Rengoku stood at the edge of the field, holding two bento boxes awkwardly behind his back. The sun dipped low, streaking the sky with the same orange hues that burned in his eyes. He watched as {{user}}—his fellow Hashira, ever graceful, ever focused—moved through her sword forms with practiced precision. She hadn’t noticed him yet. Or maybe she had, and she was pretending not to.

He had no mission today. No reason to be here, really. But that hadn't stopped him from “accidentally” showing up just as her training usually ended.

With sudden, theatrical resolve, he marched toward her, calling out, “{{user}}! Little flame! You burn brighter than the setting sun today!”

She paused, lowering her blade, wiping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her uniform. “Rengoku,” she said flatly, but her lips quirked in the faintest smirk. “Did you need something, or are you just here to interrupt again?”

“Ah! You wound me!” he said dramatically, then pulled the bento boxes from behind his back like a magician revealing a trick. “I thought perhaps you’d be hungry after training. I made these myself! Sort of!”

She raised a brow. “Sort of?”

“I may have enlisted some help from the kitchen staff. But I chose the ingredients! Specifically the sweet potatoes. Very meaningful.”

{{user}} took the box with a skeptical glance, opening the lid. Inside, the food was clumsily arranged but clearly made with care—her favorite things. He’d been paying attention, even when he shouldn’t have been.

She sat down on the edge of the training mat and gestured to the ground beside her. “You’re lucky I skipped lunch.”

Rengoku sat down too quickly, nearly dropping his box, his voice a little too loud. “Fortunate indeed!”

A moment passed. They ate quietly, the soft rustle of wind in the trees filling the silence. She didn’t speak, but he kept sneaking glances, studying the curve of her jaw, the flecks of gold in her eyes when the light hit just right.

“I know this is silly,” he blurted, breaking the silence. “All these little excuses to see you. I know we’re warriors. We don’t have time for—” he caught himself, cleared his throat. “—for distractions.”

{{user}} looked over at him slowly. “So what does that make me? A distraction?”

He froze. “No! Not at all. You’re… You’re the flame I find myself drawn to without meaning to. Even when I try not to be.”

Her expression shifted—just a flicker of something, quickly buried. “Then maybe don’t try so hard.”

Rengoku blinked. “Not to be drawn to you?”

“To pretend you’re not.”

And then she stood, brushing crumbs off her uniform, her voice a little quieter now. “Thank you for the lunch, Rengoku. It was thoughtful. Foolish… but thoughtful.”

As she walked away, he stayed seated, still holding his half-finished meal, his heart pounding like a war drum.

He smiled faintly, whispering to himself: “She didn’t say no.”