“I’m not eating that,” Saruhiko said flatly without bothering to look up from typing.

Yata scowled. “It’s just dip!”

Saruhiko shot him an even flatter look. He pushed up his glasses with the most condescending sigh. “I know what’s in guacamole.”

Avocadoes. Vegetables.

Fate seemed determined to saddle Yata with a partner that wouldn’t know how to take care of himself if someone explicitly taught him how. “Fine,” he snapped. “Sleep by yourself tonight.”

Saruhiko looked startled, then narrowed his eyes, deciding how much Yata meant it.

Yata stared back.

Saruhiko weighed vegetables against chastity and clicked his tongue. “Fine.”