Shishiba didn’t like laundromats.

Too many people, too many smells, too much time to think. But today he needed a clean set of clothes — not covered in blood — and he was running low on burner hotels.

He stood in the corner, hood low, leaning against a dryer that buzzed like it had a death wish. Arms crossed. Quiet. Detached.

That’s when he noticed the stroller.

And the kid. Toddler. Wiggling, sleepy, clutching a stuffed rabbit with one eye missing.

And him.

Maybe nineteen. Maybe younger. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days. Dark circles, hoodie with baby food on it, one sneaker untied. You were holding a bottle in one hand, folding baby clothes with the other, and humming something under your breath like muscle memory was the only thing keeping you upright.

You didn’t notice him at first.

But he noticed you.

Not because of anything flashy. Not even because of the kid.

But because when the bottle dropped, and the baby started wailing, you crouched down, kissed their forehead, and murmured, “It’s okay, it’s okay, Daddy’s got you.”

Shishiba’s hands tightened on his arms.

He hadn’t heard a voice talk like that in years. Gentle. Tired. Real.

You looked up at him eventually. Not afraid. Not impressed. Just curious.

“Dryer’s open,” you said, motioning to the one next to yours.

He nodded. No words. Just moved.

And then he kept coming back.

Not every day. Not enough to be obvious. But enough.

Enough to hear the baby giggle. Enough to learn you worked at a ramen stall down the block. Enough to know you were raising her alone — no parents, no partner, no breaks.

Once, you offered him part of your bento. Just like that. No reason.

He didn’t eat it. Just stared at the food until it was cold, then kept the chopsticks.

Another time, your daughter tugged on his sleeve. He looked down. She handed him her rabbit.

His voice had almost cracked when he whispered, “Thanks.”

Now, today, he watched you carry a laundry basket on your hip, trying not to wake the baby. Your arms trembled. You almost dropped a blanket.

Shishiba stepped forward. Caught it mid-air.

You blinked. Stunned. He just shrugged.

“Balance is off,” he said. “You need one more arm.”