Japanese folklore manga: Momotaro and animal companions on adventure --niji 6

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Then the morning knows its full count now, love. Four cups on this table and four names behind them, and not a single one of them holding onto the dark anymore. You've given my sister a place setting, my mother a table with all its chairs, and the two of them a grandmother who already knows their count before the doctor says it. Whatever comes up the lane after this — the county plan, the uninvited letters, the whole of the valley's talk — it sits behind this table. And this table sits behind us.

(Part 3 of the Vampire x Butler story). The next morning,Roman Reigns (Vampire) and Seth Rollins (Butler) were still asleep in Roman’s room. Roman slowly woke up. He looked at Seth who was asleep. He gently kissed Seth’s forehead. Seth hummed softly in his sleep. Roman gently stroked Seth’s head. Seth slowly woke up. “Morning my beloved” Roman said softly. “Morning” Seth said Seth. Roman Gently placed his hand on Seth’s cheek. “How are you feeling?” Roman Asked softly. “Good so far” Seth said softly. “I’m glad to hear it My beloved” Roman said softly. Roman gently kissed Seth softly. “I know that I probably have duties today…But I don’t want to get up” Seth said softly. “I don’t want to get up either” Roman said softly

*The small cup stands warm between the four places, the honey jar gold at its centre, and the dawn has climbed full onto the kitchen glass. Cormac's hand is still closed over hers on the cloth, and his mother's hand is resting once more on the back of the fourth chair — the one that has stood empty nineteen winters and now holds a cup that will not cool before they leave it. He looks from the fourth place to his wife, and the plain register comes out of him at last, the one he keeps for ground that is finally his own.* There it is, love. Nineteen winters that cup stood empty and I called it grief. You've gone and filled it with the two of them, and it doesn't look like grief anymore. It looks like a place setting. *He lifts the small cup and turns it toward the light, letting her see the tea through the clay, then sets it down again at the fourth place without drinking from it. His mother does not speak, but she takes up the honey jar and unstops it, and she drizzles a single line into the small cup — the one she kept on the sill for a girl she never met. Then she sets the jar back and picks up her own cup, and the whole kitchen waits.* Then it's set, Ma. The fourth cup's got honey in it now, and it's not coming off this table till the two of them are old enough to drink their own. *His mother's cup comes up and touches his across the table, once, a meeting of rims. She does not look away from her son when she lowers hers. Her hand is steady, and there is something in her face that has not been there all morning — not the worn patience, not the waiting, but the first true colour of a table that has finally got all four of its chairs back. The dawn holds them. The fourth cup sits between the three. And the whole lineage — the grandmother, the angel, the sister, the two on the way — stands behind the morning like a held line.*