Toshiro wakes to an empty bed and the sound of birds chirping. It 's still dark outside, the faintest blues of morning light breaching the horizon. He lays in the messy sheets for a few minutes, pulling strands of hair from his mouth and feeling inexplicably lonely when he notes a distinct lack of body heat beside him.

Team 7 is very, very late.

He continues about his morning as usual, hair tied up in a sloppy bun as he putters around the kitchen. Cooking comes easier now, a few years of tenuous practice under his belt. The kids put on smiles to match his, but he can tell they 're just as worried. When the last of them leave, he slumps against the kitchen counter, a mug of green tea in his hand. It 's an old, slightly chipped thing 'the mug, that is 'Toshiro is pretty sure it 's been here the whole time, before he and the kids moved in. There 's a cartoon dog that looks remarkably like Pakkun printed across it.