Miki - Early Morning [Non-H]

I’m pulled back into the realm of the awake by the sound of an erroneous beeping, soon coupled by the scent of smoke. An annoyed voice rings throughout the empty house, yelling in anger as she shuffles something metallic around.

A turn onto my side allows me a quick glance at the clock, its red glow spelling out ‘7:21 AM.’ What could that girl be doing so early in the morning?

I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, popping my back as I raise my arms to the ceiling in a stretch. My pajamas consist of a grey undershirt and some pajama pants, which is a great deal more than what I usually wake up wearing in this house. The space next to me is unoccupied, only a set of rumpled, blue blankets to indicate that anyone was there.

The tan carpet feels refreshing against my bare feet, although I have to tread with a bit of caution if I don’t want to trip over a stuffed animal or one of the many other articles lying around the floor, ranging from a backpack to many discarded layers of clothing.

Some of which may or may not be mine.

I squeeze through the open door and creep along the wall down the hallway, standing on the tips of my toes to keep off of the cold wooden floor. The scent of something burning increases in intensity as I draw closer to the living room, around the corner of which lies the kitchen.

“Ahhhhhhh! C’mon! How do you turn this damned thing off!?”

The voice of the only other occupant yells over the ring of a smoke alarm, the clanging of pots and pans helping to craft a cacophony even the heaviest of sleepers would be annoyed by.

Is… Is she cooking?

I press myself against the wall and glance out around the corner, just enough to get a view of the dining room and kitchen.

Sure enough, she’s standing on top of a chair and reaching for the ceiling, poking around the outside of a white box. The excess cloth of her oversized nightshirt has been tied back into a knot, exposing a tiny gap of skin between her top and the waist of her sweatpants. Her messy hair is tied back into a ponytail, swaying back and forth as she tries to get the alert under control.

On top of all of that – a pastel purple apron hangs from her front, tied into an off-center bow at her back.

Miki Miura is in the kitchen, and it’s not just to grab a snack.

What day is today?! Something special has to be going on. It can’t be an anniversary, since we’ve only been together for eight months now. Christmas and New Year’s have passed. Is it Valentine’s Day?

She manages to get the siren under control after a few more moments, heaving a sigh of relief as she hops down from her makeshift stepping stool. As soon as she turns her attention to my current position, however, I let my feet carry me back to her bedroom through one of three doors in the hall.

I hop onto the bed and pull the covers over my body, feeling my heart throb with anxiety as she slides into the room and checks over me.

“Phew, sleeping like a rock as always.” Miki sighs, giggling a bit as she slips out and goes back to… whatever she could be doing in the kitchen.

…I don’t sleep like a rock, do I?

Either way, I decide to wait a few moments before pursuing the matter further, tip-toeing my way back to the vantage point at the end of the hallway.

A couple of meters to the front is a kitchen, its contents in disarray as Miki dances around from appliance to appliance laying out plates and pans of various things on the central counter. At the moment she wears a thick mitten, bending over to open the oven.

“Whoo, careful…” She whispers to herself as she retrieves a silver pan, laying it out on a nearby counter to cool off.

I have to squint just to focus in on the item of interest, and even then all I’m able to pick out is ‘black.’ Not quite charred black, but she could have gone a little easier on the heat without a doubt. It’s shaped like fish, although I’d have to get closer to be able to pick out just what.

From there, the sound of sizzling takes over, causing an alarmed Miki to jump back to the stovetop whilst yelling “ahhhhh! How long has that been steaming?!”

A white pot sits on the black cooktop, wisps of steam slipping out from under the lid as water bubbles out of the edges. Miki runs over and yanks the lid off, at which point she has to take another step back as a plume of white smoke bursts out of the cookware.

“This is why we need to buy a rice cooker! How the hell does Mom do this every morning?!” She yells in frustration as she grabs a towel out of a drawer and tries to dry up the water from the boiled-over pot.

All she manages to do is sponge up some of the water before a yelp escapes from her mouth and she’s rushing to the sink.

She holds her hand under the tap as she groans with “this sucks! Why don’t those recipes I printed out ever mention stuff like this?”

I try to peek out further to survey some of the other things she already has ‘prepared,’ but it isn’t long before she catches a glimpse of my stealthy endeavor and I’m sent running back to my safe spot in her bedroom.

The same process repeats again, with Miki stepping in, heaving a sigh of relief, and then going back to her business.

Why is she doing something like this? I can remember a few instances where she’s joked around about making me breakfast the morning after a night of… physical activity; but I never thought she was actually serious about it.

Not serious enough to prepare a full-course breakfast, at any rate.

Resuming my lookout point, I’m able to spot a large bowl being filled with a large cake of rice, being scooped out of a pan in chucks at a time by Miki with a spatula.

It doesn’t look burnt, at the very least. It might be a little oversaturated, but…

Wait – I’m going to be eating all of this, aren’t I?

Miki and I are the only ones in the house! Her parents are as mysterious as they are elusive; either Miki is hiding them or she only invites me over when they’re out of town for days at a time.

So far; I can spot charred fish, overcooked rice, an open jar of pickled ume plums, and a bowl of natto. It’s not surprising that I’m looking forward to the latter two, as they’re the only things that don’t require active preparation.

On that note, where’s the miso soup? Is that the first thing she made, or am I safe in assuming that she’s not feeling adventurous enough to take that leap?

I appreciate the effort, and I love her to death for it, but I’ll be dead by lunchtime at this rate!

She gathers up each of the dishes and carries them over to the dining room, using her left arm to push the pots and trays onto the open palm of her right hand. Everything is balanced without issue as she places it all on the table, finishing up by setting out a few plates and other necessities.

A sigh of relief puffs out from between her lips as she looks over her work. “I wonder if I made too much for two people.”

THAT IS A VERY GOOD QUESTION.

“He’s always hungry in the morning, anyway.” She remarks with a sly giggle, “I wonder if he’s awake yet.”

I take my cue to sneak back to the bedroom, slipping back into the warmth of the covers as the ‘pat-pat’ of bare foot on wood floor approaches the cracked doorway.

The bedsprings creak as Miki shifts under the covers behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and setting her chin on my shoulder.

“Are you awake, or is eight hours not enough?” She whispers, the warmth of her breath gliding over my ear and sending chills down my back.

I fake a groan and force myself to yawn before rolling over and facing her, our faces mere inches apart.

“And just what are you doing up so early?” I ask.

“It’s a surprise. You’ll have to come find out for yourself.” She whispers before laying a peck on my lips and hopping out of bed, practically skipping down the hall in excitement, paying no mind to whatever she may crush underfoot as she hops out of the room.

Steel your will, Hisao. The fight ahead is the hardest you’ve yet to face.

I climb out of bed and take careful steps after her, bracing myself as I approach the table. A small plate and a bowl have been laid out in front of my chair, a pair of chopsticks accompanying them nearby.

“Looks like you’ve been up all morning.” I comment with a chuckle.

 “Yep.” She replies, grinning in satisfaction. “Well, are you gonna dig in or are you just going to spend all morning telling me how amazing I am?”

I think I’d rather start coming up with compliments to level at her. It would appear that her choice of fish for this morning was broiled cod, chopped into uneven slices. The rice sits in chunks, with bits of brown layered among it thanks to overcooking. Natto and a bowl of pickles sit among the other dishes, accompanied by a pan of miso soup which looks to be severely lacking in broth.

We both take our seats and distribute the food out, giving our thanks before lifting the first bites to our mouths.

Miki is the first to express her opinion of the food, face contorting in displeasure as she places a bit of cod on her tongue. A nervous chuckle slips out of her mouth a short while after she manages to swallow.

It’s… It’s every bit as bad as it looks. I’m the worst man on the face of the earth for thinking such a thing, but there no way to be dishonest about this. I have to break the rice up with my chopsticks before even attempting to pick it up, and even then all I’m able to grab is a crumbling chunk.

She continues to put in a good effort in stomaching the food, forcing down each bite with a heavy swig of water. The only thing that doesn’t taste like a mistake is, surprisingly enough, the miso soup.

There’s only about half as much broth as there should be, but there’s just enough miso seasoning to not overpower my tastebuds, which is quite refreshing after the mixture of ‘burnt’ and ‘soggy’ the rest of the entries carry.

“So, yeah, I think I screwed this one up a little.” Miki confesses with an inconsequential laugh, setting her chopsticks down and then looking to me for an answer.

Before any of my thoughts can vocalize, I push out the words “ah, no, it’s perfectly alright!”

I force myself to eat at a faster pace, shoveling down entire chunks of rice mixed with natto at a time.

“Uh, Hisao, you don’t have to do that for me. It’s all burnt.” Miki replies, one eyebrow raised.

Eat it, Hisao! Eat all of it! Love it! There’s not enough charred fish to satiate your hunger! All the somewhat-decent miso soup in the world couldn’t possibly fill your belly!

“No, really, you’re going to make yourself sick like that.” She adds.

With a chunk of fish still between my teeth, I yell out “NO! FOOD MADE BY THE ONE YOU LOVE IS THE BEST” before commanding my throat to swallow.

Miki stares at me in disbelief as tears begin to stream from my eyes in pain, unable to stifle a giggle as I gag on each mouthful of food. After a few more moments which must be uncomfortable for both of us, she stands up and walks back to her room, leaving me to my folly.

I force down the last bite before chugging the contents of the glass beside me, an exhausted sigh slipping out from between my lips afterwards.

Did she get mad at me for trying to enjoy the food she made? Wouldn’t it have been a terrible waste if we had both decided to just let it go? She’s been up for hours trying to put this all together; it wouldn’t be fair if I had given up after the first bite.

…Even if I have no trouble admitting that the food was bad.

I slump back in the chair and rub my aching stomach, already beginning to feel nauseous. It isn’t long before Miki returns, however, hand behind her back.

“Did you enjoy the food?” She asks, her voice ripe with sarcasm.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” I return.

“No, I wouldn’t.” She counters, laughing before pressing her lips against my forehead in an exaggerated kiss.

Can’t hide your facial expressions while you eat, I suppose.

“Hey, at least you tried. I couldn’t sit there and let your effort go to waste, could I?”

“Well I said I’d cook breakfast for you someday, didn’t I?” She replies, chuckling at the notion. “Anyway, here’s something even I couldn’t mess up.”

She holds out a gold box wrapped with a red ribbon, crossing her arms in anticipation as I receive it. I untie the thin string holding it shut and lift the lid off, revealing an array of chocolates, all of different shapes and shades of brown.

“I was thinking of making some myself, but… yeah.” She comments, causing both of us to burst into laughter.

“You’ll get the hang of it someday, I’m sure. I’ll just keep on forcing it down like any good boyfriend.” I confess, shrugging my shoulders.

“Oh, well aren’t you sweet.” She muses.

She pokes me in the belly a few times, causing me to wince and groan with discomfort.

“I would have preferred if you’d let the failed attempt at breakfast go, honestly. Now you’ll be too sick for all the other things I had planned.” She says with an inviting wink.