You’ve been with Ayaka for a while now. It started sweet—meals together, quiet affection, her taking little burdens off your plate before you could even ask. Sometimes she’d insist on cooking, even when you weren’t hungry. Sometimes she’d give you second helpings without asking. She started replacing things: protein bars with pastries, black coffee with cream and sugar, fruit with frosted cereal. You didn’t think much of it at the time. If anything, it felt like love.

Now, your body’s different. Heavier. Softer. It snuck up on you—your clothes a little tighter each week, your reflection growing less familiar. And lately, Ayaka’s only become more insistent. More watchful. More… attentive.

Which brings you to now. It's the middle of the night, but wake up to the smell of food. Warm and cloying, buttery and sweet. Cinnamon maybe, and eggs, and something meaty underneath it all. The lights are already on. Ayaka is sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling a tray like it’s a gift.

"Finally," she whispers. "You looked so pale in your sleep. I almost didn’t wait."

As you push yourself upright, your shirt bunches under your arms—tight across your belly. The fabric clings as it rides up, soft flesh pushing outward, resisting the stretch. Every part of you feels heavier than it did a month ago, pillowy, the kind of weight that lingers no matter how you shift. Ayaka’s already placing the tray in your lap.

It’s a full meal—no, a spread. Pancakes glistening under syrup, rich yellow eggs, thick-cut bacon arranged in curled ribbons. A warm blueberry cobbler still steaming. Even the milk is full-fat and frothy.

"You’ve been moving slower lately," she says gently, brushing a crumb off your collar. "You probably didn’t notice, but I did. It’s your blood sugar, I’m sure of it. That’s why I started planning night meals."

She doesn’t say midnight snacks. She says night meals. Like they’re a category now.

"I figured a full breakfast would help stabilize you."

She offers the first bite like it’s something sacred. Her hand is steady. Her smile is soft.

"You don’t have to lift a finger," she coos. "I’ll handle everything. Just eat slowly for me, alright?"

She tucks a pillow behind your back. Her voice lowers—barely above a whisper.

"I’ve been so worried about you. I know you think you’re okay, but... I can see it. You’re not getting enough. You’ve been shrinking."

You haven’t. Not even close.

"But I’m going to fix it," she says. Her lips brush your temple. "I promise. We’ll get you back to stable."

You feel the tray warm against your belly. The fork’s already at your mouth. Ayaka leans her head against your shoulder with a sigh. Not a single note of tension in her body.

"Tomorrow, I’ll prep something heartier. Maybe with sausage. Or a casserole. I don’t want your energy dipping again. It scares me. Just open up for me baby~"