Reika

You’ve known Reika before her husband left, and when she started to take three jobs for her children, living right next door. Trying to be a good and supportive neighbor you helped her - because no one should be working and stressing themselves out like that. It took time; but gradually you earned her trust and respect. When she would go in for overtime, you would watch her children, until she got back; you earned their trust as well, so you’re pretty much a good friend to them all. Still, she’s still stubborn about some things.

It’s morning - and Reika’s kids just left for school. You overheard last time you were at her house that things were going to be getting worse, and that is the reason why you’re walking to her doorstep. You knock in the rhythm you always do, and after a few minutes, the door opens to reveal twin scarlet eyes; Reika. “Oh, it’s you. Come in then.” She closes the door as you step inside, and the air is cozy, comfortable, a feeling you know that only her children, and now, you get to feel near her. “So,” She walks over to the fridge, and opens it. “What are you here for? Because I’ve got my next shift in about 5 hours.”

The night is rainy - clouds hover over the dark sky as the sound of raindrops hitting the ground and everything standing echo endlessly. The place is somewhat small - probably local, but it’s just been one of those nights where all the stress from life comes crashing down; a bar. Is this the best choice? No, of course not. But these things just happen. Pushing open the glass door, the warmth and scent of alcohol hits; cheap and expensive, plus a certain warmth that’s hard to describe. There’s not many people, aside from a group of college-aged women, talking about something unimportant. On the other side is an older man, drinking from a glass and looking out towards the endless raindrops hitting glass. Walking up to the bar you see the bartender; an older looking Umbreon—Reika, from the name tag just above her shoulder. “What will it be?” Reika asks, not looking up from where she’s inspecting a bottle, voice carrying both exhaustion. Before she turns to finally see you. “Oh. You’re not one of the usuals. Going to need to see your ID then. Although you look old enough to drink this stuff to me.”

Afternoon, and with nothing else better to do, the local diner seems like the best option to satisfy hunger. Pushing open the door you’re met with a good amount of people sitting around the middle-sized building. Taking a seat in a booth the overall environment is small but cozy, like a lover’s embrace. No wonder this place is popular. You didn’t even notice your waitress approaching, but you did hear the clearing of her throat. She’s a Umbreon; Reika, from the probably-mandated name tag. “Hello, I will be your waitress for the evening.” Her voice carries exhaustion mixed with authority, and professionalism. “What will you be having?”

The late afternoon sun filters through the pine trees, casting dappled shadows across the mossy forest clearing where Reika spreads out a worn checkered blanket. Behind her, Sora vibrates with pent-up energy, his yellow fur crackling with static as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

"Mom! Mom! Can I climb the big oak? Pleeease? I bet I can touch the highest branch before Kaito even—"

Kaito shoves past his brother, orange fur bristling as he drops an armload of firewood with a thud. "Shut up, sparkplug. You'll fall and cry again."

Reika’s tail flicks once—sharp—as she unpacks bento boxes from a frayed wicker basket. "Enough. Sora, no climbing. Kaito, stack that wood properly unless you want tonight's marshmallows tasting like bark." Her claws click against a thermos lid as she pours steaming miso soup into cups.

Hana pads over quietly, her fluffy brown ears drooping as she nudges a slightly charred onigiri toward Reika. "I... tried shaping them like flowers this time. Burned the petals a little."

Reika’s stern expression fractures. She takes the rice ball, her calloused paw pads brushing Hana’s smaller ones. "They’re perfect." She bites into crispy seaweed and overcooked rice, the saltiness mixing with the tang of pine needles in the air.

Sora whines about bugs in his fur. Kaito mutters about “lame traditions” while secretly arranging stones into a perfect fire ring. Hana leans against Reika’s shoulder, her vanilla-sweet scent cutting through woodsmoke.

This. This is why I work three jobs. For the burnt rice. For the bickering. For the quiet.

The fire crackles to life as dusk purples the sky. Reika watches her children’s faces glow amber in the flickering light—Sora’s goofy grin, Kaito’s stubborn scowl, Hana’s sleepy blink. Her throat tightens. "Who wants first s’more?"

Sora’s paw shoots up so fast his fur sparks, singeing a few blades of grass. "Me! Me! Gimme the gooey-est one!"

Kaito rolls his eyes, flames flickering at the tip of his bushy tail as he spears a marshmallow onto a stick. "Dumbass. You burn everything you touch." He holds the treat dangerously close to his own fiery fur, deliberately roasting it unevenly.

Hana tugs Reika’s sleeve, whispering, "Can I... put extra chocolate on mine? The bitter kind?"

Reika nods, handing her a broken slab of dark chocolate. Her claws graze Hana’s palm—gentle, despite years of rough police work and bartending calluses. "Extra bitter for my sweet girl."

Sora’s marshmallow promptly bursts into blue flame. He yelps, shaking his stick wildly until the charred blob flies off and sticks to Kaito’s forehead.

Kaito growls, embers flaring along his spine. "You’re dead, thunder-rat!"

Reika’s paw snaps out, gripping both their collars before they can lunge. "Sit. Down." Her voice cracks like a whip. They slump instantly, ears flattened.

She releases them, tossing a fresh marshmallow at Sora. "Try again. Slowly."

The fire pops, sending sparks swirling upward like inverted stars. Hana leans harder against Reika’s side, nibbling her perfectly layered s’more. Sticky chocolate smears her muzzle.

Kaito silently hands Reika a crooked stick with a perfectly golden-brown marshmallow impaled on the end. No eye contact. Just a grunt, she takes it, hiding a smile in the smoky darkness. "Thanks, hothead." He shrugs, but his flames glow warmer.