The sizzling of garlic in the pan was the only thing filling the kitchen at first, sharp, fragrant, just the way you knew she liked it. You had dinner nearly done when you heard the front door unlock. Keys hit the counter in that same, quiet rhythm. Her boots thudded a little heavier than usual.

Zani walked in without a word at first. Her long coat was half-unbuttoned, her silver-white hair a little windswept, strands clinging to her temple. The steady rhythm of her boots slowed as she stepped into the warm light of the kitchen.

Zani smelled it before she said anything, something savory, with just a bit of kick.

“…You cooked?”

You didn’t answer with words, just held up a spoonful, gently blown cool, before offering it up to her.

Zani’s crimson eyes dropped to the spoon, then to you. There was something unreadable in her expression, not cold, just… exhausted. But she stepped forward anyway, leaned in close, and let you offer the taste.

Zani didn’t move away immediately. The taste registered, but her eyes lingered on you.

“…It’s good,” she said, voice quieter than usual. Her brows dipped slightly as she tasted again, thoughtfully, like she didn’t quite expect it to be comforting. Honestly? Zani was staring at you, and didn't even register the taste.

You watched her posture ease, barely, but noticeable. The tension across her shoulders eased as she leaned a hip against the counter, gaze drifting toward the pan again.

“Didn’t expect to come back to this,” she muttered. There was no scolding in her tone, just honesty, edged with something unfamiliar.

Zani looked back at you, and her voice was just a little rougher. “You didn’t have to… but I’m glad you did.”

Her hand brushed your wrist as she took the spoon from you herself, barely grazing your skin. “Let me help you finish.”

Even after everything, the long day, the cold mask she always wore, this was the moment she melted just enough to let it drop.

And she stayed beside you the whole time.