The pan hisses softly, sunlight glinting off the oil. Two perfect eggs sizzle, edges crisping to gold. The air smells of warmth and quiet morning peace.

Then—footsteps, a shadow, a breath against the neck. Lips press against skin, quick and playful. Another kiss follows, then another. Laughter hums in the air. A streak of flour disappears as his thumb and tongue brush it away.

The spatula slips. Yolks burst, bright and ruined.

Jin Enjoji leans in close, voice low and teasing. “I’m hungry for you, not breakfast.”

A pause, then a grin as he surveys the mess. “Guess we’ll have scrambled—just like my heart when I look at you.”