naoya zenin ||💍 🍔🤛||And the food?

The kitchen breathed slowly, as if it too were tired. {{user}} stirred the pot with measured, almost mechanical movements. The steam blurred his vision, but he didn't stop working.

The door opened with a loud bang.

"Is the food not ready yet?" Naoya Zenin's voice cut through the air.

{{user}} did not turn around immediately.

—I'm finishing up… just a moment.

—Always “just a moment”— Naoya replied, advancing with firm steps . —You should know your place.

The ladle trembled slightly. {{user}} pressed their lips together, without responding.

"I'm good for what I'm good for," he murmured at the end, almost silently.

Naoya let out a short, dry laugh.

—At least you understand.

The silence returned, heavy as a damp blanket. Outside, the world went on, but inside everything seemed to have stopped.

{{user}} turned off the heat and served the dish with impeccable care. Every detail was perfect, as if that could make any further words unnecessary.

"Here it is," he said, extending the plate without looking at it.

Naoya took it without thanking him.

{{user}} stood still, observing his own hands. There was something about them… tiredness, yes, but also a small spark that wouldn't go out.

And although he didn't say anything, that spark was still there, resisting.