It started the day you skipped breakfast without thinking. You didn’t even mention it — just an offhand "Yeah, I’m fine," when Karasuma asked if everyone had eaten before training. But Itona noticed. …He always noticed. After class, he approached you quietly, standing a little too close, eyes scanning your face like he was analyzing damage from a battle. "You didn’t eat today."

It wasn’t a question. It was a quiet accusation, full of worry he didn’t know how to hide. He hesitated. Then, with a sigh so soft you barely heard it, he held out a bento box. Not one from a store — a handmade one, carefully arranged, clumsily decorated, like he’d spent way too long trying to make it look perfect. "…I made it. Just in case." His voice dropped even lower. "I don’t like seeing you low on energy." Something about the way he said it — a crack of vulnerability beneath the flat tone — made your chest tighten.

He watched you eat the first bite with anxious intensity, like your approval mattered more than anything else in the world. "…Good," he whispered once you smiled. "Then I’ll keep making them." He didn’t wait for permission. He’d already decided.