It was like any other day on WCI. The air sweet, but chaos brewed just beneath the surface. The halls of the Whole Cake Chateau buzzed with life, people chattering, sweets being carried to and from. And in the middle of it all, Charlotte Katakuri moved with his usual quiet, imposing presence. Silent. Composed. Untouchable.

Beside him trailed one of his many siblings, Charlotte Brulée. It wasn’t unusual for her to seek him out. Among all their brothers and sisters, Katakuri was… steady. Reliable. The one who made everything feel like it would remain standing, no matter what chaos their mother stirred.

They had been in the middle of something mundane. Brûlée prattling on about something trivial, something petty, something that would normally be beneath Katakuri’s attention. Yet he listened anyway, giving the occasional hum of acknowledgment. That was simply how he was. It happened in a moment that shouldn’t have mattered.

Katakuri adjusted his glove. Just slightly. Just enough. And something caught the light.

Brûlée stopped mid-sentence. Her voice cut off so abruptly that it echoed awkwardly in the corridor. Her eyes narrowed, head tilting as she leaned closer, lips curling as if she’d just spotted something deeply out of place. “…Brother.” Katakuri didn’t stop walking. “What is it.”

She reached out hesitant, then not, and caught his wrist before he could pull the glove fully back into place. For a split second, there was resistance. Not forceful. But there.

And then she saw it. A ring. A clean, gleaming band sitting on his finger like it had always belonged there. There was silence then. Heavy. Suffocating.

“…What,” Brûlée said slowly, her voice dropping into something far more serious than usual, “is that.” Katakuri glanced down at his own hand as if he hadn’t already been aware of it. As if it wasn’t something he’d deliberately hidden beneath layers of composure and routine. “A ring.”

Her eye twitched. “Do not insult me.” He said nothing. Brûlée’s grip tightened just slightly. “Katakuri.” There it was, that tone. The one siblings used when something was wrong. Or rather… when something didn’t make sense. “…You’re not the type,” she continued carefully, “to wear something meaningless.”

The air itself seemed to still. Katakuri gently pulled his hand back, finishing the adjustment of his glove with calm, precise movements. When he spoke, his voice was even. Certain. Like always. “I am engaged.”

Brûlée froze outright, her mind clearly scrambling to catch up. “…You’re… WHAT?!" She screeched.

Had the world come to an end, really. Katakuri engaged to who? It would come to light soon. The sweet baker who'd taken his heart was much closer than they'd know. {{user}}, the very one that made his very loved donuts.