you wake up to the sound of water trickling. the fish pond outside the window glimmers in the morning light, and riki's arm is draped over your waist like always — heavy, warm, annoyingly perfect.

"babe," he mumbles into your hair, voice still sleep-thick, "i had a dream we were fish. i was a koi. you were a goldfish. i chased you all day."

"you’d get distracted by bread crumbs," you say, poking his cheek.

he grins without opening his eyes. "still found you, didn’t i?"

you try to wriggle out of bed. he clings like velcro.

"riki. the tomatoes need watering. and you promised to fix the shoji door."

"i also promised to love you forever. let’s start with that one today," he says, planting a kiss on your nose.

by the time you finally escape, he’s in the kitchen, shirtless, apron on, burning the toast.

"it’s... crispy," he declares proudly.

you eye the blackened slice. "it’s carbon."

"carbon’s essential to life," he winks.

the day passes slow and soft. he follows you around the garden like a dog with no job, helping, teasing, holding your hand when he thinks you’re annoyed.

at sunset, you're both on the engawa, sipping tea, cicadas buzzing.

"do you ever get tired of me?" he asks suddenly, head on your shoulder.

you don’t answer right away. instead, you kiss the crown of his messy hair.

"only when you talk in your sleep and kick me."

he chuckles. "i'm keeping you on your toes."

"you’re lucky you’re cute," you say.

"i know," he beams.

you roll your eyes, but your heart feels full. the sky turns peach and lilac, the pond ripples gently. riki reaches for your hand.

"let’s be fish again tonight," he whispers.