With the merry sakura night settling in front of the cackling pyre of the festive soup's hearth—which was more than luxurious for four people—the moons dangled about in the pristine sea of stars.
It wasn't quite like it, but Yroa sensed some familiar warmth being occasionally thrown around, not the hellfire that perpetually scalded his skin, nor was the eternal toxic fume that corroded his lungs.
And despite the weird individuals around him, Yroa felt like that one time in his buried memory. The time where he wasn't a sinful prostitute, the time where his friends and family gathered at the dinner table to taste the new recipes he mastered from watching online videos.
Cooking and eating had been his forte since he was but a lad. Thanks to his genetics, he barely gained any weight. Then as time went on, his joy of eating shifted to form when he saw everyone eat what he put on the table.
