The morning unfolds the way mismatched puzzle pieces fit: awkwardly, but somehow forming a picture anyway.
There's a skirmish over shower rights that ends in passive-aggressive knocks and strategic towel deployments. Breakfast is cobbled together from culinary desperation—toast that's more brittle than browned, instant soup that probably expired last season, and one banana that Chi claims with the righteous fury of a pirate queen.
Kaori, naturally, navigates the chaos with frustrating grace. She's already in clean clothes, hair dried, and sleeves rolled up like she had this timeline mapped out in advance. Watching her is like watching someone re-read a book they already know the ending to.
Chi, meanwhile, doesn't achieve sentience until her second mug of tea. She makes a sound halfway between a sigh and an ancient curse and stares into her cup like it owes her money.
Somehow, the morning holds together.
Until it doesn't.
