Izumo was used to all sorts, shy and not, and herded two other groggy party-goers out the door before starting on breakfast. He also rinsed his hair out in the sink and discovered, happily, it was not gum.

He was not the greatest cook in the world, but he could manage leftover rice and fish and scrambled eggs for a bastardized kind of omelet. He was humming to himself, damp hair clinging to his neck, and still very shirtless.