Wednesday arrived smelling like cold water and sawdust.
The Open Canvas was still dark when the first alarm went off.
It wasn't a phone or a clock, but the soft, rhythmic thumping of Nouno's tail against the floorboards as she stretched and yawned with her entire body and decided that since she was awake, everyone else had to be too.
Ririka stirred first, peeling her face off the futon with a red crease across her cheek and blinking at the amber recessed lighting like she'd forgotten where she was.
Then she remembered the basement, the cedar walls, the seven futons arranged in a loose circle, and the faint sleeping heartbeat of the servers humming through the floor.
She sat up and looked around.
Erina was still buried under her blanket, only the top of her honey-blonde hair visible.
Hisako was already awake, sitting cross-legged on her futon, folding a blanket into a perfect square with mechanical precision.
Kirari lay on her back, her platinum hair fanned out in two distinctive looped braids that had somehow survived the night undisturbed, her sharp blue eyes fixed on the ceiling with the calm, unblinking focus of someone who had been awake for twenty minutes and simply hadn't announced it.
As for Hayasaka, she was already gone.
Her futon was already made, neat and tight with military corners, the kind of precision that came from years of sleeping in places where you had to leave no trace of your presence.
"Where's..." Ririka started, her voice rough with sleep.
"Bathroom," Hisako said without looking up from her folding. "Four minutes ago."
Erina's head emerged from the blanket, her hair a disaster of golden strands sticking out in seven different directions.
She blinked at the ceiling, at the warm cedar, at the six other people breathing in the same room, and she looked like a very expensive cat that had been woken up too early.
"I need coffee," she announced, her voice a croak—rough and ugly and completely stripped of its usual precision.
"Coffee is upstairs," Hisako said.
"Then I need to go upstairs."
"You need to shower first."
"I need coffee before I shower."
"The schedule says shower first."
"The schedule," Erina said, sitting up and pointing at Hisako with the full authority of a woman who had once made a sous chef cry over a misplaced garnish, "does not account for my current cellular crisis."
Hisako looked at her calmly, her hands never stopping their folding. "Your cells will survive three minutes without caffeine, Erina-sama."
"They survived last night. Barely."
"They will survive this morning. Barely."
Erina stared at her, her mouth opening and closing, her finger wavering in the air like a compass searching for north. Then she dropped it, grabbed her toiletry bag, and marched toward the bathroom, her bare feet slapping against the warm cedar floor.
She paused at the bathroom door, turned back, and pointed at Hisako with the righteous fury of the caffeine-deprived.
"When this house is finished," she said, "I am getting a private bathroom."
"Noted," Hisako said, going back to her folding.
Ririka watched the exchange from her futon, hugging her knees to her chest and smiling that small, quiet smile.
It was the kind of smile that came from watching people argue about nothing in a room that smelled like cedar and sleep, from realizing that nothing was the most luxurious thing in the world.
The bathroom door slammed, and the shower turned on.
Erina's muffled voice drifted through the wood, complaining about the water temperature—the word "scalding" distinctly audible, then "glacial," then something that might have been a threat against the plumbing.
Meanwhile, Jun stepped out of the mechanical room.
He'd been in there since before dawn, checking the servers and running diagnostics on the environmental controls.
It was the kind of quiet, invisible work that kept the basement breathing and the café's digital ghost untraceable.
He walked into the main living area in grey sweatpants with a damp towel draped around his neck, bare-chested.
His hair was damp and slicked back from his forehead, with water still clinging to his shoulders in the warm amber light.
Each droplet was a tiny prism, catching the glow and holding it for a breath before releasing, and the water slid down along his collarbones and traced the contours of muscle before vanishing into the hollow between his chest.
A coffee mug rested in one hand, steam curling lazily upward.
He looked like he'd been up for hours, yet completely refreshed, the kind of ease that comes from a deep, dreamless sleep, the sleep of someone who had finally stopped running.
The room went very quiet.
Erina's bathroom door cracked open, steam billowing out in a white cloud.
She took one look at him—his bare chest, the towel, the water tracking down his collarbone—and the door slammed shut again, harder this time.
Ririka pulled her knees up to her chin and hid behind them, her ears going pink all the way to the tips like tiny beacons of embarrassment.
Kirari didn't blink, taking a slow sip from her thermos as her sharp blue eyes tracked the movement of his shoulders.
He stretched his arm, rolling out a kink from sleeping at a desk, and the muscles shifted under his skin, the latissimus development asymmetric from compensating during yesterday's demolition.
"The latissimus muscles aren't quite even," she noted, her voice smooth and warm. "The left side's holding a bit more tension."
Jun paused, glanced at her, and took a sip of his coffee. "Noted," he said.
Kaguya, sitting cross-legged on the futon in the alcove, lowered her mug of genmaicha and watched him over the rim.
Her red eyes traced the lines of him, the broad set of his shoulders and the way his waist narrowed and the way the towel hung low on his hips with the knot loose and the fabric riding low.
The water droplets that hadn't dried yet caught the amber light like tiny mirrors, and she let out a soft breath that was almost a sigh.
"Put a shirt on, Jun..." she said, her voice dry and warm with the easy authority of someone who had earned the right to comment. "Before Erina has a stroke and we have to explain it to the village coroner."
"I'm going to shower," Jun said, setting the coffee on the crate beside the bathroom door. "You have five minutes before I start knocking."
"Four minutes is enough," Hisako corrected.
"I'm giving her three."
"How generous."
"I'm a generous man."
Kaguya let out a warm, undignified snort into her tea. He gave her a wink, and she rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips—the kind that softened her whole face, the kind she wore only when she thought no one important was watching.
She was mistaken—everyone's eyes were on her.
Ririka's ears, once faintly pink, deepened to a rich rose hue. Kirari's eyes narrowed just a touch, mentally tucking away the moment for later consideration.
Hisako's hands stilled mid-fold, her face giving nothing away though her mind seemed far from the task.
Behind the bathroom door, Erina had fallen silent; the water still flowed, but the earlier stream of complaints had ceased.
Jun strolled past Kaguya's alcove, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin, and he stopped.
He glanced down at her with a soft smile tugging at his lips, while she met his gaze with crimson eyes that held entire galaxies of unspoken words.
"Save me some hot water," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
She reached out and pressed her palm flat against his stomach, feeling the warmth of him through her fingers and the firm muscle beneath the skin. "Mm," she hummed, her thumb tracing a slow circle just above his waistband. "I'll think about it."
His breath caught, just slightly, and she felt the way his abdomen tightened under her touch. "That's not a yes."
"It's not a no either," she said, her smile widening as she pulled her hand away. "Go shower quickly, before I change my mind."
He met her eyes for a moment longer, a quiet warmth passing between them, before turning toward the bathroom door. He knocked once, then again.
"Erina," he called through the wood. "You have two minutes."
The water stopped abruptly, followed by a muffled curse and the sound of hurried movement.
Jun leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, while Kaguya's eyes traced the subtle movement of the muscles in his back. She exhaled softly, her fingers still buzzing from the brief touch they'd shared.
"Mm," she murmured, sipping her tea. "It's going to be a long day."
From her futon, Ririka peeked through her fingers, her ears still burning red. Hisako resumed her folding with mechanical precision. Kirari took another sip from her thermos, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
Nouno, perched on the highest platform of the scaffolding outside, cracked open one amber eye to judge them all, then shut it again and drifted back to sleep.
°•°•°•°•°•°•
By eight, they were outside.
The Garden House stood in the pale morning light, its charred cedar siding dark against the misty trees.
The scaffolding was already up, erected the previous afternoon while the girls were settling into the basement.
Steel pipes and wooden planks wrapped the south and west faces of the building like a cage waiting to be filled.
The plan was simple to describe and terrifying to execute.
They were adding a third floor. Not a renovation or a remodel, but a full vertical expansion. The existing roof had to come off, the load-bearing walls had to be reinforced with steel beams, and the second floor had to be reconfigured into seven individual bedrooms with a shared balcony.
On top of all of it, a new master suite would rise under a fresh roof, south-facing, with a reading nook and a narrow Juliet balcony overlooking the garden.
Jun had drawn the blueprints himself. Absolute Learn had given him the structural engineering.
Kuro had run the load calculations. But the calculations were just numbers on a screen; the actual work—the lifting, the cutting, the welding, the hauling—was going to be done by hand, by seven people and a grumpy cat who was currently sitting on the scaffolding platform three feet off the ground, washing her paw with absolute indifference.
"Alright," Jun said, standing at the base of the scaffolding with a rolled blueprint under one arm and a thermos of tea in his other hand.
The girls gathered around him in a loose semicircle, bundled in work clothes, their breath fogging in the cold air. "Here's the day."
He spread the blueprint across the sawhorse, securing the corners with a hammer and a brick. "First, the roof's coming off. The old trusses won't handle a third floor, so we'll swap them out for steel I-beams. Hayasaka's already marked the load-bearing spots."
He glanced at her. She nodded, quiet, her blue eyes steady.
Second, the second-floor interior gets completely gutted. Non-load-bearing walls are removed, and we frame seven rooms along with a balcony. Third, once the steel is in place and the new floor deck is poured, we move on to framing the third floor—master suite, reading nook, and a south-facing window.
Kaguya stood beside him, studying the blueprint. Her gaze caught on the small rectangle marked MASTER at the top, along with the tiny note: crimson ribbon, bedpost, south-facing. Her throat tightened, but she stayed silent, simply leaning her shoulder briefly against his arm, a quiet, grounding touch.
Erina studied the blueprint with a sharp gaze. "Seven rooms—that's going to be a lot of framing."
"It's a lot of framing," Jun said with a nod.
"And a balcony."
"With jasmine," Ririka added softly, her eyes widening as she studied the blueprint. "You put jasmine on the balcony."
"Climbing jasmine," Jun replied. "South rail. It'll bloom in summer—white flowers, smells like the night."
Ririka's grip on her notebook tightened, her fingers pressing into the pages. She glanced at the small note—Jasmine. South rail—then at Jun, and back at the drawing.
"That's beautiful," she murmured, her voice warm in a way that even caught her off guard.
"It's structural," Kirari remarked from behind, scanning the steel beam specs with sharp, piercing blue eyes.
Her platinum braids swayed as she tilted her head, elegant fingers following the load paths.
"The I-beams need to handle the extra dead load from the third floor. With the current truss spacing, you'd have to…" She paused, tilting her head a bit more, a rare spark of genuine interest flickering across her face.
"Actually, you've already factored it in. The load distribution is elegant."
Jun grinned. "Hayasaka gave me a hand with the load calculations."
Everyone turned to Hayasaka. She stood a little apart from the group, arms crossed, her blue eyes locked on the blueprint. She didn't glance up.
"The current foundation can handle it," she said softly, her voice calm and steady.
"The south wall's fine. The north wall just needs one more anchor point near the corner—I marked it yesterday." She paused, her fingers drifting over the air above the paper.
"The west wall's got a hairline crack in the mortar. It's not structural, but I'd seal it before the winter freeze."
Jun nodded. "Noted."
Hayasaka's chin lifted a fraction, and she went back to studying the blueprint.
Erina looked at her, then at the blueprint, then back at Hayasaka with her jaw slightly open. "You did all that yesterday while carrying futons?"
Hayasaka stayed silent, simply pointing to a spot on the blueprint. "Start removing the truss here, at the southeast corner. The nails are rusted, so you'll need the pry bar instead of the hammer."
Jun rolled up the blueprint. "Alright, helmets and gloves on. No one gets near the roofline until I say the trusses are clear.
Erina, you're on ground crew sorting salvageable wood, with Ririka helping out.
Hisako, you've got logistics—tools, water, first aid.
Kirari, you're with me on the scaffolding. Hayasaka, you're on structural checks; inspect every beam before we pull it."
Kirari arched an elegant brow. "You're asking me to get on the scaffolding?"
You're the only person, other than Hayasaka, who can read a load diagram.
"I can read a load diagram too," Erina said.
"Yesterday, you called a dovetail joint 'a fancy corner.'"
Erina's mouth opened, then closed. She grabbed a pair of work gloves. "I'm sorting wood."
"Good choice." Jun clapped his hands once. "Let's take the roof off."
By mid-morning, the first truss was off.
It was rough work.
The nails were rusted, the wood weathered, and the pry bar creaked as the hammer clanged, sending down grey clouds of dust that tasted like chalk and old paint.
Jun and Kirari toiled on the scaffolding six feet up, while Hayasaka stood below, calling out the order.
"Southeast truss first," she called out. "The load will shift west once it's free."
"Got it," Jun replied, wedging the pry bar under the truss. Kirari braced the other end, and together they pulled. The wood shrieked, the nail gave way, and the truss shifted.
Below, Erina sorted salvageable planks into neat stacks, her face streaked with dust and her braid coming loose. Ririka worked beside her, carrying smaller pieces to the pile, her arms already sore. Near the fire pit, Hisako had set up a station with water bottles, a first aid kit, and a thermos of tea. She was timing everything, even the truss removal.
"The next truss should come free in about four minutes," Hisako announced.
"It'll come free when it comes free," Erina muttered, hauling a plank.
"I'm just managing expectations."
"You're managing my blood pressure."
"They're connected."
Nouno perched on the highest scaffolding platform, three feet above Jun and Kirari, calmly washing her paw. She'd been there an hour—motionless, unhelpful, and overseeing with complete indifference.
The second truss came off easily. The third was stubborn; the nail was stripped, forcing Jun to climb higher, bracing his feet against the frame and reaching up for leverage.
His shirt stretched across his back, the muscles in his shoulders shifting beneath the fabric.
Below, Ririka paused mid-step with a plank in her arms, her gaze following the line of his arms, the way the tendons in his forearms stood out as he worked the pry bar.
She set the plank down and kept watching.
"Ririka," Erina said without glancing up from her stack. "The plank."
"I'm looking."
"You're looking at the man, not the plank."
"I'm looking at the structural integrity of the scaffolding."
"The scaffolding is behind him."
"I'm looking through him."
"You're looking at him."
Flushing, Ririka picked up the plank and carried it to the pile without another glance.
The fourth truss was where things went wrong.
Hayasaka stood on a tall twelve-foot aluminum ladder leaned against the south wall, stretching up with her pencil to mark where the steel bracket would go.
Her boots were planted on the third rung from the top, her body reaching as far as it could, while below her the drop cloth was dusted with a soft layer of plaster and sawdust that had settled like gray snow throughout the morning.
"The upper bracket needs to shift a quarter inch east," she called down, her voice carrying across the yard. "The load path isn't clean."
"Got it," Jun replied from the scaffolding. "I'll adjust it."
Hayasaka leaned toward the next mark, fingers stretching for the cedar siding, when the ladder's metal footpad caught a slick patch of sawdust and slid sideways across the wood.
Her balance tipped into open air, her stomach lurching before her mind could react, the sickening weightlessness of a fall taking over with twelve feet of empty space below her boots.
"!!!"
She tumbled backward, arms flailing for anything to grab as the world spun and the sky replaced the wall, the ladder clattering away.
Wind roared past her ears, and she let out a sound—not quite a scream, more a sharp, startled gasp—before the impact hit.
"Hayasaka!"
Jun caught her mid-fall, his arm wrapping around her shoulders and his hand pressing against the back of her head.
They went down together in a tangle of limbs and dust that drove the breath from her lungs, the drop cloth catching them hard and rough, the canvas scraping against her shoulders and the back of her neck.
The plaster dust exploded around them in a thick, blinding cloud that caught the mid-morning light and turned everything gold and white and silent.
She opened her eyes to find herself lying on her back, the drop cloth rough and scratchy against her shoulders. Dust drifted lazily around them in slow spirals, catching the light like tiny frozen stars.
Jun hovered above her, his face just inches away, the heat of his sweat-soaked shirt pressing into her, his chest rising and falling rapidly against hers as he tried to catch his breath.
His forearms rested on either side of her head, dust tangled in his hair, sweat glistening on his collarbone, and a thin streak of blood marking his chin where something had cut him.
From this close, she could see every detail of his face—the golden flecks in his dark eyes, the faint stubble along his jaw, and the way his brow knit with concern.
Her hands shot up without thinking, palms flat against his chest, feeling the heavy, rapid beat of his heart through the damp cotton of his shirt.
The warmth of his skin radiated through the fabric, the solid wall of his ribs unyielding beneath her touch.
His breathing was quick and uneven, matching the frantic pace of her own heartbeat.
Dust clung to his shoulders and tangled in his hair, the light catching it so he seemed to glow like something out of a dream. She noticed her hand still fisted in his shirt, gripping the fabric as if he were the only solid thing in the middle of a storm.
For three long, endless seconds, they stayed perfectly still.
The world had shrunk to the inches between their faces, to the warmth of his breath brushing her skin, to the pounding of his heart beneath her hands.
She caught the scent of cedar dust, the faint metallic tang of steel, and the crisp, clean fragrance of his soap layered beneath it all.
She could feel the tautness in his muscles, the way he held himself utterly still, waiting.
Hayasaka's throat tightened, and her fingers curled deeper into his shirt, pressing against the heat of his chest.
She'd been falling for thirteen years—through deadlines, through lies, through the slow, relentless wearing down of herself she could never seem to stop.
She always landed alone, always caught herself, always took the hit in silence before standing up and walking away like nothing had happened.
But this time, for the first time, someone caught her, and she didn't know how to handle the warmth spreading through her chest, the sting in her eyes, or the tightness in her throat that kept her from speaking.
"Hey," Jun murmured, his voice low, rough, and a little breathless, the word slipping out in a warm exhale that ghosted across her face. "You okay?"
Hayasaka blinked, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, really seeing him for the first time.
She looked past the dust, the sweat, and the scaffolding, and something deep in her chest cracked open.
It was small and fragile, a part of her she had locked away long ago and forgotten how to reach, now creaking and splintering as light spilled in for the first time in years.
"Yes," she murmured, her voice soft and distant, as if it belonged to someone else—someone younger who hadn't yet learned that falling always meant landing alone.
Jun held her gaze for a moment, his thumb twitching against the canvas near her shoulder as if he might reach out and touch her face. Then he pushed up onto his forearms, rolled to the side, sat up, and extended his hand to her.
"Ladder's busted," he said, his voice steady again, like he hadn't just dropped twelve feet and caught a woman midair. "The foot pad's cracked."
Hayasaka glanced at his hand, noting the callouses, the dust, and the faint smear of paint on his thumb, before she reached out to take it.
His warm, rough fingers wrapped around hers, and with one smooth, effortless motion, he pulled her to her feet.
She stood, swaying a bit before regaining her balance. "I'm fine," she said, louder and steadier this time, though she kept her eyes off him. Her gaze lingered on the ladder, the cracked foot pad, and the dust settling around them. "I'll grab the broom."
"Hayasaka."
She stopped, turning her head just enough to catch him in her peripheral vision.
"Take a break," he said. "Get some water. The ladder's on me—I should've checked the pads."
She studied him, noticing how he held his arm a little away from his side and the slight grimace tugging at his mouth that he probably thought went unnoticed.
She swallowed and glanced away. "Your shoulder."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. You fell on it."
"It's fine, Hayasaka."
She stared at him for a moment before heading to the water station and grabbing a bottle. Without handing it over, she set it on the sawhorse beside him and walked away.
Jun watched her leave, rolling his shoulder with a wince before taking the water. From the scaffolding above, Kirari peered down with sharp, calculating blue eyes.
"The ladder failure was mechanical," she said in her smooth, velvet cadence. "Not operator error."
"I know."
"You're taking responsibility anyway."
"I know."
Kirari let the silence hang, sharp as a blade, before speaking again, her voice softened with rare approval. "That is not inefficient."
Jun smiled, took a sip of water, and went back to work.
But he kept his left arm slightly away from his body, his jaw tight, and across the yard, Kaguya had stopped sorting wood, watching him with her hands still.
Her gaze lingered on his shoulder, on the way he pretended it didn't hurt.
She stayed quiet, lifting a plank to the pile, setting it down, picking up another, though her eyes kept drifting back.
The truss accident came an hour later.
Erina, on ground crew, was hauling a long, heavy section of salvaged roof timber toward the pile.
The old-growth cedar balanced on one shoulder, her face streaked with dust, braid half-unraveled. She didn't see the guy-wire.
A thin steel cable was anchored to the base of the scaffolding, stretched tight across the dusty ground and nearly invisible against the pale chalk.
Erina's boot caught on it, sending her stumbling. The timber on her shoulder shifted, sliding off and crashing to the ground with a heavy, splintering crack.
At the same instant, a section of scaffolding above shifted.
A loose bracket gave way, and a heavy steel connector plate slipped from the platform edge, dropping straight toward her head.
From twenty feet out, Jun caught sight of it.
He spun around, let the pry bar fall, and crossed the space in four quick strides.
Stepping in front of her, he threw up his left hand to block the falling plate.
It smacked into his palm with a sharp clang that made his fingers tingle, but he flicked it aside like it was nothing.
The motion carried him into her space, his right hand bracing against the timber stack behind her to keep from knocking her off balance.
Erina froze, pressed back against the salvage pile. Jun stood in front of her, his left hand still lifted from deflecting the plate, his right arm braced beside her head.
He was a wall of heat, cedar, and sweat, filling her vision until she forgot how to breathe.
From this angle, her face was level with his chest, feeling the warmth radiating through his sweat-soaked shirt, catching the sharp, clean scent of his soap tangled with the chalky dust.
She heard his breathing—fast, a little ragged from the sprint—and his heartbeat, steady and loud against her ear, so alive that she forgot her own breath.
"You alright?" Jun asked, his voice rough and a bit winded.
Erina's mouth parted, but no words emerged.
Her palms rested flat against his stomach, feeling the firm ridges of muscle through the damp cotton, the subtle tightening of his abdomen with each breath, the solid weight of him, and the undeniable, consuming presence he carried.
"Move," she whispered at last.
"What?"
"Please, move right now, before I say something I'll have to formally take back."
Jun blinked, glancing at her, then at the steel plate on the ground, and finally at the scaffolding overhead.
He stepped back with an easy, unhurried grace, as if he hadn't just caught the falling plate barehanded and pinned her against a timber pile.
"Watch the guy-wires," he warned. "The tape came loose."
Erina stayed pressed against the timber pile, her hands still suspended in the air where his chest had been.
Her fingers trembled, and her face flushed a deep red.
She glanced at him, then at the steel plate on the ground, and finally at her own unsteady hands.
"I'm going to be sick," she said evenly.
"Don't," Jun replied. "I just swept."
"Then I'll be sick on the freshly swept ground."
"Then I'll sweep again."
Erina closed her eyes, took a breath, then another, and opened them. She hefted the timber onto her shoulder and carried it to the salvage pile.
Setting it down, she turned, walked back, and grabbed another piece without glancing at him. Still, her ears flushed red to the tips, and her hands kept trembling.
Lunch was by the fire pit.
The flames were down to embers as Hisako warmed a pot of soup and set out bread and cheese on a wooden board.
The girls sat on stumps and overturned crates, dusty, worn out, and quiet.
Nouno perched on the sawhorse, licking her paw, having done nothing but supervise—and now keeping an eye on the soup.
Jun sat on a stump, his left hand wrapped in gauze where the steel plate had stung him.
Kaguya had bandaged it silently, her touch gentle, her jaw tightening at the sight of the red mark beneath.
She said nothing about him catching the falling plate bare-handed; she didn't have to.
Erina ate her soup slowly and deliberately, her eyes fixed intently on the spoon. She hadn't glanced at Jun once since the timber incident.
Ririka sat beside Kirari, her notebook open as she sketched the scaffolding with surprising detail. Every so often, she stole quick glances at Jun's forearms, careful to do so only when she thought no one was watching.
Hayasaka sat off to the side, eating quietly, her gaze drifting to Jun's bandaged hand and the way he held his spoon in his right, sparing the left. She glanced away, then back, then away again.
Kirari nibbled at her bread in neat, careful bites, her sharp blue eyes scanning the group. She noticed the dust clinging to their faces, the red mark on Erina's neck from where the timber had grazed her, and the gauze wrapped around Jun's hand.
"The structural removal is ahead of schedule," she noted, her voice smooth as velvet. "But the team's emotional load-bearing capacity is nearing its limit."
Erina kept her eyes on her soup. "I'm fine."
"You told a timber to move."
"I told it to move because it was in my way."
"The timber was lying on the ground."
Erina's spoon froze midair. She glanced at Kirari, mouth working soundlessly before she chomped down on a piece of bread with exaggerated force. "I hate you," she muttered through her chewing.
"You've mentioned that before." Kirari sipped her water, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. "I'm simply noting the facts."
Ririka, still sketching, spoke without looking up. "The balcony. With the jasmine."
Jun turned to her. "Yeah?"
Her pencil moved in precise, deliberate strokes. "When it's finished, when the jasmine blooms… can I sit there in the evening? Just to write."
The fire crackled, sending smoke curling into the air.
"Yeah, Ririka," Jun said softly, warmth in his tone. "You can sit there whenever you like."
Ririka paused mid-sketch, glancing up with bright pale blue eyes, then nodded and returned to her drawing.
Hayasaka set her bowl aside, her gaze falling on the rolled blueprint resting on the sawhorse, eyes tracing the small rectangle labeled MASTER.
"The third floor," she said evenly. "The south window—do you want it floor-to-ceiling?"
Jun nodded. "Morning light. It'll fill the whole room."
Hayasaka was silent for a moment, her thumb running along the rim of her bowl.
"My mother had a window like that in the kitchen. Faced south. Around six in the morning, the light would spill onto the table, and the whole room smelled of bread." She paused, swallowing. "I haven't thought about that window in eleven years."
No one said a word. The fire crackled. Nouno stopped mid-lick.
Hayasaka looked up, her blue eyes steady and clear, though now with a warmth that hadn't been there before. "It's a good window," she said. "The load path will hold." She picked up her bowl and returned to eating.
Next to Jun, Kaguya reached under the sawhorse to grasp his hand, giving it a quick, firm squeeze, which he returned.
As dusk fell over the yard, the scaffolding stood silent, trusses resting low, and the air was thick with the smell of cut wood, crisp chill, and the fading warmth of the fire's last embers.
At the outdoor pump, Jun rinsed the dust from his arms, ice-cold water running over his skin in silver ribbons, washing away the chalk to reveal tanned, sweat-slicked flesh.
The water followed the veins in his forearms, dripping into the grass, while his shoulders flexed with each pump, muscles shifting beneath his damp shirt.
Kaguya walked across the grass toward him, freshly showered, her dark hair still damp, a soft flannel hanging loosely over her. She stopped a few feet away, arms folded, head tilted, watching the water run over his arms and the faint tension in his jaw.
"You're an idiot," she said, her tone casual and warm, without any real bite.
"Which one?" he asked, still working the pump.
"All of them. The plate, the ladder, the timber. You just throw yourself into things."
"I catch things. That's different."
"You catch things with your bare hands, Jun."
"It was a steel plate."
"A steel plate falling from six feet, and you caught it with your bare hand. Now your hand's wrapped, your shoulder's going to ache all night, and you'll pretend it doesn't."
He stopped pumping, shook the water from his arms, and took the towel she held out. He dried his face, arms, and hands, smiling at her over the fabric. "I'm not pretending."
"You're wincing when you think I'm not looking," she said, stepping closer.
She moved into his space, close enough to tilt her head back to meet his eyes and catch the scent of cold water, cedar dust, and the warm, clean note of his skin.
Heat radiated from him without her even touching, and she reached up, cool fingers brushing his jaw.
She traced its line, wiping away a smudge of plaster dust near his ear, letting her hand linger, palm resting against his cheek. Her touch was slow and deliberate, a quiet way of saying I see you—the catching, the wincing, the pretending.
"You caused a lot of cardiac events today, Izanami," she murmured, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.
"Occupational hazard," he said, voice low and rough.
"Erina told a timber to move."
"She did."
"Ririka drew your forearms in her notebook."
"She did."
"Hayasaka looked at your hand fourteen times during lunch."
"I counted twelve."
"You counted," she said, a small, warm smile tugging at her lips.
She ran her thumb lightly over his lower lip before pulling back. Her crimson eyes, dark and warm, met his as her voice softened. "And I saw you catch a falling woman with your bare arms, and it stirred something complicated in my chest."
His hands settled on her waist, warm and steady, pulling her in until there was no space left between them, his chest firm against her palms.
She felt the strong, steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the pulse of his presence pressed close, and a quiet sound slipped from her lips, part sigh, part something she couldn't quite name.
"Something complicated?" he echoed, his voice a deep vibration against her chest.
"Mm," she murmured, palms pressed to his warmth, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. "Very complicated."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No," she breathed, tilting her chin up so her words brushed over his jaw. "I want hazard pay."
A low, warm chuckle rumbled through him, more felt than heard. "Hazard pay."
"For the emotional distress of watching you pin my friends to walls and catch falling steel with your bare hands," she teased, her tone softening near the end. "As your wife, I think I deserve compensation."
"Compensation," he agreed, leaning in to brush his lips against the corner of her mouth.
She let out a quiet gasp at the touch, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, and he took it as a sign to continue. His lips moved down along her jaw, tracing the curve of her neck, and she tipped her head back with a breathless, "Jun…"
He pressed his mouth to the sensitive hollow below her ear, slow and deliberate, his breath hot against her skin, and she whimpered, a small, broken sound that she couldn't have stopped even if she'd wanted to. "Mm," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed as her hands curled tighter into his shirt.
Her knees weakened, the world shrinking to the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his jaw, and the steady, solid thump of his heart beneath her palms.
"Hazard pay," he murmured against her neck, the words humming through her like a promise, making her shiver. "Accepted."
She laughed, soft and breathless, the sound melting into a gasp as his lips found the spot just below her ear once more. "Good," she whispered, her voice wavering. "Because I'm expecting overtime."
He leaned back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his hands still warm on her waist while hers stayed pressed to his chest.
"Overtime, huh…" he murmured, the single word heavy with everything they'd built together. She let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh.
"Mmm," she hummed, leaning in closer, her breath warm against his lips. "That sounds acceptable."
Dusk settled in around them, the fire reduced to ash, the scaffolding hushed, and the Garden House stood dark and patient, awaiting its new floors, new rooms, and new life.
Stars emerged one by one, faint and silver against the deepening sky, and they lingered there in the cold and quiet, her forehead resting against his, his hands warm on her waist, suspended between what was and what was still being built.
Behind them, the basement hummed with servers on their steady watch.
The cedar walls held the heat, and high on the topmost scaffolding, Nouno cracked open one amber eye, regarded them for a long moment, then closed it again.
She drifted back to sleep.