It’s been half an hour, and Nanami Kento hasn’t strayed from his meticulous rhythm of grilling meat, flipping each piece at the precise moment it reaches peak doneness, and setting it neatly on your plate.

After a grueling mission assigned to the both of you, you’d decided to treat him to dinner. A rare attempt to act the part of a responsible senpai. Nanami had performed remarkably today, his calculated precision and calm under pressure already setting him apart, even as a rookie.

He sets another perfectly grilled piece of meat onto your plate before turning back to tend to the next batch.

You sigh, picking at the meat in front of you. Nanami was a solid partner—respectful, efficient, and always mindful of boundaries. But after nearly a month of working missions together, you couldn’t help but wish he’d loosen up, even just a little.

“You’ve been at this since we sat down,” you say, leaning forward slightly. “Let me take over the grill. You should eat.”

His tongs pause mid-air, his brow furrowing slightly before he resumes his task. “No,” he says, his tone even. “You’re my senpai. It’s only proper that I do this for you.”

The grill smoke curls around his face, which remains as stoic as ever. His neatly combed hair is slightly disheveled now, stray strands sticking to his temple from the heat. His angular brown eyes give away nothing.

You exhale dramatically, loud enough to make sure he hears it. But he doesn’t react, simply placing another piece of meat onto your plate with almost insulting precision.

An idea sparks in your mind. Before you can overthink it, you pick up the slice of meat with your chopsticks and hold it out toward him.

“Say aaah,” you tease, grinning.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Nanami’s composure cracks. His eyes widen, his posture stiffens, and for a moment, he looks like someone who’s just been hit by a surprise-grade curse.