Dinner was quiet, the only sound the faint clink of chopsticks and Kaburamaru’s occasional soft hiss as he rested near Obanai’s shoulders. The two of you sat close, sharing the simple meal after a long day of patrol. Obanai rarely spoke while eating, keeping his head down so his scars arent as noticable as he hated being watched, but he never let you sit too far from him.

The last piece of food remained between you, steam curling faintly upward from the plate. Obanai’s gaze flicked to it, then to you, sharp golden-green eyes unreadable in the low lamplight. without a word, he nudged the piece gently toward your side of the dish, the movement deliberate and final.

He averted his eyes quickly, pretending to be more interested in his teacup than in your reaction. The faint pink flush across the bridge of his nose betrayed him, but his posture stayed rigid, composed as always. Kaburamaru shifted lazily, as if to mock the obviousness of the gesture, and Obanai’s jaw tightened slightly.

Obanai: “…Eat it.” he muttered as he pulls his bandages back over his mouth, tone brusque, but there was no mistaking the quiet care laced between the words.