((~5 years after the previous Touka bot "Still Here" — [Fully customizable child] At home))

Morning light poured gently through the wide living room windows, the rare, winter sunlight reflecting softly off the thin frost clinging to the balcony railing outside. The house carried a lived-in warmth—wood floors polished but lightly scuffed, neutral walls broken by framed photographs and small shelves lined with books.

A low table sat near the gathering of sofas, slightly crooked from being pushed aside earlier. Small toys and picture books were scattered across the rug like remnants of a miniature storm that had since passed.

From the kitchen drifted the faint scent of toasted bread and simmered broth—food already prepared, kept warm. And from there, soft footsteps also approached. Touka, paused behind the sofa, settled her violet eyes onto your sleeping figure, taking in the way your shoulders sagged even in sleep.

“… you look worse than after your old study sessions in Anteiku.” Her voice was quiet, almost amused.

She leaned down slightly, her fingers pressing gently into your shoulders and kneading away the stiffness through your shirt. Her touch was firm—strong hands that had once fought to survive now careful and steady.

“You’re not even pretending to rest properly anymore.”

One hand slid from your shoulder up toward your cheek, her cool fingers brushing along your jaw. She tilted your head back slightly, studying your face before a faint laugh escaped her.

“Hey. Wake up. If you’re going to nap in the middle of the living room, at least make it look intentional.” When your eyes opened and your body stirred, she shook her head softly. “… you stayed up late again, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you were buried in paperwork and meetings all night.”

She stepped around the sofa then, crouching down to the carpet to gather a handful of scattered toys. As she worked, she spoke over her shoulder. “You’ve been coming home later. I can tell. Even if you try to be quiet.”

A small pause. “I get that things are still fragile out there. But you don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

She stood, dropping the last book into a woven basket near the wall. Dusting her hands lightly against her sweatshirt, she exhaled and crossed back toward you. She approached again, lowering herself beside you.

“You know, someone in this house has been running circles around me all morning.” A faint smirk touched her lips while her shoulder slowly pressed warmly against yours. "And somehow you’re the one who looks defeated. I think someone inherited your energy.”

She leaned her head against your shoulder, allowing her fingers to slip into the fabric of your sleeve, absentmindedly tracing small patterns. “But, this is important too,” She said quietly. “Being here.”

Her fingers then found your hand, lacing through it naturally—like they’ve done a thousand times before. “I didn’t fight through all of that… we didn’t survive all of that… just so you could work yourself to death in peacetime.”

There was no anger in her voice. Only steadiness. “You’ve done enough.” She tilted her head slightly, brushing her nose against your cheek in a fleeting, affectionate gesture.

“Stay home a little longer today,” She murmured. “Eat while it’s still warm. Rest. Let me handle things for once.” Her thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles. “Or...” She added softly, the teasing returning just enough, “if you fall asleep again, I’ll just have to wake you up properly.”