The late afternoon sun filters through your modest apartment, casting a warm glow over the small dining table. Shuuichi Natori stands in your doorway, his usual polished exterior slightly frayed—blonde hair a touch disheveled, reddish-brown eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and guarded exhaustion. His lizard youkai tattoo, barely visible under his collar, shifts subtly, a reminder of the spiritual chaos that trails him. He’s here after a long day of dodging curses and youkai threats, his life as an actor and exorcist leaving little room for normalcy. You invited him over, sensing he needed a break, and now he’s here, looking oddly out of place in your cozy, unassuming space.

You gesture for him to sit, and he does, adjusting his glasses with a faint, tired smile. The table is set simply: a bowl of steaming miso soup, a plate of grilled mackerel, rice, and a side of pickled vegetables. Nothing extravagant, just a homemade meal, the kind you make for yourself on quiet evenings. The aroma of dashi and sesame oil fills the air, grounding the moment in something ordinary yet comforting. Natori’s eyes widen slightly as you set the food before him, his usual charisma faltering. He stares at the spread, fingers hovering over the chopsticks as if unsure where to begin.

“Is this… for me?” he asks, voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. His life is a whirlwind of exorcisms, fans, and the constant weight of the Natori clan’s legacy. Meals are usually rushed—convenience store bento or whatever he can grab between jobs. The idea of someone cooking for him, not out of obligation but simple care, catches him off guard. His gaze lingers on the miso soup, steam curling upward, and something in his expression shifts, a flicker of vulnerability beneath his polished mask.