06:40 – Lima, Peru – Four months after the RDC

It's dawn when she opens her eyes, the sun barely peeking through the horizon to greet the world for the day. Through the windows of their rental near the ourskirts of Lima, Rindou can only just make out the outline of the city skyline, the lush green mountains forming the backdrop beyond. Today, she will drive hours into the wilderness to embark upon the adventure of a lifetime with her best friend.

She smiles into her blankets, snuggling deeper into the soft, fluffy cushions. Last night's panties lie tangled about her feet, and she wriggles beneath the sheets to tug them on, stifling a yawn. She's not one for rising early, but Eishi is, and the delicious scent of fresh-brewed Colombian coffee and some kind of breakfast is wafting through from their kitchen outside.

Part of her is annoyed that he'd left her alone in bed – in the four months since graduation, she's more than gotten used to having a personal hot-water-bottle ready on hand. Despite his colouring, Tsukasa Eishi is warm as a fresh-baked croissant and just several notches shy of hot as hell.

His lean, muscular arms and densely-packed chest make the perfect cocoon in which to nest. In the short time they've been together, he's only complained about it once, when she'd crawled into his lap and refused to budge for an entire night.

"But you're my pillow," she'd whined each time he'd tried to get up. Eishi, ever the gentleman, had responded in kind with long-suffering sighs.

He's standing at the stove when she pads out into the kitchen wearing his t-shirt from last night. It's large on him, but practically swims on her, no doubt painting a picture of messy chaos. "I'm hungry," She announces.

Eishi chuckles, setting aside his turner in that very specific and pedantic way before walking towards her. She squirms a little as he reaches forward, his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck as he tugs her hair free from inside the stolen shirt. "Yes, yes. Coffee's ready and the shakshuka is about ready too."

"Eishi," She drawls playfully as he kisses her temple. "Will you marry me?"

"Sure," He hands her a steaming cup of coffee – black, with three sugars – then shoves her into one of the barstools by the kitchen island. "Just as soon as you stop making fun of me for sleeping with my socks on."

"I think it's charming," She tells him, and receives a half-exasperated, half-amused look in return.

The shakshuka is still steaming from the oven when he sets it down in front of her along with a basket of pan-browned, buttered toast. She takes in the scent of it, letting out a happy sigh. The eggs are only just set, the yolks runny and a beautiful gold hue – perfect silky and velveteen against the stark, fiery red of the sauce. She dips into the dish with a slice of toast, and her toes curl in delight at the flavours: tomato, herbs, cumin, and a splash of something she can't quite place.

Eishi is watching her over the rim of his mug when she finishes swallowing. "Worcestershire sauce?"

He grins. "I kinda like it."

"Yeah, but that takes away a bit of the—" Oh. She bites her lip, her gaze falling to the dish between them. How the times have changed.

"You're the one who said you wanted to taste more of me." Eishi's mug meets the countertop with a soft clink. He dips his own toast into the dish, takes a bite, and lets out a sigh of contentment. It's soft and sweet, so very unlike the Eishi she'd known from before.

And all of a sudden, she wonders if it's so very wrong, after all, to want to stay – to call off their adventure, to blow off their comrades, and to drag Eishi back to the bedroom, to taste – really taste – him.

"You're giving me that look again," He tells her, startling her back into the present. "Stop looking at me like you're going to eat me up."

She can't help but to grin at that. "Already did that." She pauses for effect. "Last night."

"Oh my god. What are you, fifteen?" Eishi reaches over the countertop to ruffle her hair, barely stifling his own laughter. "Finish your food. We've got a pirarucu to catch."

She notes the soft flush in his cheeks, likely over the memory of last night. Still, she has to admit he does better than her at self-control; the man is unrelenting in his quest to seek new thrills, and has been since the Regiment de Cuisine. She can't say she disapproves – the Regiment had torn down much of his culinary foundation and beliefs, and the road to rebuilding has been thrilling thusfar, a path of chaos she's happy to walk by his side.

So she smiles, nudging his leg with her toes, excitement nipping at her own heels. "Fine," She tells him. "But after we catch that damn fish, you and I are gonna come back here for a repeat performance."