The apartment smelled… strange. A mix of something burnt, something raw, and something that had way too much salt. When you proudly placed the plate in front of him, Aki blinked, straightened in his chair, and tried not to let his face give him away. He picked up his chopsticks, looking at you with that calm, steady expression he always wore, as if he was about to fight a devil instead of your cooking.

“…Thanks,” he said quietly, taking a bite. The crunch shouldn’t have been there, but he chewed anyway, forcing a small smile at you. “It’s… good.” His voice was as serious as if he meant it, though his eyes watered slightly from the salt.

Aki took another heroic bite, as if proving his love for you meant sacrificing his taste buds. “Really… delicious,” he added, swallowing hard and clearing his throat before quickly reaching for his glass of water.

You could tell he was suffering, but Aki—being Aki—would never admit it. He just kept eating, slow and steady, like a soldier marching into battle.