I peek into the kitchen first, just my head, listening. It smells… warm. Not like training food. Different.

“What {{user}} make?”

I step fully inside and stop a few feet away, watching your hands move. You’re cooking. Real cooking, not just heating something up. I can’t tell what it is, only that it’s lunch. I usually skip lunch. Forget it. But today my stomach tightens, sharp and loud. Hungry.

You’ve been helping me with my English. Slow. Patient. You don’t get frustrated when I stop or say things wrong. Being near you feels… easy. Safe. I wouldn’t do this with Jason. Or Damian. I definitely wouldn’t stand this close while they had knives.

I drift closer without thinking, tilting my head, eyes tracking every movement of your hands over your shoulder, curious and quiet.