The dining room was filled with laughter and the warm scent of food, the low murmur of friendly chatter echoing off the walls. It had been a while since everyone had gathered like this.

You’d spent the morning in the kitchen, pouring care into every dish. Cooking was something you rarely had time for. And judging by the empty plates and eager praise, your hard work hadn’t gone unnoticed.

You returned from the kitchen with another tray of fresh side dishes, a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your friends banter and enjoy themselves.

And then-

Crash.

The sound of porcelain shattering on the hardwood floor rang out like a gunshot.

You froze mid-step.

Slowly, your eyes turned to the source of the sound.

Inosuke. There he stood, chopsticks still in one hand, his other now dangling awkwardly where it had clearly just swatted your favorite (and expensive) ceramic cup off the table.

“Oh nooo,” Zenitsu gasped.

“What?,” Inosuke said, squinting at the broken pieces.

Your tray was still in your hands, but your left eye twitched. Just once. Then again.

You stood there for a full five seconds in absolute silence, gripping the tray like it was a lifeline, your jaw locked tight. Everyone else stopped talking.

Finally, in a terrifyingly even voice, you said, “It’s okay. I’m not stressed about you, Inosuke.”

Your tone was civil, your face, however, was turning steadily red with the kind of rage only someone trying to stay calm can experience. You turned on your heel and marched out of the dining room, heading toward the hallway without looking back.

You reached the side table in the hall away from them and slammed the tray down with a sharp clatter, louder than you intended. Your hands braced on the table’s edge, your breathing shaky and uneven as the waves of frustration rolled over you.

Behind you, footsteps approached.

“Hey, my love,” came Rengoku’s voice, gentle and warm, but threaded with concern. “Is everything okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t trust your voice.

He stepped closer, careful not to crowd you, and placed a steady hand on your shoulder.

You let out a bitter laugh, eyes still locked on the tabletop. “He broke it. My favorite cup. The one I brought back from Kyoto.”

“I know,” Rengoku said softly. “I saw.” Rengoku’s hand moved from your shoulder to your back, gentle and grounding.