"You loser. Don’t tell you’ve never had a girl make you a al before?"
Before morning assembly even started, Kiera stord into our classroom like she owned the place—because of course she did—and dropped sothing onto my desk with a loud thunk.
It was a lunchbox.
She stood there with her arms crossed, looking smug, like she’d just handed a grenade and was waiting for to pull the pin.
I stared at it, a little suspicious.
Unless Kiera had suddenly developed a grudge and decided to assassinate via lunchbox bomb, I had to assu this was food. Homade food.
I glanced down. The corners of the box were neatly taped shut, probably to keep it from spilling. There were a few awkward smudges near the lid, like she’d wiped sothing off in a hurry. And her right hand—covered in two fresh band-aids.
It wasn’t much, but it told enough.
She’d put in effort.
That part... I didn’t expect.
"Well," I said, lifting the box carefully, "this is either really thoughtful or the start of a very slow, very mild poisoning."
"Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just being nice to a pathetic underclassman who clearly needs it."
"Right. So this isn’t out of concern or anything. Got it."
"I had leftovers," she added quickly. "Made too much during cooking club."
That was a lie. A very obvious one.
Kiera looked away, pretending to examine the posters on the classroom wall like they were suddenly fascinating. Her ears were a little red.
I didn’t call her out on it.
Mostly because I was already feeling a tiny pang of guilt.
"...You really made this?" I asked.
"I said I did, didn’t I?" she snapped, turning back toward with a scowl. "Tried a new recipe. Simple stuff. Don’t expect so gourt level crap."
There was a pause.
"...Thanks," I said, quieter this ti.
Kiera blinked, like she wasn’t expecting that.
Then she coughed into her fist, fidgeted, and muttered, "Don’t make it weird."
I held back a laugh. Classic Kiera.
But the timing was kind of funny.
Because the truth was... I’d already eaten sothing this morning. A proper breakfast. Cooked by soone else. By a girl.
Leona had woken up early and made eggs, rice, and miso soup, saying sothing about making sure I didn’t "run on sugar and vending machine coffee like a delinquent."
I’d tried to act like it was no big deal, but it was.
It had been a long ti since soone made breakfast just because they cared.
So Kiera’s lunchbox wasn’t the first al a girl had ever made for .
But I wasn’t about to rub that in her face.
She’d made this for . Clumsily, sure. Probably with a lot of effort and frustration along the way. Bandaged fingers proved that. So even if I wasn’t hungry, I wasn’t going to turn her down.
I opened the lid slightly to peek inside.
The presentation was rough. A little uneven. The rice was squished into the wrong shape, and so of the tamagoyaki was browned too much on one side.
But honestly?
It slled... really good.
My stomach growled on cue. Loudly.
Kiera smirked.
"I knew you’d forgotten to pack lunch again. You’re hopeless."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, closing the lid carefully. "Guess I’ll rely on you just this once."
"You better," she said, flicking my forehead. "Or I’ll shove it down your throat next ti."
I winced, rubbing my forehead. "Seriously, what kind of tsundere threat is that?"
Before I could even recover, a voice piped up from behind .
"Well, well. Look who’s getting popular."
"I didn’t think Kiera would go that far. Are you two having lunch together now? How romantic."
I turned around slowly.
There they were—Leona and Ryen—waltzing over with smug grins plastered across their faces like this was the highlight of their morning.
And honestly?
It probably was.
They were enjoying every second of this.
That was so immature.
Did they seriously think I’d get flustered over sothing like this?
I an, ntally, I’m way past the age where this kind of thing gets to .
...Or at least, I should be.
"Shut up," I muttered, already feeling the heat crawl up my neck.
Yep. I was pretty embarrassed.
I wasn’t used to this kind of sweet, youthful energy. These guys lived in it, breathed it like air. anwhile, I was on the outside looking in, and sotis it stung more than I’d admit.
"Aw, look at that," Leona said with a mock gasp. "Rin’s blushing."
"Don’t bully the poor guy," Ryen chid in, draping an arm around my shoulder like we were best friends. "He’s sensitive."
"Hey! If you say it out loud like that, what do you think will happen to him?" Leona said dramatically. "You’re a real villain, Ryen."
"You act all sweet," I muttered, brushing his arm off, "but you’re the worst out of all of them."
"Oh, co on," Ryen said, laughing. "You like the attention. Admit it. A cute girl made you lunch."
He wiggled his eyebrows at .
I deadpan stared at him.
"You’re all annoying."
They burst out laughing.
Even if the others were ssing around, the fact that Ryen was playing the good cop with that overly handso face of his just made it worse. He was the type who’d charm people with a smile, then twist the knife in your back—only socially, of course.
Seriously, Ryen. You absolute bastard.
But they were missing sothing.
I cleared my throat.
"Anyway, joke’s on you. I’ve already got plans for lunch."
That shut them up for half a second.
"Oh?" Leona raised an eyebrow. "Plans? With who?"
"Secret," I said, turning away and casually slipping the lunchbox into my bag. "But I won’t be eating in the cafeteria or classroom."
Technically true.
I didn’t want to say it out loud because it would completely kill the mood—but I’d promised to et with soone else at lunch today. Nothing dramatic. Just... important.
And I really didn’t want to look like the guy juggling lunch dates.
Leona narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Ryen’s grin widened.
"Ohhh, a secret lunch date?" he said. "Now I really want to know."
"Good," I replied. "Because you won’t."
They both groaned in unison.
"Rin," Leona said with a sigh, "you’ve beco such a tease lately."
"I have not."
"See?" Ryen said. "Only a tease would say that."
I gave up. There was no winning against these two.
I just hoped lunch wouldn’t turn into so weird romantic misunderstanding war zone.
But with Kiera involved... I had a bad feeling.
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