Misuto had never been more grateful to not get a full night’s rest.
For once, his biological clock (screwed up beyond belief at this point) was working with him and not against him. Morning still hadn’t quite broke, but going back to sleep now risk oversleeping and putting him behind on his plan for the day. So, why not get a head start.
There was just enough light for him to navigate down the stairs and to the kitchen without injury. It couldn’t have been any later than six-thirty, and the house was entirely silent. Then, he set to work on Hinoe’s breakfast.
He saw no difference between pre-made and home-made, so he had bought everything. The sentiment was the same, anyway—Hinoe wouldn’t fault Misuto for not knowing how to make something as simple as steamed rice or tamagoyaki, right?
The only thing he knew how to do properly was brew tea or coffee, which was an accomplishment in itself for someone who hadn’t ever been in a kitchen until months previous. It was all in the baby steps—even someone as perfect as himself had to have a flaw or two. Or, that’s what he would tell himself.