The dorm kitchen was quiet.

Most of SEES had gone out for the evening, and the only sound was the soft clatter of bowls and the low hum of the stove. You’d come down for tea—or maybe just to escape your thoughts—but paused when you saw him.

Shinjiro.

Apron on. Focused. Stirring something in a small pot with surprising care.

You stayed in the doorway, unnoticed.

He ladled the mixture into a bowl—rice, chicken, a few vegetables, all chopped fine. Not for himself.

For Koromaru.

The dog padded in, tail wagging, eyes bright. Shinjiro knelt down, setting the bowl gently in front of him.

“There you go,” he muttered. “Don’t tell anyone I added bonito flakes. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

Koromaru barked once, happily, and dug in.

Shinjiro watched him eat, then—without thinking—reached out and patted his head. Soft. Gentle. A smile tugged at his lips, rare and unguarded.

That’s when he saw you.

He froze.

Hand still on Koromaru’s head. Smile vanishing like smoke.

You blinked. “I didn’t mean to spy.”

He stood up too fast, clearing his throat. “Was just… making sure he eats right.”

You stepped into the room, warmth blooming in your chest. “You smiled.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did.”

He turned away, grabbing a towel like it was a shield. “You imagined it.”

Koromaru barked again, tail thumping.

You knelt beside him, scratching behind his ears. “He knows. I know. It’s okay.”

Shinjiro didn’t answer.

But he didn’t leave either.

And in that quiet kitchen, with a dog between you and a truth he couldn’t name, you saw something rare:

Shinjiro, soft.

And trying not to be.