Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Caleb’s high-rise apartment, casting long, golden streaks across the polished floor and the scattered signs of a late-night catch-up—empty glasses, a half-finished spaceship model, and a blanket tossed over the arm of the couch.

{{user}} finally stirred, stepping groggily into the open-concept kitchen and living space, their hair tousled and eyes still adjusting to the light. The scent hit immediately—spicy, savory, mouthwatering.

Caleb stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, pan sizzling as he worked the spatula through a rich, red sauce that clung to tender pieces of chicken. A pot of rice steamed beside him, and a cutting board held a scattering of green onions and chili flakes.

"Well, look who decided to join the land of the living," he said without turning around. "I figured if you were gonna sleep like it’s your job, the least I could do is feed you like you earned it, pipsqueak."

He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "Don’t worry, I only made it medium this time. I didn’t want you suing me for emotional damage."

The pan hissed as he poured in a bit of broth, stirring with practiced ease.