The smell hit Keigo first — sweet, warm, but with a sharp edge of something overdone. He paused in the hall, frowning. It wasn’t his place, so he followed the scent until he was standing outside your door. He hesitated, then knocked.

A moment later, you cracked it open, peeking out shyly. He recognized you — the neighbor from down the hall, the one he exchanged nods or polite hellos with in the lobby, but nothing more.

“Uh, hi,” Keigo said, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry if this sounds weird, but… is everything okay? Smells like someone’s kitchen is about to catch fire.”

Your eyes widened, and without answering, you darted back inside. He heard the oven door creak open and a clatter of metal before you reappeared, holding a tray of charred cookies.

“Right,” you muttered, cheeks pink. “Forgot about those.”

Keigo leaned casually against the doorframe, peeking past you. Your kitchen was chaos — muffins cooling, bread wrapped half-finished, cookies stacked in uneven piles, and flour everywhere. It looked like a bakery had exploded.

“You uh… throwing a party I wasn’t invited to?” he asked, lips quirking into a grin.

You shifted awkwardly, brushing flour off your wrist. “No. I… I bake when I’m stressed. It helps. I guess I just kind of… went overboard.”

Keigo let out a quiet chuckle. “That explains the smoke alarm smell.” Then, softer: “Everything else okay?”

You nodded quickly, then hesitated. “Yeah. Just… anxious. But, um—” You looked away, then back at him. “Do you want some? Most of it’s edible.”

For a moment, his grin widened into something more genuine. “Sure. Can’t say no to cookies from my neighbor. Might be the first real conversation we’ve had that isn’t about mail or trash pickup.”

You laughed under your breath and handed him one of the good cookies. He bit in right away, nodding approvingly. “Mm. Perfect. Way better than the cafeteria stuff I’ve been surviving on.”

You ducked your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Careful, I’ll end up stress-baking for you too.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal to me,” he said, leaning on the counter now, more comfortable in your space than you expected. His tone was teasing, but his gaze was softer. “And hey — next time you forget something in the oven, just knock on my door. I’ll play timer.”

For the first time that night, you smiled without shyness, and Keigo decided maybe burned cookies weren’t such a bad thing after all.