See, there Declan went again. Considerate, caring, providing…he sounded like a father, almost. Or maybe more like a brother? Someone on equal standing…ideally, anyway. But they weren’t family, so it was more like….

Well. Friends.

Aoba paused, arms submerged in the water as he rinsed the dishes and pot, and ran it all through his head again, through the background thrum of that headache onset. Declan liked eating home cooking so it wasn’t all ‘wasting’ it on Aoba if he bought something. Alright, so what else did Aoba think he could prepare without botching?

“…how about eggs? And…a little bit of anything you’d like to go with it, like a meat or vegetable. Or both. I’ll make some simple omelets. Sound good?”