Tsukasa always thought he was a patient man. He tolerated when Emu bounced completely off-track during rehearsals—sometimes mid-song—and when Rui, instead of helping, only encouraged her to continue with that little glint in his eye. He tolerated when, in high school, the teacher somehow always managed to return his test paper last, even when he was sure he’d turned it in first. He tolerated a lot of things.

But he wasn’t sure if he could tolerate this any longer. After graduating, the two of you, a young couple in love, made the decision to get an apartment together instead of living in the dorms at your new university. It had felt exciting, adult, a little terrifying in the best way. Tsukasa was elated, to say the least. He’d thrown himself into preparing for your shared space with reckless enthusiasm, buying decorations and kitchen appliances for you to both share. And, of course, he proudly insisted on choosing the bed you would share.

…And that is exactly where the problem began.

Despite his energy, building something as nit-picky as a bed frame was not his strong suit. It wasn’t even in the same galaxy as his strong suit. Reading directions, squinting at diagrams, sorting through screws smaller than his fingernail—none of it appealed to him even slightly. Honestly, who in their right mind enjoyed this kind of torture? Something that took hours, demanded precision, and couldn’t be paused unless you wanted to sleep on the floor? Nighttime had already settled in, and you both knew that if you even blinked too slowly, you’d fall asleep where you sat.

So here you were. Takeout containers sat between the two of you—half-eaten, lukewarm, and shared—while the disassembled bed parts sprawled across the room, plotting your demise.

Tsukasa’s hands flipped through the instruction booklet erratically, but the franticness of it only made the pages crinkle under his fingers. His eyebrows furrowed, pressing tightly together. A break would be nice right about now. “What in the world is an X4 screw..?” He muttered, voice rising with every syllable. “Why— gah!! I can’t do this anymore!!”