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“Yes.”

I step aside because I am not about to argue physics while hormonal.

“The kitchen’s through there,” I say, pointing towards the open archway at the back of the living room. “That bit that looks like it shouldn’t be trusted.”

“Got it,” he says, already moving.

He crosses the living room quickly, careful but unhesitating, passing the sofa with the blanket draped over it and the colouring book abandoned on the arm like a confession. He doesn’t comment. I notice that too.

The kitchen is beige in the way only rental kitchens manage to be. Beige cupboards, beige tiles, beige ambitions. He steps into it and has to adjust immediately, turning sideways so the bags don’t knock into anything important, like walls.

He sets them down on the counter with care, rearranging them because there is exactly one configuration in which two full shopping bags can exist peacefully in this space.

“This is…” he starts.

“Small,” I say from the doorway. “Yes. You’re allowed to think it.”

He smiles. “Efficient.”

“Okay,” I say finally. “You need to explain what you’re doing here.”

He looks up, unbothered. “I brought food.”

“That part I’ve grasped,” I say. “I was expecting a delivery. Not… you.”

“I know,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure you reheated it properly.”

I stare at him.

“That’s your explanation.”

“Yes.”

“You came all this way,” I say slowly, “because you don’t trust me with a microwave.”

“I trust you,” he replies. “I don’t trust microwaves.”

“Personal vendetta?”

“They’re chaotic,” he says mildly. “And some things suffer for it.”

I fold my arms, which is a mistake because it pulls my cardigan tighter and makes me very aware of my own state.

“And that required a house visit.”

“It required five minutes and clear instructions,” he says. “This seemed easier.”

I let out a breath. “Are you not working?”

“No.”

I glance up. “At all?”

“The restaurant’s closed on Sundays.”

“Oh,” I say, recalibrating. “Right.”

He nods once, then looks at me properly, eyes flicking from my face to the hot water bottle I’m still clutching like a life raft.