"You're up early today?"
Hearing footsteps from the stairs, Miyamura Shizuka turned around and raised an eyebrow at the sight of her son coming down in sportswear.
"Well, well, Young Master Miyamura—off for a morning run?"
"Mm-hmm," Akira nodded as he made his way to the entryway to change his shoes, ignoring her teasing.
Shizuka didn't press him further. She simply called out, "Be careful," before turning into the washroom.
"I'm heading out now, Mom!" Akira shouted toward the washroom as he tied his laces.
"If you're going for a run, then hurry up and go already! Don't wake your dad!" Shizuka stuck her head out, raising a fist threateningly.
Still, she didn't forget to show some care:
"It rained last night—watch your step so you don't slip."
"Got it."
Click.
As the door closed behind him, Shizuka shook her head and smiled to herself. Honestly, she thought it was a good habit—getting up early to run. Good for his health too.
She just hoped it wasn't one of those three-day spurts of motivation that vanished as fast as it came.
Outside, Akira checked his watch—it was exactly six o'clock. He still had about two and a half hours before school.
The sky was already brightening. Without much thought, he picked a direction and started his run, gradually picking up speed.
Beep beep beep...
His watch vibrated as he hit the two-kilometer mark. A ringtone followed, signaling him to slow down.
Since it was his first run, he'd kept the pace moderate. Glancing at the watch, he noted it had taken about twenty minutes.
He pulled a tissue pack from his pocket, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and began the walk back home.
The streets were gradually coming alive. A few breakfast shops were already buzzing with people.
"Miyamura?"
A voice called out from behind. Akira turned to see a familiar face—Kawai Miki, his sixth-grade class monitor, holding a few plastic bags stamped with breakfast shop logos. Steamed buns, dumplings, and soy milk were clearly visible through the transparent wrapping.
"Good morning," Akira greeted her briefly, then turned back and continued walking.
"Wait up!" Miki caught up quickly, clearly not letting the opportunity slip.
"You just finished running?"
She'd spotted him earlier as he jogged past the breakfast shop, but she'd been stuck in line and couldn't call out. She thought she'd missed her chance—only to bump into him again right after.
She briefly wondered if it was fate. Or maybe… he did it on purpose?
"Mm-hmm," Akira responded simply. He figured it was obvious—sweaty clothes, flushed face...
Ah, right—he'd wiped his forehead earlier. Maybe not that obvious.
"Kawai, did you just buy breakfast?"
"Yep! School starts today and my mom overslept, so she sent me out for food."
She glanced down at the bags in her hands.
"Have you eaten yet? I bought extra—want some?"
"Don't be shy, seriously. I can't finish it all myself."
She held up the cup. "Want the soy milk? I don't even like soy milk—I just bought one to look polite."
Akira blinked, unsure which sentence to respond to. Wasn't this the part where the conversation naturally faded into silence? Why did she suddenly become so chatty?
"No, thanks," he said, politely declining.
"I appreciate it, but Mom probably has breakfast ready at home. Besides, in this sweaty state, I'm not really hungry—I just want to take a shower."
He glanced at his watch and added, "It's getting late anyway. I'll head home first. Let's do breakfast together some other time—with you and Shouko."
With that, he picked up his pace and jogged off.
"Alright then!" Kawai Miki waved goodbye, unbothered by the rejection, and cheerfully continued toward her house.
"I'm back!"
"Hurry up and take a shower—you must smell like a walking gym bag," came his mother's voice from the kitchen.
"Also, what brought this sudden urge to run today?"
Akira stepped out of his shoes, slipped on his house slippers, and replied calmly, "Just wanted to move around a bit and build up my fitness."
"Not a bad idea. I fully support it," said Daiki Miyamura from the dining table, flipping through the morning paper.
Shizuka walked out of the kitchen carrying a plate of dumplings. Without missing a beat, she quipped at her husband,
"Of course you support it—it's not you who's running."
She placed the dumplings on the table, poured a glass of milk for Daiki, and then glanced pointedly at him.
"Wouldn't it be great if you joined him and got some fresh air too?"
"Heh… one thing at a time," Daiki chuckled, rustling the newspaper again.
"You've got love handles now. You do realize that, right?"
Shizuka rolled her eyes as she headed back into the kitchen.
"You weren't complaining last night…" Daiki muttered under his breath as he watched her retreating figure.
Akira tuned out their playful morning banter. After downing a glass of water, he headed upstairs to grab his school uniform and jumped into the shower.
About ten minutes later, he stepped out of the bathroom, towel in hand, drying his hair.
"Want me to help blow-dry it?"
"Morning, Shouko. When did you get here?" he asked, surprised.
He turned to see her poking her head out from the living room, eyes fixed on him.
"You were just heading into the shower when I arrived," she said.
She walked over, pulled him into the living room, and gently pushed him down onto the sofa. Taking the towel from him, she began softly drying his hair.
"Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked, relaxing as she wiped his hair with practiced hands.
"Mm-hmm," she nodded. Once satisfied, she handed him back the towel and disappeared briefly, returning with a white hairdryer.
After plugging it in, she tested the temperature against her palm before carefully drying his hair.
The hum of the dryer filled the silence. Neither of them spoke, but the moment was warm, familiar.
A few minutes later, she switched it off, leaned in, and took a sniff of his hair.
"Smells good!"
"…Pervert."
"Say that again and I'll bite you!" she shot back, flashing her teeth playfully.
Knock knock.
Their teasing was interrupted by a knock on the living room doorway. Akira turned his head and saw his mother standing there, arms crossed.
The look on her face was all too familiar.
He'd worn the same expression once when he'd caught his parents flirting in the kitchen.
Now the tables had turned.
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