗e̸̘̹̙̼͗ṯ̷̞̖̗̒ ̵̹͚̫͓͆̌̋͝g̷͈̠̹͎͛̌̈́̋͠ͅo̴̡̼͔̦̐̈́̀ͅ,̵̦̯̭͐͑ ̷̖̓ả̴̧̜̩̹͘n̷͉̑̑͊̂d̶̗̽̈́̿̅ ̵̡̪͇̺̄s̶̼̮͉̔̎͌ͅu̷͉͓̠̯̥̽̿͑r̸̤͖͚̲̋͑̒r̷͎̽̄͑́̓ḛ̶̥̰̠͖͗̓̏n̸͇̬̈̀d̵̥̲̺͉̀̽̓é̵̯̺r̶̩̅͗͘ ̷̗̉́́̔͝t̵̰͛̎͛͛ó̷͍̞̫͓̙̾̅̔̄ ̸̬̰̣̺̊t̷͙̉͒̐͛h̵̘͂͛̀e̷̬̾̾͠ͅ ̴̯̙̭͋̽̊t̷̢̧͕̱͠ȑ̵̰̠̺̖̀̄̊̃ủ̷̧̦̬̯̙̿̓̈t̷͕̹̙͙̆́̏͝ͅh̸͉̲̚.̵̨͔̲̳͉̅̀̾̆

His eyes flicked to the shadow beneath the door, and his stomach twisted with worry.

“Akira?” he called, his voice low and uncertain.

No answer.

They need present ones.

He gulps.

His heart leapt in his chest. Memories clawed their way back into his mind—of a dimly lit living room, the flicker of a television, and the shattering crash of a window. The burglars’ shouting. The blood. Rumi’s parents—gone in an instant.

Maruki swallowed hard, forcing himself back to the present. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. Reaching beneath his desk, he retrieved the small gun he’d been keeping since arriving in this bizarre place. He tucked it into the waistband of his sweatpants, the cool metal pressing against his hip as he moved cautiously toward the door.

Maruki’s hand hesitated on the doorknob, the faint shadow beneath the door a silent alarm that quickened his pulse. He tightened his grip on the cold metal and exhaled through his nose. The image of Rumi flickered across his mind—her tears, her screams, the helplessness in her eyes as she reached for something no one could give back. His chest tightened as the memory bled into the present.

The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight as he cracked the door open, just enough to peer into the hallway. His breath hitched.

There, crumpled on the floor like a discarded doll, was Akira.

"Akira!" Maruki's voice broke into a panic as he pushed the door open fully, the dim light of his room spilling into the hallway. His heart pounded in his ears, his thoughts a chaotic blur of past and present.

No, no, no, not again.

He dropped to his knees beside the boy, his free hand immediately reaching out to him while his other instinctively gripped the concealed gun tucked under his waistband. His eyes darted up and down the corridor, searching for any sign of intruders. Empty. Safe. For now.

But that didn’t stop the tremors in his hands.

"Akira-!" he murmured, his voice trembling as he placed the gun on the ground within arm’s reach. His palm gently pressed against Akira's cheek, his skin cool and damp with the remnants of tears. "Hey...hey, can you hear me? Come on, wake up."

[paradisefraught]

"Hmm...?" Akira makes little noises as he wakes at Maruki's prodding. "Hi, Da...Doctor." Not Dad. He looks distressed. "Nightmare." Akira brings a hand up to his face, touching where Doctor Maruki has his hand. Reassurance for both of them, maybe. "...Sorry."

He can't help himself from leaning into Maruki's touch. Comfort, if nothing else.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki’s breath hitched as Akira stirred, the boy’s quiet noises breaking the tense silence. His chest tightened when he heard the faint, broken syllables: "Hi, Da...Doctor." Not Dad. The correction nearly felt like a punch to his gut.

The contact sent a shiver up Maruki’s arm, and his hand flinched, recoiling just slightly before he froze it in place. He hoped desperately that Akira hadn’t noticed the tremor that rippled through his fingers, the telltale sign of how much the moment was affecting him.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the storm of emotions that threatened to surface. His hand steadied, pressing back gently against Akira’s cheek despite the sheer guilt threatening to surface. Wrong. So wrong. Can't fix yourself. Can't fix him. His other arm shifted, sliding under Akira’s back to help him sit up straighter.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Maruki said firmly, his voice low but tinged with concern. "You have nothing to apologize for."

He hesitated before asking, "Are you okay? Did you hit your head when you passed out?" His words came quickly, tumbling over one another in that classic, frantic concern.

[paradisefraught]

"No, I'm fine...I just..." his voice falters, leaning into Dr. Maruki. He's almost embarrassed -- he's, what, sixteen now, and he still needs someone to help him through his nightmares? -- but he decides he doesn't care. "There were two ladies. In my dream. And they were so angry at me...and there was so much broken glass...and the sirens were so loud..."

His eyelids feel heavy...his lashes flutter as another wave of exhaustion crashes over him. If there's any weakness to Maruki's form, Akira doesn't notice it. "Thank you for helping me," he murmurs.

He's not alone. Someone cares.

A deep, yawning exhale, like a tree branch springing back to shape, and there's hardly any strength left in Akira to stay awake. "Tired...s'eepy..." he puts his whole -- rather light -- weight on Maruki, unable to hold himself up for much longer. "Donwanna be alone, though..."

[takutomaruki]

Maruki’s breath caught in his throat as Akira leaned into him, the boy’s weight light but grounding, his words softer than the stillness of the night.

"Thank you for helping me."

Words he never thought he would hear again once he stepped foot here.

The corners of Morning's mouth curling slightly made Maruki’s heart twist.

The boy’s gaze...it wasn’t just gratitude. It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was trust. Absolute trust. And it was unbearable.

Maruki’s hand flinched again, this time retreating from Akira’s cheek to rest lightly on his shoulder. He couldn’t hold that gaze any longer. Not when every fiber of his being screamed that he didn’t deserve it.

don’t look at me like that don’t trust me I don’t deserve it how could you
not after what I’ve done after what I couldn’t do not after what another me must’ve done to you I’m worthless I’m nothing I don’t deserve this

The words hit him like a punch to the chest, sharp and unrelenting. Two women. Broken glass. Sirens.

Akira’s mother. Rumi.

His grip on the boy’s shoulder tightened just slightly, steadying both of them. The image of Rumi’s face flashed in his mind, her voice lost in a scream that echoed endlessly in the dark corners of his memory.

And yet, despite the turmoil raging inside him, Maruki managed a faint smile—his usual gentle, reassuring expression. It was reflexive, automatic, a mask he had worn so many times it felt second nature.

"You don’t need to thank me," he said softly, his voice tinged with a subtle waver he hoped Akira wouldn’t notice. "I’m just glad I was here to help."

When Akira’s weight fully slumped against him, murmuring about being tired but not wanting to be alone, Maruki’s composure faltered again.

His free hand hovered awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t let the boy fall asleep like this. "Akira," he began, his tone gently firm as he fought to steady himself. "You can’t just sleep here in the hallway."

Don't expect me to carry you to your room, damn it.

He gently shifted Akira, helping him sit up straighter.

"Come on," he said, his voice softening again. "How about we...get you some water? You’ve been through a lot tonight, and I need to check for any signs of a concussion because I am not- sure if you fell but its better to be safe." He offered.

[at maruki's apartment, the next morning, current cr: 1]

[takutomaruki]

The shrill ring of the alarm sliced through the silence, pulling Maruki from the half-conscious state he'd been in, his hand jerking toward the desk to silence it. His eyes fluttered open, blinking into the harsh light of the morning. The faint hum of the ceiling fan above him seemed distant, drowned out by the ringing echo of his alarm.

He groaned, pushing himself up, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders like an anchor. A sheet of paper was stuck to his face, the faint imprint of his notes—a hasty scrawl from last night—etched onto his skin. The ink had bled slightly in places, evidence of his half-sleepy frenzy as he had tried to finish the work that had occupied his mind. He frowned as he pulled it off, setting it back onto the cluttered desk and peering at the half-written notes. His brain fogged with the remnants of exhaustion, but he tried to push them aside, focusing on the pressing matters at hand.

"Alright, no time for this," he muttered to himself, glancing at the clock. His practicals started soon, and despite the unorthodox nature of the class, he still hated being late.

He hopped around on one leg, struggling to pull his jeans on while simultaneously gathering the papers he needed for the lab. He stuffed his books and notes into a satchel, brushing past various strewn papers and half-empty cups. His hand went automatically to the coffee pot, but there was no time for that—he’d have to survive on the fumes of whatever he had left in his system.

I should not have stayed up that late, huh?

pulling on his jacket with one swift motion. He hated the idea of walking in late. He always had, even if it was just a cognitive college, and he could easily get away with it. But no, he had standards to uphold, even in the face of mounting exhaustion.

He grabbed his keys, tucking them into his pocket, then threw a last glance at his disheveled study. His eyes lingered on the notes he'd barely finished—fragments of thoughts, the threads of a mind too restless to rest. A quick sigh escaped him before he moved out of his room.

The hallway stretched before him, and as his eyes caught the door across from his own, his chest tightened.

Morning's room.

Right-

The memory of the night before flooded back in a rush, unbidden but persistent. The shadowy image from the nightmare still lingered in his mind, and despite the daylight, a chill ran through him.

He hesitated in the hallway, the unspoken question settling in his stomach—Was he alright?

A faint sound reached his ears, a soft noise echoing from the direction of the kitchen.

Maruki squinted down the hallway. "Morning?" he called out, his voice casual.

[paradisefraught]

"Good morning, Da-- Doc!" Oops, almost forgot to correct himself. Hopefully, he didn't notice... "I'm working in the kitchen!"

Indeed, if Maruki were to step into the kitchen, he'd find it completely transformed: every inch scrubbed sparkling clean from top to bottom, all the drawers and cabinets organized, all the tools and implements either in use or neatly tucked away with a few completely new ones besides. Morning happily did this all this morning, and is currently hovering over the stove with a stovetop coffee pot, tending to the freshly-ground beans under its lid.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki, thankfully still disoriented from the drowsiness of his own sleep didn’t catch the little slip up.

He walked past and made his way to the living room. Eyes follow the askew couch as he turns away and offers a slight smile. "So it seems," he makes his way to the kitchen and that's when he sees its tranformed state. The sheer neatness of the places catches him off guard, a man who like his own bumbling clumsy self had a kitchen of his own set up.

Boy, that smell of coffee...

"You have been...busy, huh?" He makes a quiet sound.The countertops gleamed, their surfaces spotless, and every tool, utensil, and gadget seemed to have found a rightful place in this new order. Even the cabinets had been reorganized—doors slightly ajar, revealing impeccably arranged rows of plates and bowls.

His eyes widened as he gave an awkward laugh, raising his hands in a gesture of faint disbelief. “I-I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place look...this clean. Or this organized."

[paradisefraught]

Akira grins, still in his PJs, eyes free from any sadness or pain. "I could tell. Dad was the same way...I got into the habit of cleaning up after getting a job at LeBlanc!"

Humming with happiness at the praise, Akira moves to pour coffee into a mug, then pauses. "You seem like you're in a hurry this morning...want this in a tumbler?"

[takutomaruki]

Maruki’s fingers twitched at his sides, his gaze lingering on Akira as the boy moved around the kitchen. The mention of LeBlanc nestled uncomfortably in the back of his mind. LeBlanc.

his Akira had spent his probation there, hadn’t he? The memory surfaced, sharp and vivid, of another time, another world. He couldn’t help but wonder—was this just a coincidence? Or something else entirely? Better

His thoughts trailed as Akira reached for the coffee pot, the question about the tumbler hanging in the air. Maruki shook his head slightly, raising a hand to wave him off. “Oh, no, no. The last time I tried carrying coffee in a tumbler, I ended up spilling it all over my shirt,” he said, chuckling sheepishly.

“It was... not one of my finer moments.” He glanced down at himself as though reliving the embarrassment. “I think I’ll just drink it here, if you don’t mind. Besides…” He gestured vaguely toward Akira, a lopsided smile forming. “I know that place from my world. Leblanc has one of the best coffees I have ever had sooo I’d like to see if that job of yours has taught you to strike gold.”

With that, Maruki turned his attention to the cabinets. His morning routine always started with his trusty snacks, and he automatically opened the first cabinet where he usually stashed them. His hand paused mid-reach as his eyes scanned the shelves.

The snacks weren’t there.

He blinked, closing the cabinet and opening the one next to it. Still nothing. A slight frown tugged at his lips as he checked another cabinet, only to find it filled with neatly organized jars and spices—none of which belonged to him.
“Don’t tell me you ate my snacks, did you?” he asked, his voice tinged with lighthearted disbelief. He gestured vaguely toward the empty cabinet, his hand lingering in the air as though the missing items might magically reappear. “They were right here yesterday. What happened to them? Did they… get caught up in your cleaning frenzy?”

[paradisefraught]

Akira preens at the compliment, pouring his not-Dad a mug of the finest coffee he could brew on short notice, then rolls his eyes. "No, D-Doc. I didn't eat all your snacks. They're over...here!" He pops open the cabinet just beside him to reveal Maruki's wealth of snacking material. "Didn't touch a single one, I promise!"
A pause. "Dad kept his favorites in his room when I was little. I'd eat through them too fast for him to have any if he left them in the cabinet." He chuckles and hands the mug to Not-Dad. "I'm still working on labelling everything."

Rank 2: back at home, 19:00

[takutomaruki]

The living room hummed with soft ambient light—the kind that drifted in golden through the gauzy curtains, catching flecks of dust mid-air like a sleepy snowfall. A quiet moment, held like breath.

By the small windowsill, Maruki crouched beside a terracotta pot, his hand steady as he tilted the watering can just so. Water dripped onto the dark soil with a soft glug-glug, the smell of earth rising briefly into the air. The tag on the pot read, in his tidy handwriting:

"Evenings only – overwatering will make her grumpy!"

He smiled faintly at the memory of how fussy this particular plant had been during trial-and-error. The leaves were glossy now, proud. It liked 7PM.

On the kitchen table just behind him, a modest bag rested neatly. Beside it, a sleek cylindrical case wrapped with a red ribbon—half practical, half sentimental. Inside: a brand-new spectacle case. Durable. Lined. Custom-fitted for someone whose current one was cracked near the hinge. Maruki had noticed. Quietly. Of course he had.

He didn't announce it. Just left it there.

Morning’s door was still closed. Had been for a while. Faint clicks and muffled button taps filtered out—the kind of sound Maruki had grown used to.

He leaned a little on one hand, twisting back to glance toward the hallway.

"You've been there for a while, haven't you?" he called out lightly, not loud enough to pry, just enough to be heard if Morning was listening. Suppose it's not videogames it's something else.

No answer, but he didn’t expect one right away.

The plant’s leaves shifted gently as the last drops settled in the soil. Maruki ran a careful finger along the rim of the pot, wiping away a stray splash. His gaze drifted to the spectacle case again.

He stood up, stretching with a soft sigh, back cracking in a way that reminded him he wasn’t the age he felt in his head. Then, hands on his hips, he glanced back toward the hallway one more time.

“If you’re hungry later, I picked up that strawberry milkshake you like. The one with the weird mascot. And the spicy chips that pretend they’re not spicy.”

He said it with the casual rhythm of a routine. Like he’d say it again tomorrow, and the next day. Like nothing had to be forced.

And then, he reached for a sticky note from the drawer, scribbled something quickly in his looping handwriting, and gently stuck it to the ribboned case.

“No pressure. Just thought it might be useful. – Doc”

He went back into the kitchen to wash away the watering can in the sink.

Re: Rank 2: back at home, 19:00

[paradisefraught]

A moment passes and Morning, already bundled up in cat-themed PJs and with a small case of bedhead, pokes his head out of his room. "Milkshake?"

[takutomaruki]

As he set the watering can away, he wiped his hands off with one of the hand towels hanging at the side before leaving the kitchen to spot Akira there.

Back in his world, Maruki couldn't imagine the leader of the phantom thieves being this relaxed around him- despite them being pretty close confidants in the grand scheme of things. The cat-themed PJs and the bedhead.

Ah. Ah, right.

"Akira-kun in my world used to drink a lot of those back when we talked in Shujin's courtyard, you do like them, right? Or- or not?"

[paradisefraught]

"I love milkshakes!! I don't know about the weird mascot, though..." the door creaks as he pushes it open, sleepy but happy. "Where is it?"

[takutomaruki]

"It's...supposed to be a walking chilli pepper," he remarks as he picks up said chips and shows it off to Morning with a quick jiggle- just to let him know where the goods are. He even slid the milkshake to his side. "What were you up to?"

[paradisefraught]

"Oh, that guy! Now I remember. Yum." He reaches out for the milkshake, taking a large, refreshing sluuuuurp. "I was nodding off while browsing the internet."

11-4, Drunkenly stumbling home from the cherry blossom party

[dollmaxing]

It had been, all things considered, a pretty riotous evening! Not too shabby! Ichinose had practically hung off of Morning and Maruki (though the latter wasn't any more sober than she was) and instead of going to the Palace, she followed them inside. Not that either of them would really resist.

Humming off-tune her favorite song, Ichinose had managed not to fall over when kicking off the borrowed shoes at the door and had managed to find her way to the sofa, flopping down into it without a care in the world. Mmm, not bad, she could snooze here...!

"You have sooooo many plants here!"

[takutomaruki]

Maruki pretended—very badly—that the sound of his keys hitting the floor for the second time (and nearly a third) wasn’t mortifying. Or out of the ordinary. Just a regular night. Totally normal. Definitely not the first time in ages he’d invited anyone over this late, especially not in this state.

The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, he just blinked at his entryway, vaguely aware of how surreal it all felt. Huh. He hadn’t even had Shibusawa over this late, not really. And Morning had already half-bolted toward his room the moment the door opened, mumbling something indistinct. Poor kid was probably more drained than he let on.

Maruki bent down to straighten the pair of borrowed sandals kicked to the side, then slipped off his own, neatly lining them up. His keys jingled softly as he hung them on the little wooden key holder mounted by the door—a whimsically carved branch with four painted white birds perched on it, mid-chirp. It clinked against the background of Ichinose’s off-tune humming.

He followed after her, fingers moving absentmindedly to the collar before pausing—no tie. Right. Yukata. The satchel stays on across shoulders.

The living room was warmly lit, the kind of gentle amber glow that filtered in from a half-shaded lamp and the streetlights outside the balcony doors. A window was cracked open to let the night air sweep in, bringing with it the faint scent of city spring. A few boxes still sat along one wall—overflowing with stray research papers and half-sorted files—and two familiar notebooks lay open on the coffee table like forgotten thoughts.

But it was the plants that dominated the space.

Clusters of potted greenery lined the kitchen windowsill, the tops of bookcases, and a few end tables. Pale orchid blooms peeked out from beside a stack of psychology journals. A tall fiddle-leaf fig rested stoically beside the TV. Nestled among them were decorative odds and ends: a tiny ceramic watering can, a wind-up owl clock, and a coaster shaped like a cat hanging from a tree branch, with the words “Hang in there!” in cheerful lettering along the edge.

"What can I say—" Maruki said with a small, sheepish smile as he came to stand beside the couch, one hand briefly ruffling through his hair. "I get lonely without them."

He gingerly pressed his fingers to his temple as the room tilted a little too enthusiastically, but he caught himself before it became an issue, adjusting his stance with practised care.

"Back in my world last summer, one of my neighbours was moving and planning to get rid of some of her tsuwabuki—Farfugium japonicum, that is," he added absently, academic habits kicking in. "And some hozaki-nanaka? Nanako?" He stumbled over his tongue.

"Nanakomada. Ah, still got it."

"Beautiful shrubs—Japanese rowan. I couldn’t let them go to waste, so I ended up adopting them."

He motioned toward two of the more vibrant pots by the windowsill, one with glossy, rounded leaves and yellow blooms, the other dotted with tiny clusters of berries.

"Pretty sure I’ve got at least half her garden now," he chuckled, a bit dazed but clearly fond of the memory. "They’re good company. Very judgement free."

[dollmaxing]

"It feels fresh and cozy! My attempt at taking care of a little snake plant was pretty disastrous - the succulents made it a lot longer, but I accidentally ended up drowning the poor thing because I could never remember when I last watered either of them."

A small laugh!

"I would need something that screams at me that it's hungry or thirsty," she laughed self-deprecatingly, setting down her kinchaku on her lap and opening it up, taking the kanzashi out of her hair and taking off her earring to tuck them safely inside. "But then again I would get called on extravagant tours and meetings and la-dee-dah parties that pull me away from home, so that wouldn't be any good either. Oh well."

It made for a quiet work space at home, at least. Both the home she had before in Shibuya and the one she took closer to the uni. Having the music going was a nice way to make it feel like her own space.

"Your plants all look healthy and vibrant - you really are quite the caretaker, aren't you?"

1/2

[takutomaruki]

"Fresh and cosy?" He furrowed his brow. "I would call it messy and disorganised, really- which, sorry for that, I try to accommodate." The apartment was different from the clinical neatness his palace held, and with each passing second, seeing someone like Ichinose here made him nervous.

Her admitting that she couldn't commit to the bit made some of that nervousness shift. Someone who could scream their wants and needs.ike a pet, huh? He could understand that. With tours and meetings that she seemed to be quite busy with, he listened to her grievance. Her schedule was packed and constantly on the move then.

He was incredibly static in that regard. From home, to clinic, to the nurse's office in Shujin- Takuto usually made time for himself to work on his ongoing thesis in between counselling sessions.

Before all that...he got pretty busy too. There's a reason why he didn't have a pet, even if he bought pet food for the strays he came across occasionally.

Maruki turned to her at her question, raising a brow before shaking his head. "I am not much of a caretaker, just- okay I do like trying to look up each plant's wants and needs and try to accommodate as much as I can," he caught himself with his correction paired with a laugh. "It is pretty rewarding to see them grow against all odds. Like defying the set busy life I get caught up in sometimes."

"I won't deny I made my own mistakes. Still do, really, I am trying to get the perfect soil type for Azaleas, cause it turns out I didn't add mulch and then that Japanese maple doesn't like the hot sunlight so I need to figure out a space that it gets sunlight but not so much otherwise it will get sunburn." It's a lot of work, given that you need to either shift that plant from the morning light to the afternoon shade.

2/2

[takutomaruki]

All that talk and thinking had put a fervent strain on his mind. He swayed a little, catching the back of the sofa as he planted his other hand on the sofa cushion before he ended up unceremoniously dropping onto it face first or on Ichinose's lap, god forbid. His gaze fell on the kanzashi poking out from the drawstring bag.

"Um- uhhh would you like me to get anything? Water, tea or-?"

He looked half a second away from dropping onto the couch either way.

[dollmaxing]

"Hahahaha! Proving how much of a caretaker you're not right now, aren't you?" Ichinose laughed openly at him, jovial and a bit too loud from being drunk.

"Just a pillow and blanket, I don't think you'll survive long enough for anything else," she teased, adjusting the couch cushions and humming a song to herself as she fluffed it up to sleep on. "Crashing on couches... I haven't done couch surfing since college!"