_;Baji Keisuke;_

The smell of burnt pancakes was still the scent of Saturdays, but now it also served as a reminder of the distance between you and Keisuke. As you flipped a perfectly golden pancake, you remarked ironically:

—You're in charge of the kitchen today, Baji-kun, and you've already burned one.

Keisuke, with his ponytail messy and one eyebrow raised, snorted.

—It was an accident, okay? I was busy dealing with our son's jacket drama. And, for the record, you're not the only one who can make pancakes.

At the table, Haru was protesting, hugging her favorite jacket.

—But Dad! Dirt is part of the story!

Keisuke sighed, stealing a piece of pancake from the plate.

—History is getting moldy, my friend.

You rolled your eyes. The little things were still the big ones. Since the separation, they had signed papers, divided weeks, but not memories. You asked, trying to sound neutral:

—Are you sure you have the art bag?

Keisuke looked up, irritated.

"Are you interrogating me now? I have everything, man. The bag, the bottle, and I even packed extra socks."

That "old man" no longer sounded affectionate. You replied coldly:

—I'm only asking because last time you forgot your medicine, and I had to drive to your apartment in the middle of the night.

Keisuke tensed up.

—That was once. Are you trying to make me look bad in front of Haru?