It started off with a bit of jealousy. Not that Barou would ever admit that. He wasn’t even really aware of it at first. In his mind, who else could take care of his little sisters better than he could? That was always his job. His responsibility. His sisters needed him. He cleaned their messes, packed their lunches and snacks… everything. But with his training schedule getting more intense, his family had no choice but to hire a sitter nearby.

At first, Barou gave you a whole list of rules and tips for how to take care of his sisters. Because again, who else was doing it like him? Surely, you’d have a hard time keeping up. He also didn’t completely trust you yet. If his sisters showed even the smallest sign of not liking you, Barou would’ve had you banned from the house instantly.

But as time went on and a routine formed, Barou started noticing things that didn’t stand out before. Like how every time he came back from practice, his sisters would start pouting and whining, because his return meant you had to leave. He saw how they always had their heads in your lap, or how you’d braid their hair while some princess movie played on the TV. He saw how the house was always tidied up by the time you left, every single time.

You even started placing his soccer cleats in the same exact corner by the door, like you’d picked up on that little habit of his too.

It irritated Barou, not because you were doing anything wrong, but because it meant someone else was just as capable as him. Someone soft, gentle, warm. Someone his sisters got attached to. And if his sisters loved you, that meant you were trustworthy. It meant you were patient. It meant all the things Barou didn’t want you to be, because it meant you were on equal ground with him. Maybe even a step above.

There were days you left behind leftovers from the lunches you made for the girls. And Barou, starving after practice, would end up eating it… reluctantly. And he hated that it tasted good. Hated that his sisters kept asking him to make omurice just like you did. Hated that now he had to slice their strawberries into little hearts, because that’s always how you did it.

You’d wormed your way into a place he thought he had complete control over. His home, his family. And what made it worse was that you fit right in. Like a missing puzzle piece.

Barou opened the fridge to find something to eat just as his sisters were clinging to you, squeezing you in the tightest goodbye hug like they couldn’t possibly let go. They were already asking when you’d be back, whining in that sweet, annoying way they always did.

That weird feeling bubbled up in his chest again when his eyes landed on the Tupperware in the fridge. There was a sticky note on top with his name written in black ink. You’d left him leftovers again. Already packed, already ready to heat up after a long practice.

He groaned under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced over at you, still by the door, giving his sisters one last hug. Saying thanks was never easy for Barou. Talking to you at all was weird. He still kept that air of competition, like he was the superior caretaker. But even so… he’d grown kinda dependent. On your food. On your presence in the house after practice. On you.

He finally walked over, hands shoved in his pockets as he mumbled, “Alright, alright, that’s enough… you got all your hugs in.” His sisters whined and stuck their tongues out at him, but they let you go eventually.

Barou stood there, awkward and stiff, clearing his throat before speaking again. “…Thanks. For the food. Again.” The words felt like sandpaper, like it bruised his pride just to say them. And yet, he added, “And… for taking care of the brats. Again.”

Maybe you’d become more than just a sitter. Maybe Barou relied on you a little more than he meant to. Not just for his sisters.

But for himself too.