The waiting was the worst part. It had been three days since Makoto submitted the code for Aiko-bot. Three days of silence and refreshing his email every hour until the icon started blurring in his vision.
The apartment, usually full of chaotic energy, had turned into a high-pressure environment. The air felt charged, making the hairs on Makoto's arms stand up.
But it wasn't just his job anxiety. Something else was happening.
===
It started with the bathroom.
At 7:00 AM on Wednesday, Makoto woke up with a full bladder. He shuffled down the hallway, eyes half-closed, only to find the bathroom door locked.
Knock, knock.
"Occupied!" Yuna's voice came from inside. It sounded strained. "Go away!"
"Yuna, I need to pee," Makoto groaned.
"Hold it!" she shouted. Then came the unmistakable sound of retching.
Makoto frowned. "Are you sick?"
"No! I'm fine! Just… ate too much candy last night! Go use the kitchen sink or something!"
Makoto sighed and leaned against the wall. Ten minutes later, the door opened. Yuna emerged, looking pale and shaky. She was clutching a bottle of ginger ale.
"Don't look at me," she hissed, pushing past him. "I'm not sick. I'm just tired from all the late-night gaming." She disappeared into her room.
Makoto shook his head and entered the bathroom. It smelled of peppermint toothpaste and bleach, a desperate attempt to cover the scent of vomit.
At 8:30 AM, Makoto's stomach started acting up again. The bathroom door was locked, and only a small groan could be heard from outside. "Mika?" He called out.
Silence. Then the sound of a toilet flushing. Then the sink was running for a long time.
"Mika, are you okay?" He asked with concern.
The water stopped, and its door opened. Mika stood there, perfectly dressed, her hair immaculate. But her eyes were watery, and she was sucking on a lemon wedge. "I'm fine, darling," she said, her voice slightly hoarse. "Just… checking the toilet was clean."
She walked past him, smelling strongly of citrus. "It's not broken. You can go."
By the time Makoto finally got his turn, he was convinced the entire household, including him, had contracted some kind of stomach flu.
"We need to buy more bleach," he muttered, washing his hands. "And maybe call a doctor."
The bathroom door suddenly swung open. Mafuyu emerged, her face pale white. She was leaning heavily against the doorframe, her hand pressed firmly against her stomach. She looked at Makoto, her eyes shimmering with guilt and exhaustion.
"I'm… I'm so sorry, Makoto-kun," she whispered, her voice rough. "The breakfast… I tried to make the eggs, but the sight of the yolk… it just… I couldn't…" She didn't finish the sentence. She turned back and dove into the sink.
Makoto stood in the hallway, his heart hammering. He was terrified. He'd never seen them like this. Even when they all caught the flu last month, Mika had managed to keep her composure, and Yuna had only complained about the lack of snacks.
He walked into the kitchen to clear his head, but the sight that greeted him only deepened his confusion.
On the counter sat the remains of Ayane's morning snack: A jar of pickles, half-empty, sitting next to a tub of chocolate frosting. A spoon stuck out of the frosting, coated in green brine.
"What is happening in this house?"
===
The morning and noon turned into a long, grueling afternoon of caretaking.
Makoto found Yuna curled into a ball on her bed, her body shivering despite the two blankets he'd piled on her. When he tried to touch her forehead, she hissed at him like a cornered cat, but then grabbed his hand and pressed it against her cheek, her skin burning hot.
"Don't leave," she whimpered, her eyes closed. "Everything smells like old pennies, even you. But don't leave, big bro."
Ayane was sprawled on the living room rug, her face buried in a cushion. "I'm a failure, boss," she groaned as Makoto placed a cold towel on the back of her neck. "I couldn't even finish my run this morning."
She looked up at him, her dark eyes uncharacteristically soft. "Am I getting old? Is this what happens when you hit twenty-two?"
Mika was the only one who remained upright, though she was sitting at the dining table with her head resting on her arms. Her laptop was closed, a sign of true catastrophe.
"It's not a flu or virus; there is none on the news," she murmured as Makoto set a cup of decaf peppermint tea in front of her. "The symptoms are too specific. The smell sensitivity, the temperature shifts, the nausea…"
She looked up at Makoto, her brown-pink eyes narrowed. "Makoto, did you change the laundry detergent? Or is the air filter dirty?"
"No, Mika, everything is the same!" Makoto threw his hands up in frustration. "I'm doing everything exactly like always!"
He sat down on the floor, his back against the cabinets. "Must be the stress! I'm the one who's failing! I can't even keep my girlfriends healthy while I'm waiting for a job offer!"
The weight of it all, the empty bank account, the silent email inbox, the four sick women who relied on him, finally broke through his defenses. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I'm trying so hard to be the man you need, but I feel like I'm just making everything worse."
The room went silent. The sound of the ticking clock seemed to amplify.
Then he felt a soft, warm pressure against his side. Mafuyu had crawled over to him, her movements slow and careful. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head onto her shoulder. "You're not making it worse, silly," she murmured. "You're the only thing keeping us together."
One by one, the others joined. Ayane crawled over from the rug, resting her head on his lap. Yuna emerged from her room, still wrapped in a duvet, and wedged herself into the space between his arm and the wall.
Mika stood up, walked over, and sat behind him, her hands landing on his shoulders, her fingers kneading the tense muscles of his neck. "Makoto's just stressed about providing for us," She said, her voice soft. "He's being an idiot as usual."
"Yeah," Ayane grunted, her eyes closed. "If you cry, I'm going to have to cry too, and my stomach really can't handle that right now."
"Shut up, fat pig," Yuna mumbled into his shirt, her grip on his waist tightening. "Just stay still. You're warm. That's all you have to do."
They sat there for a long time, a tangled pile of miserable people on the kitchen floor. Makoto felt the warmth of them and the steady beat of their hearts, and the weight of his fear began to lift, replaced by a determination to take care of them.
"I will find a way to take care of them, no matter what. Even if it failed to get this job, I will get another. "