The next morning arrived with a soft glow bleeding through the curtains.
Kentaro stirred on the couch, his blanket bunched around him like a cocoon. Except… This wasn't his blanket. It was thicker, fluffier, and smelled faintly of lavender.
"Wait… This is Serica's blanket," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Before he could think much of it, a sound came from the kitchen, clattering pans and a faint aroma of something… Edible. Not burnt, not smoking. A miracle.
Kentaro shot up in a panic, his mind flashing to Serica's last cooking "attempt" that nearly summoned the fire brigade. But when he peeked around the corner, it wasn't Serica.
"Oh… It's Yura," he whispered in relief.
Standing in a frilly apron, Yura was perfectly focused on an omelette recipe that Serica had shown her on an online blog. She moved with quiet precision and immense concentration; it was nothing like the chaos Serica usually unleashed in the kitchen.
