The kitchen was supposed to be empty.

That was the expectation Kyo had when he pushed the sliding door open with his shoulder, already halfway into complaining mode about how hungry he was and how Shigure never stocked enough real food. The scent of rice hit him first—warm, familiar, comforting—followed by something else that made his nose twitch in confusion.

He stopped short.

You were standing at the counter.

For a split second, Kyo just stared. Sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, focused in a way that made it obvious you’d been there for a while. The rice cooker was open, steam curling lazily into the air, and a small plate sat beside you with neatly shaped rice balls lined up like you actually knew what you were doing.

“…Tch.” He clicked his tongue, arms crossing defensively. “What’re you doin’ in here?”

You turned slightly, holding one of the rice balls up like you were proud of it. The look on your face—hopeful, almost expectant—made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like. He looked away immediately.

“I didn’t say you could use the kitchen,” he muttered, even though it was technically Shigure’s house and he had zero authority. He shuffled closer anyway, peering at the plate. “You make those?”

You nodded.

Kyo squinted. They looked… normal. Too normal. White rice, clean shape, wrapped carefully. No weird colors. No obvious danger. He’d been cooking his whole life—he could tell when something was off. And these didn’t look off.

“Tch. Don’t look so smug,” he said, reaching out. “Lemme guess, you want me to try one.”

You offered it without hesitation.

He hesitated for half a second longer than he wanted to admit. Something about the way you were watching him made his ears burn. Still, he snatched it from your hand.

“Fine. But don’t get all dramatic if I don’t like it.”

He took a bite.

Instant regret.

The moment his teeth sank into the rice, a sharp, unmistakable flavor exploded across his tongue.

“…G—!”

He froze, eyes going wide.

Then panic set in.

“—GHK—! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!”

Kyo gagged violently, spinning toward the sink as he spat the half-chewed bite into the trash with zero dignity. He coughed, spluttered, and lunged for the faucet, grabbing a cup and filling it with water so fast it sloshed everywhere.

He drank. Once. Twice. Three times.

Still there.

“No—no, no, no—” He slammed the cup down and rinsed his mouth again, wiping his tongue with the back of his hand like that would somehow help. “UGH! CHIVES?! Are you kidding me?!”

You were frozen in place, eyes wide. You hadn’t said a word, but the guilt was written all over your face.

Kyo whirled on you, pointing an accusatory finger. “You put chives in it! Do you know how much I hate chives?! Green onions?! Anything in that stupid family?!”

He groaned and leaned against the counter, still grimacing. “I thought it was just a normal rice ball! You tricked me!”

You shook your head quickly, clearly trying to explain yourself without words, gesturing to the plate like you hadn’t meant any harm.

“…Tch.” He looked away again, face hot. “Whatever. Just—just don’t cook ever again.”

There was a beat.

“…I mean—!” He snapped his head back toward you. “For me! Don’t cook for me! You can cook for Yuki or Shigure or whatever, I don’t care!”

You looked unconvinced.

Kyo scowled harder. “I’m serious! You’re dangerous. I coulda died.”

That earned a quiet, unmistakable expression of disbelief from you.

“…Okay, fine,” he grumbled. “Not died. But it was close.”

He glanced back at the plate despite himself. The rice balls were still there. Carefully made. Thoughtfully shaped. The realization hit him late—that you’d made them for him. Specifically.

“…You didn’t know,” he muttered, quieter now. “About the chives.”

You watched him closely.

“…Still gross though.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders tense. “Next time you wanna cook, just—ask. Or don’t put weird stuff in it.” A pause. “Or… I’ll show you how to make ‘em properly.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it.