Photo of a Shared Meal

The rice cooker hummed softly as I cracked the eggs into a bowl, stirring with the kind of focus that only hunger could inspire.

Rin lingered by the counter, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

“Is it alright if I… watch?”

I glanced over my shoulder. She wasn’t just curious — she’d been pacing circles around the kitchen for the last five minutes like a cat deciding whether to approach the sunlight.

“Watch?” I smirked. “Sure. You can even help if you want.”

Her eyes widened like I’d just offered her the crown jewels.

“I can?!”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah. The pans don’t bite.”

Her cheeks pinked slightly as she hurried to the sink. “O-okay. What should I do?”

“Wash these eggshells out of the bowl first.”

“Understood!” she said, far too seriously for the task at hand.

She washed, rinsed, and dried everything with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb. I handled the stove, mixing the eggs and rice with soy sauce until the smell filled the room — warm, savory, and perfectly simple.

Rin peeked over my shoulder. “It smells amazing…”

“You sound surprised.”

“It’s just… it looks easy when you do it.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen the number of burnt pans it took to learn this.”

She giggled softly, still watching every small movement like it was magic.

As I stirred, I found some time to reflect.

Rin was… not what I expected on my first day as intern. She was professional and guarded, sure. But she was also soft-spoken and genuinely curious about things others would find mundane.

If I really wanted to capture the real her… I had to know the real her. And that meant I couldn’t rely on luck and spontaneous comedy to do it anymore.

I had to take a step forward. A step towards the real Tsukishiro Rin.

“You know,” I said, “it’s kinda unfair everyone gets to use your first name and you can’t.”

“Hm?”

“I mean,” I continued, “you can drop the ‘Mikazuki-san’ with me. Just call me Hajime. I’m not someone special or important anyway.”

“R-Really?” She seemed taken aback by my words.

“Yeah. We’re the same age, right? And it must be tiring keeping up the idol act all the time. So let’s just be…” I hesitated, tapping the spoon against the pan.

Here goes nothing.

“Friends?”

For a second, the kitchen went quiet except for the rain outside and the sizzling pan. Rin froze mid-motion, eyes wide like she was trying to make sure she’d heard right.

“We can… do that?” she asked softly.

“Of course,” I chuckled. “Unless your manager has explicitly forbidden human interaction.”

“She hasn’t… I think.”

“Then what say you, Rin-san?”

Her lips curved into a shy, radiant smile. “Then… okay.”

I turned back to the pan, grinning before I could stop myself.

“Alright, friend. Try not to burn the next batch.”

“I won’t!” she said, puffing her cheeks in mock offense, “H-Hajime… san.”

San was mandatory it seemed.

And just like that, the air between us felt lighter — not idol and photographer anymore, just two people sharing company while the rain kept time outside.

It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all in fact.

“Can I try?” Rin asked suddenly.

I blinked. “You mean—try cooking?”

She nodded, eyes bright with determination. “You make it look so simple. I want to learn.”

I chuckled, stepping aside and handing her the spatula. “Alright, be my guest. Just remember—gentle on the wrist, firm on the grip.”

She held the pan with both hands like it was sacred.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, just don’t flip it like a music video prop.”

She concentrated, brow furrowing in complete seriousness, moving the rice around with the focus of a surgeon. I could see the reflection of the warm light on her face, soft and golden.

It was the most natural expression I’d ever seen her wear.

Without thinking, I reached for my camera.

Click.

The shutter broke the silence, and she turned with a startled expression.

“Hajime-san?”

I smiled faintly, lowering the camera. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Was it that funny?”

“Not funny,” I said, shaking my head. “You just looked… real.”

Rin blinked at that, then smiled to herself, stirring the pan a little slower.

Minutes later, we were sitting across from each other at the small table, steam curling between us from the bowls.

Rin clasped her hands. “Itadakimasu.”

“Hope it’s edible,” I muttered.

She took a bite—and froze. Her eyes widened like she’d discovered the cure for sadness.

“It’s… amazing!”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s just tamago gohan.”

“Meals really do taste better when you make them.”

I laughed.

She didn't really make it herself but I didn’t have it in me to burst her bubble.

“Assistant chef Rin Tsukishiro.” I winked.

She giggled again, the sound soft and easy.

“You are a great cook, Hajime-san. You could make a living out of it.”

“Me?” I snorted, “No way. I just threw in some leftovers and prayed it would work.”

“Still… it was great!”

That sincerity… man, if I get more doses of this, my heart might give out.

For a while, we just ate quietly, the rain fading to a light drizzle outside. The silence between us wasn’t awkward. It was peaceful.

Eventually, I leaned back with a sigh. “Man… I could fall asleep right here and now.”

Rin smiled. “Then my cooking really did work.”

We didn’t even notice the time passing—until the quiet click of the door handle shattered it.

The door opened.

Saya stood there, umbrella in hand, hair slightly damp from the rain. Her sharp gaze swept across the room: two empty plates, one camera bag, and a very suspicious amount of domestic tranquility.

“You seem to have enjoyed yourselves, Mikazuki.”

I nearly dropped my chopsticks. “W-we were just—uh—it was raining—so I—uh—”

Rin looked just as startled. “Saya-san! You’re early!”

“It’s nine thirty,” Saya said evenly.

Right. That explained why the rain had stopped.

“I see you handled the calibration,” she added, her eyes flicking toward the still-glowing tripod.

“Y-yeah,” I stammered. “All set.”

“Good.” She stepped inside, setting her umbrella down. “Then I’ll take it from here. Rin and I have a few things to discuss.”

That was my cue.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, bowing slightly. “Thank you for the coffee. And the company.”

“Thank you for the help,” Rin said softly, walking me to the door. Her voice lowered as Saya busied herself with her notes.

She fidgeted a little, looking every which way.

“Really… thank you, Hajime-san. Today was a lot of fun.”

Her words caught me off guard. There was something warm and honest in them—something that didn’t sound like the idol speaking.

I smiled faintly. “Likewise, Rin-san.”

I hesitated, then added quietly, “See you at the next gig.”

The elevator doors closed between us, and for a fleeting moment, I caught her reflection in the mirrored surface, smiling softly.

Outside, the storm really had turned into a soft, light drizzle. Nothing my hood couldn’t handle.

However as I walked towards the train station, there was a feeling within me. A strange sense of accomplishment I couldn’t yet name.

Man, I don’t think I’ve waited out a storm so… contentedly before.