The smell hit him first.
Not blood.
Not espresso.
Eggs. Miso. Toast.
Niv blinked awake, disoriented not from danger—but peace.
No breach. No alarms. No shouting in the hall. Just—
Clink.
He padded out into the kitchen.
Sera stood at the stove, bare-legged, wearing his oversized Naruto hoodie. She was humming something faintly Italian while flipping an omelet like she'd done it a hundred times.
She didn't look up.
"Morning," she said.
"You broke in."
"Used the key behind the third fern. Very subtle."
"You're wearing my hoodie."
She turned, flipping her hair over one shoulder like it had been staged.
"Hoodie theft is a real thing. This one's mine now."
Niv blinked.
"You do realize that's the Uchiha clan symbol. You're wearing mass-murderer fan merch."
"And making breakfast in it. He'd be proud."
"He'd burn the apartment down."
"Then good thing you're not Uchiha."
A beat.
"You've never even seen Naruto, have you?"
"God, no. You think I had time for cartoons growing up?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Cartoons?"
"Don't start."
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her plate two servings of food with surgical precision.
"Babe," he said solemnly, "your world is about to change."
Later that afternoon, they curled up on the couch.
Popcorn. Blankets. Hoodie sleeves stretched down to her knuckles.
"One episode," she warned, pointing at the screen.
"Deal."
Twenty minutes in:
"He kills people by writing their names?"
"Yep."
"This isn't a cartoon. This is a moral collapse."
"Told you."
Three hours later:
"He manipulated the FBI and killed all of them. What the hell."
"Next episode?"
"Obviously."
By sunset, Niv was passed out sideways on the couch, empty popcorn bowl on his chest.
Sera sat next to him, legs pulled up, hoodie collar stretched from hours of nesting. Her bun was a mess.
She stared at the screen.
Quietly:
"If you die, I swear I'll avenge you, L."
Then she smirked, pulled the hoodie tighter around herself, and sank lower into the cushions.