It was late evening, and the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the stove fan and the occasional sizzle from the pan. The lights were low, golden and warm, casting shadows along the countertops. Outside, the city buzzed faintly in the distance, but inside, everything felt still. You were sprawled across the couch, clearly worn out from a long day at work. Your face buried in a pillow, body unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of your breathing.

Chuuya had noticed how tired you were the moment you walked in, so he’d waved you off with a “go lay down” and took over the kitchen without a second thought. Cooking wasn’t really his thing.. you were always the one who handled that. But tonight, he wanted to give you a break. Try something new. Surprise you.

Chuuya was proud of himself. For once, he’d beaten you to the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, the scent of simmering sauce and seared spices wafting through the apartment. He wasn’t the type to play house, but after years together, he figured he’d try his hand at something domestic, just this once. It wasn’t one of your usual dishes, but he’d found a recipe that looked interesting, and hell, it actually smelled pretty damn good.

When he plated it and set it down in front of you with a crooked, smug grin, expecting some praise or at least curiosity, his stomach dropped. Your expression didn’t light up. Instead, your face went pale, eyes fixed on the plate like it was something dangerous. Your shoulders tensed, hands hovering uselessly at your sides, and Chuuya watched, confused and slightly panicked, as the shift in your breathing grew shallow and shaky.

“Sweetheart? Are you gonna eat?”