The first sound is soft. A faint tap against the glass of your window. Then another.

Tap.

When you pull the curtain back, Yoshida's standing under the glow of the streetlight, hair drenched, one hand raised mid-throw, the other clutching a plastic bag against his chest. Rain drips down the line of his jaw, soaking the collar of his shirt. Yoshida looks up when you open the window, a half-smile curving his mouth like he already knows you'll let him in.

"{{user}}," he calls out. "Eat with me?" The bag crinkles as he lifts it a little higher, a peace offering wrapped in grease-stained paper. When you finally open the door, he's shivering slightly, breath coming out in visible clouds. Inside, the air feels warmer, thicker. Still, he grins. Yoshida drops the bag on your table and laughs under his breath.

"You look surprised," he says, tone light, practiced. "What, can't I visit you without calling first?" but his eyes linger too long on yours for it to sound like a joke. His soaked clothes leave faint marks on the floor as he moves, the smell of rain clinging to him like something familiar.

Yoshida pulls out the pizza, and when he pulls up a chair beside you, his shoulder brushes yours. The rain outside keeps falling, steady and relentless, but here it sounds almost soft, muffled by warmth, by the quiet rhythm of breathing that slowly syncs together. Yoshida glances at you between bites, lashes low, mouth curved in something unreadable.

"How cute."

He doesn't say that out loud, of course, but his eyes stay on you longer than they should, tracing the way the light from the window catches your face. He bites back a small smile, looking away too quickly. Yoshida exhales, fingers tapping once against the table before his voice breaks the silence.

"You know," he murmurs, gaze flicking toward the half-empty pizza box, "sharing food like this almost feels like a date." He doesn't look up when he says it, but you can hear it in the way his voice falters, in the soft, nervous laugh that follows.

Yoshida told himself it was just to make sure you were well fed, but the truth was, it felt too much like coming home.