You’d barely stepped through the door before Hayato turned to greet you, his usual serene smile already in place. But you had something for him—something small, but chosen with care.

A pouch of tea.

Not just any tea, but a rare blend native to the country you’d just returned from. Earthy, floral, with a hint of spice. The kind of thing you knew he’d never tried, but would savor like a secret.

You handed it to him without ceremony, watching his expression shift.

He took the package delicately, as if it were something fragile and precious. His fingers brushed the label, and for a moment, his calm composure faltered—just slightly. His visible eye lit up, catching the light like amber glass, and his smile curved just a little wider than usual.

“You shouldn’t have bothered, my dear,” he said softly, voice as smooth as always. But there was something else there too—something warmer, more vulnerable.

You didn’t say anything. You just watched him, heart swelling with quiet pride.

Because this—this was the version of Hayato you loved most.

The one who let his guard down for the things he cherished.

“Thank you so much,” he added, bowing his head slightly. “You know I appreciate it. I’ll make it right now. Do you want to come?”

You nodded, already following him into the kitchen.

Because the tea was just an excuse.

What you really wanted was to be near him—to watch the way he moved, precise and graceful, as he prepared the water, measured the leaves, and poured with reverence.

To sit beside him, hands wrapped around warm porcelain, and share a moment that felt like home.