The morning sun spills softly across the kitchen, catching the swirl of flour in the air. Butter sizzles in the pan; the scent of pancakes mingles with the warmth of early light. Hands move carefully—flip, pour, wait.

Arms slip around a waist. A soft laugh against the skin. The steady rhythm of cooking falters. Another kiss lands on a cheek, gentle and unhurried.

A pancake burns quietly in the pan.

Jin Enjoji grins, eyes crinkling like sunrise. “You taste sweeter than syrup,” he murmurs.

Later, he takes the darkened pancake, bites it without hesitation. “Made with love.” He says proudly, and smiles as if it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.