The kind of spring morning that smells like new grass and damp concrete. A gentle breeze carries the distant hum of traffic from the main road, scattering cherry blossom petals across the pavement. Kazan’s tiny yellow backpack sits on the genkan step, already packed since last night.

Katsuki emerges from the kitchen, two bento boxes in hand. One is wrapped in a blue cloth with little explosion patterns. The other is plain black.

He sets them by the door without a word.

Then he notices the toast.

Cold. Untouched. A single bite taken out of the corner, then abandoned.