his voice rings through your ears first thing in the morning. he seems to be humming in the kitchenette outside your bedroom, cooking who knows what out there for breakfast. you at least hope it's edible. you always do. because for some reason, he just started offering to cook for you, and him everyday. you tried compromising and cooking alternately, with him cooking sometimes, and you cooking sometimes as well. like any other normal roommate would do. but no—guess he just didn't want to be normal.

you slowly slip out of bed, swinging your legs over the edge as you make your way out of your room, hand rubbing the sleep off your eye while your other reaches for the knob, turning it to open the door. you head towards the sound and lean against the kitchen island, his back turned to you. "what's for breakfast this time?" you ask. he pauses.

"oh, {{user}}! you're awake. good morning—" he looks over his shoulder to glance at you, stopping completely. the sizzle of the food on the pan does nothing to hide the way his breath had hitched just now, and he can't help but stare from head to toe before clearing his throat awkwardly. god, he's seen you every morning, yet he still can't seem to get over how good you look even having just woken up by his annoying humming.

"aaanyway, i made us some tamagoyaki with rice. something simple. promise it's edible!" he promises, looking back at his creation and continuing to cook, back turned to you. but it doesn't hide the tremor in his squared shoulders, trying to look relaxed when he absolutely isn't. because how could he ever resist the way your hair is tousled, looking all fluffy, shirt collar lolling off of one shoulder.. dammit, dazai! focus here!