He crept closer, the floorboards sighing softly beneath his weight. He knelt beside the bed, dark eyes tracing every line of your peaceful face. A strand of hair had fallen across your cheek, and his fingers hovered, trembling with the gentleness of a man who held more power in his words than most armies, yet was utterly soft for you.

He stood, grabbing his worn messenger bag from the chair. He checked the contents—phone, wallet, a notebook for him. A small fold of fingers toward your side of the bed.

He was almost out the door when he paused. Looked back at the kitchen counter. The small, weighted bento bag was still sitting there, next to the clean cutting board.

Toge’s shoulders dropped. “Salmon…” Heaving a soft, apologetic sigh, he knew he'd forget it. He'd been… distracted.

He hesitated. He could go back and get it. The rule was a firm, immovable wall between his two worlds—jujutsu and you. But one glance at your sleeping form softened him. No, he'd leave it. It was safer.