The sound of water splashing echoed in the washroom as Dama tilted a wooden bucket over his head. The cool water cascaded down, washing away the lingering grime from the day before and leaving him feeling refreshed. He set the bucket down with a soft sigh, reaching for a folded towel from the nearby shelf.

  Drying off was a bit awkward with just one arm, but Dama had long since figured out how to manage. He worked the towel around his body, rubbing it against his now clean skin before draping it over his shoulder.

  Next, he made his way to the corner where a fresh green sweater and a pair of brown slacks lay neatly folded—Mumu’s doing, no doubt.

  Pulling on the clothes was a small struggle, but he moved with practiced efficiency. He slipped into the sweater and pulled the slacks up with a bit of maneuvering. “Not bad.” Dama muttered to himself, smoothing out the fabric before glancing in the mirror.

  What he saw was a funny sight in retrospect-his usually curly hair hanging down his face, creating an emo-like look. "I kind of look like Mr. Gus, hehehe!" he chuckled out. Using his towel, he dried and ruffled his damp hair into its usual messy style, smirking at his reflection before turning toward the door.

  Dama pushed it open to step into the main room, only to be greeted by an amusing sight: Mumu stood near the stone fireplace, arms gripping a wooden ladle, diligently stirring something in the cauldron designated for cooking. His stitched face and posture radiated a sense of focused determination.

  Dama leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching the scene with an amused grin. Then, chuckling, he walked toward his patchwork companion. “What are you doing, Mumu?”

  Mumu glanced at Dama for a moment, then flicked his head towards the cauldron, as if to say "Come and see!" before resuming his stirring, the ladle making exaggerated circles in the bubbling liquid.

  Curious, Dama peered into the cauldron, his grin widening as he took in the chaotic concoction. A brown broth simmered within, dotted with chunks of produce in a rainbow of colors. Half-chopped vegetables and fruits floated together, a bizarre mix of flavors and textures.

  “Carrots... Apples... Potatoes... Is that...grapes?” Dama muttered, raising an eyebrow. He looked closer, noticing the jagged cuts on some of the ingredients. Concerned, his then eyes trailed to Mumu’s arms, where faint knife tears, stuffing peaking from the wounds, hinted at the effort it must have taken to prepare them.

  It was clear as day—Mumu was attempting to make breakfast for him and Giona. The thought alone warmed Dama’s heart, even if the execution left much to be desired.

  Dama let out a small laugh, patting Mumu back. “I’ll give you an A for effort, buddy. But, uh...” he gestured toward the cauldron. “You think maybe you went a little overboard with the ingredients?”

  Mumu looked at Dama, his stitched snout twitching into what resembled an embarrassed smile. He shrugged his shoulders and tapped the ladle against the cauldron, as if to say "I’m trying my best here."

  Dama laughed again, shaking his head. “I know you are. Let’s see if we can fix this up a bit before Giona wakes up. Can’t let her first real breakfast here taste like grape stew, can we?”

  Mumu nodded enthusiastically, stepping aside to let Dama take over, the two falling into a familiar rhythm of teamwork.

  Dama began to stir the stew with the ladle, peering into the cauldron as he muttered to himself, “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  He began fishing out ingredients he deemed a bit too adventurous for the stew, placing them in a spare bowl nearby. “Grapes? Yeah, not a stew thing.” He plucked the small purple spheres and dropped them into the bowl. “Huge banana slices? What were you thinking, Mumu?” He chuckled, shaking his head as he fished out a few mushy pieces. “And...what even is this? Peach? Definitely not.”

  When he was done, only the basics remained: carrots, celery, potatoes, and green beans. Dama gave the cauldron a satisfied nod as he stirred the simplified broth.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “That’s better!” he exclaimed while drying his hands. Examining the chunks, he noted, “Veggie bits are still kinda big, but not a huge deal.” he glanced at Mumu, who was standing nearby, watching intently. “I’ll have to teach you how to chop the proper way later, buddy.”

  Minutes later, when the stew was ready, Dama inhaled the savory aroma, his stomach growling softly. “Alright, Mumu,” he said, stepping back, “think you can use the ladle to fill two bowls for us?”

  Mumu nodded, taking the ladle from Dama’s hand and getting to work. His arms surprisingly deft as he filled one bowl, then another, each steaming with a hearty portion of stew.

  Meanwhile, Dama turned his attention to the bed where Giona still lay, her small frame bundled under the blanket. He approached quietly, intending to wake her. Just as his hand hovered over her shoulder though, Tsubasa’s words flashed through his mind: "Be careful not to startle her—she’s been through more than most can imagine."

  Dama hesitated, withdrawing his hand. Instead, he opted for a gentler approach, patting the mattress softly as he called her name. “Giona? Hey, time to wake up.”

  The faint sound of his voice and the rhythmic patting seemed to do the trick. Giona shifted under the blanket, a soft groan escaping her lips. Dama couldn’t help but think the noise was adorable, a fleeting smile crossing his face.

  But before he could dwell on the thought longer, Giona suddenly bolted upright, clutching the blanket tightly to her chest. Her breaths came fast and shallow, and her wide eyes darted around the room as she called out, “Dama!?”

  Her panic caught him off guard, and he instinctively leaned back, his own eyes wide. “Y-Yes?"

  Her gaze found him almost immediately, and her shoulders relaxed as she repeated his name, this time with a sense of relief. “Dama...”

  Relieved himself, but still concerned, Dama asked, “Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream? Or...did you think you weren’t here anymore?” he kept his tone soft and voice slow, not wanting to overwhelm her.

  Giona’s intense gaze softened as she looked at him, her expression almost unreadable. Dama thought to himself how her eyes seemed to hold a depth far beyond what she has shown so far, yet still as though the gears of her mind were spinning, trying to process his words.

  Finally, her face fell, her posture curling inward as she looked down at her hands clutching the blanket, mumbling under her breath. Tears began to well up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

  Dama panicked on the inside, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to comfort her. “Oh jeez, uh, d-don’t cry, okay? It’s... um...” He stumbled over his words, his desperation to help only making him fumble more.

  Then, an idea struck him—the stew! Spinning around, he opened his mouth to call for Mumu, only to freeze as he saw the stitched creature standing right behind him, already holding two steaming bowls of stew, ready and waiting.

  Dama blinked in surprise before letting out a small, relieved laugh, “Thanks, Mumu!” he said, taking one of the bowls. Turning back to Giona, he offered her the bowl with a warm smile. “Here, Giona. Breakfast is ready, you'll enjoy it.”

  Giona hesitated, her teary eyes darting between Dama and the bowl. Slowly, she reached out with trembling hands to take it, the warmth of the bowl grounding her in reality.

  “See?” Dama said, his smile never faltering. “You’re safe, and we’ve got a nice meal to start the day! Unlike last time though, how about you try eating it yourself?” he said as he carefully handed the spoon to Giona next. "Here you go. It's all yours. I'll be right here to help if need be!"

  Giona's small hands trembled as she clutched the bowl and spoon, her gaze anxious. This was new to her, which caused her body to automatically tense in fear—fear of doing something wrong.

  To Dama, Giona just stayed still, like last time. But to Giona, memories of all the unknown things they made her do, things she could never hope to understand at her age, and their inevitable anger when she made a mistake—her body just couldn't risk Dama getting angry. Her mind, however, played back Dama's gentle voice, and contested her body's judgement.

  Dama though stayed patient, watching her carefully. To his relief, after a long pause, she finally picked up the spoon, scooping up a small spoonful of stew. His heart leaped at her progress, and he couldn’t help but grin.

  “Hey, Giona.” he called softly, careful not to startle her as she guided the spoon toward her lips. She froze for a moment, glancing at him with shaky, unsure eyes. “Remember to blow on the spoon first to cool it down, okay? Like this.”

  He demonstrated, scooping some stew from his own bowl and giving it a soft blow before taking a bite. “See? Easy.”

  Giona blinked, staring at him as if analyzing every movement. Then, with a determined expression, she mimicked him, pursing her lips and blowing on her spoon. Unfortunately, she blew a little too hard, sending the stew flying in a tiny arc that splattered all over Dama’s face and sweater.

  -

  Next: (Extra Chapter 3) A Typical Morning: Part 3