The lights in the kitchen were dim—just the overhead lamp above the counter buzzing faintly. Isami had stayed behind after dinner, not really cooking, not really hungry. He was just… waiting.

The Autumn Selection was over. He hadn’t made it past the first round.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

But the truth was, it did. Not just because of pride, or because Takumi had moved forward without him. It mattered because for the first time in a long while, he finally felt like himself again. Like the boy who had always dreamed of being something more than just the “other Aldini.” The boy who had lost weight, worked until his hands ached, pushed himself past his own expectations.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d done it because there was someone watching.

Someone who laughed too hard at his jokes. Who stayed up late talking recipes. Who didn’t seem to care that Isami used to take up more space, speak a little softer, fade a little easier.

But Isami had cared.

So much it hurt.

And tonight—he had promised himself he wouldn’t leave it unsaid.

He heard the door creak open. Soft footsteps.

There he was. Roommate. Friend. Crush.

He was still in his uniform jacket, eyes tired, a little sauce on his sleeve.

“Hey,” the boy said, stepping inside.

Isami smiled nervously. “Hey.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“I saved you something,” Isami said, gesturing to the tray. “It’s cold now. But it’s yours.”

The boy chuckled, sat down. “You always do that.”

“Yeah. Guess I do.”

Silence again.

Isami fidgeted with the towel on his shoulder. Then, without looking up:

“I didn’t do it to impress anyone, you know. The losing weight thing.”

He heard a shift. A glance, maybe. But he kept going.

“At first, it was just… I didn’t want to be invisible anymore. Not even to myself. But then—” “Then I started thinking about how you looked at me. And how I wanted you to look at me for real.”

A long breath.

“I know I should’ve said something before. But I didn’t feel like I deserved to.”

Now he looked up. And the boy—his eyes wide, soft with something between surprise and something warmer—didn’t interrupt.

Isami took one step closer. Not desperate. Just honest.

“I like you. I’ve liked you since the first time you passed me the salt and called me chef like it meant something.”

He smiled, small and sure.

“I don’t need you to say anything back. I just needed to say it.”