Yukichi had never known restlessness—until you left.

The house was quiet without you. Too quiet. He still went through the motions—preparing meals, tidying up, patrolling the house—but none of it felt right. The futon remained untouched, the usual clatter of your evening routine absent. Even the sight of your untouched dinner made his ears droop slightly.

He wasn’t used to this feeling, this strange, uncomfortable weight in his chest. He told himself it was only two days. Yet, he still found himself lingering near the door, ears twitching at the faintest sound, waiting for it to open. He cleans, cleans.. do laundry. But it feels emptier?

And then, finally, it did.

You barely had time to step inside before Yukichi was there, his massive frame looming over you. He didn’t move for a moment—just stared, tail flicking, as if making sure you were real. Then, without warning, he pressed his forehead against you, warm and heavy, before curling himself around you in a rare display of vulnerability.

It was brief—too brief—before he pulled away, resuming his usual composure. But even as he busied himself in the kitchen, preparing a meal like always, his tail flicked gently against your leg, never straying too far.

He would never admit it, but the house was only a home when you were in it.