Kazuki was cooking instant ramen when Ryota arrived home.
“Really?” Ryota leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. “Tonkotsu from a packet? That’s very unlike you.”
Kazuki’s face was turned away from Ryota, but the tense line of his shoulders was altogether too telling.
“It’s been a long day. I felt lazy,” said Kazuki. He did not look up as he stirred the noodles lightly with his chopsticks.
For any other person, a lazy meal of instant ramen would normally involve simply boiling the noodles and chucking the contents of the accompanying seasoning packets into the water. Not for Kazuki.
There were mushrooms simmering in Kazuki’s saucepan. In another bowl, a soft-boiled egg was marinating in broth. Next to it was a plateful of neatly chopped spring onions and shredded nori. It was typical of Kazuki, really. Yet, in the four and a half years since they had moved in together, Ryota had never once seen Kazuki cook something from a packet if he could help it.
There was something wrong.