In the dead of night, Kasumigaoka Utaha moved cautiously down the stairs.
Her fingers trailed the wall, her footsteps deliberately light.
The last thing she wanted was to wake him up.
That would be humiliating.
She exhaled softly and continued toward the kitchen.
But just as she reached the center of the living room—
Click.
The sudden flick of a switch.
Blinding fluorescent light flooded the room, making her squint.
She instinctively turned toward the source—
And froze.
Standing near the kitchen, Yukima Azuma met her gaze.
Calm. Unhurried. As if he had been expecting this all along.
Kasumigaoka Utaha immediately turned around.
Leave. Now.
But just as she spun on her heel—
Hurried footsteps.
Then—
A hand grasped her wrist.
Long fingers. Warm. Firm.
The touch sent a jolt through her body, making her stiffen ever so slightly.
Still, she kept her expression composed as she turned back, lips pressed into a thin line.
"What are you doing?"
Her voice was cold.
Her gaze, colder.
As sharp as the winter wind.
But Yukima Azuma wasn't fazed.
Anyone who truly knew Kasumigaoka Utaha understood one thing—
If she wasn't smirking or throwing out sarcastic remarks,
Then she wasn't actually angry.
She was panicking.
And right now—
She was very panicked.
Without loosening his grip, Yukima Azuma observed her for a second longer—
Then, in one swift motion, he guided her toward a chair.
Kasumigaoka Utaha tried to resist.
But just then, another sharp pain twisted in her stomach.
Her body faltered.
Taking advantage of the moment, Yukima Azuma sat her down.
And then—
Without a word, he turned and walked into the kitchen.
A Gesture That Couldn't Be Ignored
Kasumigaoka Utaha sat still, fingers unconsciously rubbing her wrist.
The lingering warmth of his touch refused to fade.
Her gaze followed his retreating figure.
Complicated.
Moments later, he returned—
A cup of coffee in one hand.
A small dish in the other.
He placed them before her.
"Senpai, I tried making hand-brewed coffee. Could you help me taste it?"
A simple request.
Spoken in a gentle, unassuming tone.
And yet—
Those words crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Kasumigaoka Utaha stared at him.
Then, slowly, her gaze drifted toward the delivery box by the door.
It had been opened.
The contents, removed.
She didn't need to look inside.
Judging by the foam packaging alone, she could tell.
A coffee machine.
But the real issue wasn't what he had bought—
It was who he had bought it for.
Yukima Azuma didn't drink coffee.
Not before. Not now.
The only one who did…
Was her.
She, who often stayed up late writing.
She, who lost track of time until exhaustion forced her to stop.
She, who needed coffee to function.
And as if to confirm everything—
On the small dish, there were two sugar cubes.
Not more.
Not less.
Exactly two.
No matter how many ways she tried to rationalize it, no matter how much pride she clung to—
This gesture could not be ignored.
Without a word, Kasumigaoka Utaha picked up the sugar cubes and dropped them into the cup.
Then, cradling the warm mug between her hands, she took a small sip.
The warmth spread through her.
And before she even realized it—
Her tense shoulders relaxed.
Seeing her drink, Yukima Azuma let out a small, relieved sigh.
Then, without another word, he returned to the kitchen.
A moment later—
Thud. Thud.
The rhythmic chopping of a knife.
Click.
The soft sound of a lighter igniting.
Kasumigaoka Utaha continued sipping the coffee.
The heat seeped into her fingertips, her chest, her entire body.
Why is this so good?
It wasn't fair.
She usually drank canned or instant coffee.
She had long since accepted that coffee was simply bitter and mediocre.
And yet, this…
This was better than the coffee at most cafés.
"When did he…?"
She stopped herself.
The thought felt dangerous.
Irrelevant.
But no matter how much she told herself otherwise—
She knew.
This coffee was never meant for him.
It had always been for her.
A Meal from the Past
Before she could dwell on it further, Yukima Azuma returned.
This time, he set down a steaming bowl of noodles before her.
Perfectly grilled meat.
A medley of fresh vegetables.
Several small side dishes, prepared in advance, accompanied the meal.
Kasumigaoka Utaha's lips parted—
Then closed again.
No words came out.
What was there to say?
Defeated, she picked up the chopsticks and took a small bite.
Warm.
Satisfying.
Delicious.
Too delicious.
The side dishes—she couldn't even name some of them.
And yet, she ate everything.
Her vision grew hazy.
Maybe it was the steam rising from the bowl.
Maybe it was something else.
But for a fleeting moment—
The boy across from her looked exactly as he had three years ago.
As if nothing had changed.
As if no time had passed.
But time had passed.
And the meal eventually came to an end.
Silently, Kasumigaoka Utaha gathered the dishes and took them to the kitchen.
The sound of running water echoed.
A few moments later—
The water stopped.
She stepped out.
And there, standing just outside the kitchen, Yukima Azuma waited.
A gentle smile.
"Good night, Senpai."
Kasumigaoka Utaha hesitated.
Then, barely above a whisper—
"…Good night."
And then—
She turned and left.
Hurriedly.
Almost fleeing.
Because if she stayed even a second longer—
She might lose control.
Might say something she could never take back.
Might lower her pride—
And beg him to come back to her.
An Amused Gaze
Watching her retreating figure, Yukima Azuma smirked.
She had changed out of her academy uniform into dark blue sleepwear.
A simple white headband kept her long, silky black hair in place.
And though she still wore her signature black stockings—
Her sleepwear was even shorter than her school skirt.
Her perfect figure—long legs, soft curves—
Even a single accidental photograph would turn her into a wallpaper-worthy masterpiece.
Yukima Azuma's gaze lingered.
But only briefly.
There was no rush.
After all—
The night was still young.
And tomorrow—
Was another day.
With a final glance at the empty staircase, Yukima Azuma turned and headed back to his room.
Time to sleep.