memshare: welcome home.

[squelching]

The bell attached to the front door chimes while you're in the kitchen. Dinner is almost ready, so you feel confident leaving the pot simmering on the stove by itself while you pat your hands dry on the kitchen towel.

"Welcome home!" you call out.

"I'm home, Saya," Fuminori replies just as you crawl out of the kitchen and into the hallway, spotting him taking his shoes off in the genkan.

"You're late," you say. "I was a little worried."

"Sorry," he responds. "I had to stop by the hospital today."

You tilt your head. "Oh, that was today?"

He doesn't have to elaborate. You know that every other week he has to head back to the hospital for a check-up. A necessary precaution, they called it, due to the fact that the brain surgery that saved his life was still quite experimental. You both know the results of the surgery were not at all what the doctors were hoping for. That it altered the way Fuminori perceives the world permanently – but no one needs to know except for the two of you.

Besides, it's a good thing that the surgery turned out the way it did.

He would have never allowed you to stay with him, to pull him into your arms for a hug as you do now, if the damage done to his brain hadn't warped his perception of the world to the point where he views a creature like you as human.

Besides your father, he is the only person in this world willing to hold you in his arms.

"What did you do today?" he asks, as you pull away from each other.

"Worked on the living room," you respond, your body squelching when you take a step back to make space for him after he steps into the house proper. "The painting's half done! And now I'm making your dinner like I learned from the TV."

"Sounds good," Fuminori says, nodding.

"It'll take a little longer." You smile, sheepishly. "Can you wait?"

"Sure. I'll do some more work in the living room."

Seeing each other off, you hum as you make your way back to the kitchen to finish cooking his dinner. It only takes a few more minutes, and then prepare a single serving and poke your head out into the hallway. "Dinner's ready!"

"Can you bring it in here?" Fuminori replies almost instantaneously, his voice coming from the living room.

So you do just that, grabbing the plate and bringing it to the living room. You sniff the air as you enter the room, the heavy chemical smell of paint lingering in the air, and you wonder if you should be worried.

"The paint smell doesn't bother you?"

"Does it bother you?" he asks, instead of actually answering your question. It feels nice that he's worried about you, though.

"No," you say honestly, as you start to set the food down on the living room table. "I'm fine if you are."

Everything looks the same as it did on the cooking show. You don't think you messed up the recipe. But you can already tell from the look on his face that he doesn't like it. Whatever it is that he sees, it clearly doesn't resemble food – even as he politely thanks you and begins to dig in.

This time, you at least wait until he's taken the first bite before you hesitantly ask. "It's not good...?"

"Well... no..." he answers honestly. You don't take it personally; you know that the same circumstances that brought you together also made it so his taste buds reject everything you've tried to feed him so far.

"Don't worry about it," you reply. "I'll make something different tomorrow."

"Sorry. You always go to the trouble of cooking, but I..."

"It's fine. If I keep trying, maybe I'll find something you'll like."

"Aren't you going to eat?" he asks after a moment. It's not the first time he's asked you this question.

"No, I... already ate." It's also not the first time you reply in the same way. It's not a lie.

As always, he drops the subject without pressing and you can't help but to feel a little relieved by it.

"By the way," he says, changing the subject. "I asked about your father again."

Right. Your father who, without even saying goodbye, simply stopped coming home a few months ago. Fuminori has been helping you search for him all this time, just as he promised he would. But some part of you is still surprised that he kept his promise.

"You did?"

"They still wouldn't tell me anything. I get the feeling they're hiding something."

"Oh..."

Well, this does not surprise you. It sounds just like your dad to leave the kind of mess that would leave everyone scrambling to cover it up.

Fuminori frowns at your reaction. Or, rather, the lack of one. "You haven't given up, have you?"

"No," you respond, "it's not that." And then you shake your head and smile at him, earnest. "Thanks for all you're doing for me, Fuminori."