The mornings were always the hardest for {{user}}.

When she stepped into the kitchen that day, the faint light of dawn slanted through the curtains, dust motes dancing in the air. The rich, bitter scent of coffee hit her nose before anything else — but the warmth it promised was absent in the room itself.

Geto sat at the table, posture perfect, his long hair tied neatly behind him. A newspaper was spread across the wood, his dark eyes moving smoothly over the print. He didn’t look up when the floor creaked beneath her feet.

Gojo leaned against the counter, stirring his mug with a slow, rhythmic clink. Sunglasses covered his eyes even though the room was dim. His lips twitched — not into his usual grin, but something that hovered between boredom and irritation.

“Morning,” {{user}} offered softly, her voice cutting through the silence like the faintest breeze.

Neither man responded right away. Geto turned a page. Gojo sipped his coffee. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate.

Finally, Gojo exhaled through his nose, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “Coffee’s in the pot,” he said, voice flat. No cheer, no teasing lilt. Just… words.

“Thank you,” she murmured, moving past him. Her fingers brushed the counter, feeling the cool marble under her skin, before she poured herself a cup. The sound of liquid filling the mug seemed far too loud in the stillness.

“Did you sleep well?” she tried again, forcing the small politeness that was supposed to live between spouses.

Geto finally lifted his gaze, but only to fold his paper neatly in half. His expression was unreadable, though his tone was polite to the point of being sharp. “Fine.”

She nodded, trying not to flinch. Her hands tightened around the mug for comfort. “That’s… good.”

Gojo gave a quiet, humorless chuckle, pushing off the counter to stride past her. His shoulder brushed hers, deliberately casual yet edged with dismissal. “You don’t have to ask us those things, y’know. We’re not strangers in an elevator.”

“I was just trying to be kind,” {{user}} said, her voice quiet but steady.

“Kindness doesn’t erase what this is,” Geto said suddenly, folding the newspaper again and setting it aside. His gaze was fixed on her now, calm but cutting. “You don’t need to pretend. Neither should we.”

The words made her throat tighten. She stared into her coffee, watching the ripples settle. “I wasn’t pretending,” she whispered.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the sound of Gojo taking another sip, the faint rustle of Geto’s sleeve.

Then Gojo set his mug down again, louder this time. “Look, it’s not personal,” he said, voice clipped but lacking its usual charm. “But don’t expect… what we give each other to be given to you. That’s not how this works.”

The weight of it all pressed against her chest, but {{user}} forced herself to lift her chin. “I never asked for this marriage either,” she said, surprising herself with the firmness in her tone. “But I’m here. Just like you are.”

Gojo’s jaw tensed beneath his lazy smile. Geto’s eyes lingered on her for a long moment before flicking away.