@divinetide sent: [ cook ] michiru makes food for hotaru :kiss:
nonverbal prompts. / accepting.
' STRICT BED REST ' is significantly less interesting when one is left awake with nothing to do. it makes them agitated, too fretful to be still when there’s only vague, feverish thoughts for company. so the firefly is quiet, each footfall soundless as she leaves the protective cocoon of her bedroom, a hazy determination in her gaze. there must be something for her to do. her thin blanket drapes protectively over her shoulders, hanging low, fabric dragging silently against the wooden floor.
wandering steps are aimless, lacking in direction & purpose, traversing the halls with only enough certainty to avoid hard walls & sharp corners. the rest of the house is oddly noiseless. but a quiet, melodic hum reaches through the fog of her illness, beckoning hotaru to follow its divine tune. from one hallway to the next, down the stairs & to the kitchen. though michiru’s back is turned, hotaru knows the older guardian must be aware of her presence, if the way her humming stops is any indication. crossing the space to stand by her mother’s side, hotaru stands on the tips of her toes ( a habit from her childhood, & one that’s long since fallen out of necessity ) to peer into the pot on the stove.
“ is that for me ? ” hotaru asks, pinching the corners of her blanket tight over her, fists resting just beneath her chin. it’s a soup, as far as she can tell, though the color is too rich to determine what ingredients lie below the surface. she sniffs at the air experimentally, something warm & pleasant blossoming in her stomach. even if the scent is muted by her illness, just knowing it’s being made for her by her mother is delightful. hopefully her flattery will earn her a few moments more of exploration, & not an immediate escort back to her bed. “ ah, michiru-mama, it smells so good ! ”
