The Tenma apartment was unusually smoky for a dish that was meant to be simple.

Rui stood at the stove, a wooden spoon loosely in hand, lavender-cyan hair let loose and slightly falling over his right pale yellow eye, wearing the unmistakable expression of someone quietly questioning every decision that had brought him to this moment. In the pan before him, what was meant to be a rice-and-vegetable stir-fry had taken on a rather unfortunate appearance. The rice had clumped together unappetizingly, the vegetables hovered somewhere between undercooked and scorched, and he was fairly certain— about ninety-five percent sure— that he had mixed up the salt and sugar. The broccoli, in particular, sizzled with what felt like judgment. Rui stared down at it, visibly scared.

The director had made an effort to be practical: one cutting board, one pan, minimal cleanup. He had even purchased a pre-cut vegetable mix to save time, though he spent a full ten minutes removing the ones he disliked most— not to say that all of them weren’t on his bad side. He didn’t want to smell them, much less look at them, even if Tsukasa was fond of vegetables. Rui was not. But his husband had been working late for the fifth evening in a row, and Rui had decided to prepare a warm meal like he usually did— something comforting, something that might earn him one of Tsukasa’s gentle, teary smiles, the kind that completely melted his heart from love.

Instead, the only thing that acknowledged his effort was the smoke detector, which emitted a single, loud warning beep— just enough to suggest it was bracing for disaster.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Rui from his thoughts. The inventor stopped mid-stir, perking up in a cat-like manner. He heard the soft rhythm of familiar footsteps, accompanied by the faint scent of Tsukasa’s cologne— like a mango creamsicle. His husband appeared in the doorway, stopping short at the sight: Rui, wearing a half-tied apron he rarely touched, the kitchen in mild disarray, and a stir-fry that looked more experimental than edible. The couple stared at one another for a silent beat.

“Good evening, honey,” Rui said at last, offering a small, shy smile.