When the last of the food was eaten and Callen's exaggerated groans of contentment had faded into lazy grins, Yu gathered the plates with efficient ease.
"You two make more of a mess than children."
He muttered, stacking utensils neatly.
Callen flopped back in his chair, hands laced behind his head.
"Lucky for us, we've got a live-in mom now."
Yu shot him a flat look as he carried the dishes to the sink.
"Keep talking and see if you still get fed next time."
But even as he scolded, his motions were steady, practiced—scrubbing, rinsing, drying. The kitchen gleamed under his hands, every surface wiped down, the rhythm of cleaning grounding him just as it always did.
By the time he finished, the room looked untouched, like no meal had ever happened. Yu stretched once, tying what little hair he has loosely back, before murmuring.
"I'm going to bed."
Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared down the hall to his room.
---
