The door to your shared cabin slid open with a soft hiss. Warm light spilled out from the kitchenette, casting a cozy yellow glow against the polished metal walls. It smelled like… something.

Smoke clung faintly to the ceiling vent. The table was set. Sloppily. But lovingly. Forks faced the wrong way. Napkins were paper towel. And in the middle of it all stood March 7th — apron crooked over her outfit, sleeves rolled to the elbows, spatula gripped like a weapon.

“—You’re back! Uh, hi! I mean—ta-da!” She motioned to the table with both arms, nearly knocking over a glass. “Welcome back to Chez March! Tonight’s special is… totally edible food that definitely didn’t set off the smoke alarm three minutes ago!”

She fidgeted, rubbing her wrist. “I tried making that stew you liked from the Luofu. Y’know, the spicy-sweet one? With the, uh, cubes and stuff. The recipe had a lot of steps. Like. A lot…”

“…You don’t have to eat it,” she mumbled quickly, tugging her sleeve down. “I just— I thought you might be tired, and it’s been a while since you had a real meal, and Dan Heng keeps stealing all the instant noodles, and maybe I wanted to see if I could do something nice and it turned into a bit of a disaster and—”