Yurei walked toward the dining room with the steady steps of someone still half wrapped in morning thoughts. The hallways of the house were wide and bright, sunlight drifting across the floor in soft sheets. He rubbed at his eyes once, trying to shake off the last traces of sleep. The smell of warm food drifted from ahead, wrapping around him like a gentle tug telling him to hurry. He didn't hurry, of course, but he also didn't slow down. It was the start of another day, and the house felt peaceful enough that he let himself breathe a little easier as he approached the open doorway.
Inside, His father sat at the far end of the table, posture straight but never rigid, as if he had mastered the art of looking formal while still feeling approachable. His hair, the same snowy white as Yurei's, fell just above his shoulders, the faint lavender tint near the ends softer and less noticeable but still there if the light struck just right. Both of his eyes were silver, clear and reflective like polished metal, carrying a steady calm that suggested years of learning to fold his emotions neatly beneath the surface. His skin held a warm olive tone that contrasted gently with his pale hair, giving him an almost ethereal presence without feeling distant. His features were sharp, defined, yet softened by a quiet warmth, the subtle kind that didn't need many words to make its presence known. He looked unmistakably like an older version of Yurei, as if the boy were simply a smaller echo waiting to grow into the same calm, striking silhouette.
"Good morning," his father greeted, his deep voice steady as Yurei stepped inside.
Yurei mumbled a greeting in return, sliding into his seat while his mother moved toward the counter to fetch the warmed pot. She hummed lightly as she poured the porridge into three bowls, the steam rising in soft clouds. The table felt peaceful, the kind of quiet only families who understood each other well could share.
His mother set a bowl in front of him. "Here. And don't pretend it's too sweet."
"I wasn't—"
"You were absolutely about to say it," she cut in.
His father hid a small smile behind his cup. "Let him pretend once in a while," he said gently.
Yurei glanced at him. "I don't pretend."
Both parents gave him matching looks that said otherwise.
Breakfast continued with a comfortable rhythm. His mother talked about the morning weather, complaining half-jokingly that the sun hadn't made up its mind whether it wanted to shine fully. His father added a comment about the flowers in the garden blooming earlier than expected. Yurei mostly listened, spooning the porridge slowly. The honey blended softly with the warm rice, and he tried his best not to look like he enjoyed it too much.
"So," his father said after a moment, "did you sleep well?"
Yurei shrugged. "I woke up early."
His mother clicked her tongue. "Staring dramatically out the window again."
"I wasn't dramatic."
"You absolutely were," she replied.
His father's lips curved. "He might get it from you," he told her.
She gasped. "Excuse me? I don't stand dramatically at windows."
"You absolutely do," he echoed her tone perfectly.
Yurei sighed, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Can I just eat in peace?"
"No," his mother said immediately. "You live in this household. Peace is impossible."
His father nodded solemnly. "She's right. It is the law."
"What law?" Yurei asked.
"The Law of Breakfast," his mother declared, lifting her spoon like a judge announcing a verdict. "Article one. No silence allowed. Article two. Teasing is mandatory. Article three. Anyone with cute hair color must endure extra teasing."
"That's not a real law," Yurei muttered.
"It is now," she replied.
His father set down his cup and leaned back slightly. "You know, when you were little, you used to crawl under the table during meals."
Yurei blinked. "Why?"
"Because you believed it was safe from your mother's chaos," his father said.
"That was a wise child," his mother said proudly. "But unfortunate for you, I adapted."
His father cleared his throat. "The honey is good for energy. Today might be busy."
"What's happening today?" Yurei asked.
"Nothing official. But you'll need strength. Growing boys always do."
His mother tapped Yurei's bowl. "Eat more, then. Or you'll stay tiny forever."
"I'm not tiny," Yurei protested.
"You are," both parents said at the same time.
Yurei groaned and covered his face with one hand. "Why do you team up on me?"
"We don't team up," his father said.
"We unite," his mother corrected.
"Same thing," Yurei said weakly.
They ate together with the easy flow of a family who had fallen into a rhythm they didn't need to think about. His parents chatted lightly about errands, upcoming events, and nothing important at all. Yurei listened, adding small comments when needed, letting the warmth of the room settle over him. It was one of those mornings when things felt simple. Simple was rare, so he held onto it without admitting he was doing so.
When they finished eating, his mother stood first. "Alright. Breakfast complete."
His father nodded. "Good. Now clean up your bowl, Yurei."
Yurei lifted it with a resigned sigh. "Yes, yes. I know."
"Good boy," his mother said sweetly.
"I'm not a dog."
"But if you were," she said, patting his head once, "you would be adorable."
"Mom!"
His father rose as well. "Yurei, make sure you wipe your face."
Yurei blinked. "There's nothing on my—"
His mother reached across the table, brushing a faint dab of honey from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. "There was."
"…Oh."
Yurei blinked, as if unsure whether he should feel embarrassed or betrayed by his own face.
She let out a light laugh, the kind that fluttered through the air like a small breeze. "Come on. We're going out for a walk in a moment. The weather's perfect today, and you've been cooped up in your room since… well, forever."
Yurei lowered his gaze. "I haven't been cooped up."
"You absolutely have," she said, ruffling his hair in a single sweeping motion that left it even fluffier than before. "Go get ready. Jacket, shoes, the usual things that stop you from freezing or catching a cold."
"I don't get cold…" he muttered.
"Mmhm. Jacket," she repeated with the tone of a final boss.
He sighed but slid off his chair. The floor felt cool under his feet as he moved toward the hallway. "Where are we going?"
"I'll tell you after you're dressed," she replied, turning to rinse her hands. "I need to grab a few things too, so wait for me in the TV room when you're done."
Yurei nodded, shuffling off to prepare. A few minutes later, he returned wearing a light jacket and slipped into the TV room. He sat on the soft couch, remote in hand, flipping to a random morning show while he waited, the screen's warm glow filling the quiet space around him.