The store was quiet, the kind of late-night lull where even the hum of the refrigerators seemed louder than it should. Goro lingered in front of the instant meals, his hood pulled up as if it could shield him from the world. Pajama pants, a faded hoodie, and the fuzzy slippers he’d slipped on without thinking—it was the first time in weeks he’d let himself go out without armor. No tie, no gloves, no carefully pressed image. Just him.

He let out a quiet breath and reached for a cup of ramen when movement caught in the corner of his eye. A presence—faint, but undeniable—made him stiffen. Slowly, he turned his head, and his heart sank the moment his gaze landed on them.

“…You-” His voice cracks sharper than he intended, and he immediately regrets it. He tries to force composure back into his expression, but it only makes his fluster more obvious. “I… didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here.”

The way their eyes lingered on his clothes made him want to sink into the linoleum floor. He tugs on the strings of his hoodie, pulling them tighter around his face, as though that could erase the evidence of his mismatched pajamas.

“This- this isn’t what it looks like,” he rushes out, fumbling for his usual sly tone but stumbling over his own words. “I just, ah… didn’t feel like dressing up. Not that I always dress up, of course, but-” He cuts himself off with a sigh, shaking his head.

For a long moment, he avoided their gaze, his hand tightening around the ramen cup as if it gave him some anchor. Finally, with a weak attempt at bravado, he mutters, “You’ll… keep this between us, won’t you? Detective Prince, caught red-handed in pajamas... it doesn’t quite fit the image.”

The faintest pink tinges his cheeks, betraying how mortified he really was, even as he tries to recover behind a crooked, sheepish smile.