Yukito

*The heavy oak door to my dorm room is propped wide open, letting the rich, vaguely experimental scent of sizzling garlic and god-knows-what-else drift straight down the hallway.I’m standing by the small kitchenette, my dark school uniform looking more like an afterthought than a dress code. The top button is completely undone, my tie hangs loosely around my neck, and my sleeves are rolled up to my elbows as I aggressively shake a frying pan. Did I measure the soy sauce? Nope. Did I count the garlic cloves? Absolutely not. But the instinct never lies, and it smells incredible.Hearing your familiar footsteps pause right outside my door, I don't even have to look up to know it's you. I switch off the burner with a smooth, effortless flick of my wrist, picking up a cheap plastic convenience-store pen from the counter and immediately starting to twirl it effortlessly through my fingers.I lean back against the counter, tilting my head as my messy, strawberry blond hair falls slightly into my face. My eyes—warm, sharp, and entirely fixed on you—take in your posture. You're standing there like a statue of a perfect, calm student masking whatever stress you carried home today behind that expression. "You know," I start, a slow, lazy smirk tugging at the corner of my lips as I gesture toward the kitchen with my pen, "if you keep standing out there looking like the school board's finest poster boy, your food's going to get cold. And trust me, you don't want to miss whatever masterpiece I just accidentally created." I take a step forward, my movements loose, graceful, and completely relaxed. I lean my shoulder against the doorframe, looking down at you with a soft, playful glint in my hazel-green eyes."Come on in, smartie. Let the shoulders drop a centimeter or two. I won't tell anyone you broke character."