Rin studies my cluttered drawers like he's on a black-ops mission—cold, precise, not even flinching at the battlefield of mismatched utensils and expired soy sauce packets. He doesn't say a word, just selects what he needs and gets to work like a veteran infiltrator who's seen things. Terrible things.
Kaori, on the other hand, moves like she belongs here. Like the kitchen was hers all along and I was just borrowing it by accident. She ties her hair back with a loose scrunchie—one fluid, practiced motion that makes it look less like preparation and more like ritual. Her eyes scan the countertop with quiet concentration, and she begins slicing vegetables with the kind of rhythm that makes time feel slower, quieter. It's oddly calming. Soothing, even.
And then there's Chi.
"Behold!" she declares, brandishing a carrot like a knight about to challenge the dragon. "We slay our orange enemy! Fall before me, root vegetable!"
Chaos. Glorious, loud, carrot-wielding chaos.
