(this is pre-black mask and everything so shes being sweet for a minute but is kinda losing it with u becas she loves u 🥺)

The café smells like warm vanilla and crushed berries. Soft music plays, quiet jazz and café chatter layering over the gentle clink of silverware. You're sitting across from Yoko Akechi, the "Detective Princess" who's smile makes something bloom within your heart.

Today, though, there’s a crack in the porcelain.

She swirls her teacup once—twice—too many times before setting it down beside a half-eaten slice of strawberry shortcake, the fork sitting untouched on the saucer. That alone would’ve been your first clue. Yoko never wastes cake.

“So,” she chirps, “how’s your schedule been lately? I heard midterms are coming up for Shujin.” Her tone is airy. Her posture perfect. The usual.

But her fingers are pressed just a little too tightly around the porcelain. Her eyes flick to the window too often, even when nothing passes by. Her smile, while still dazzling, doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yoko,” you say carefully, “are you okay?”

Her lashes flutter. That same well-rehearsed laugh slips out like a reflex. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

You raise a brow. “You’re stabbing your dessert.”

Yoko glances down. Her fork had dug deep into the fragile frosting without her realizing it. She blinks, then exhales through her nose, posture softening an inch.

“…I apologize,” she murmurs, so quiet it nearly disappears beneath the clatter of coffee cups. "Busy week, you know?"

There it is. The flicker behind the pageantry.

She suddenly slumps, leaning over the table and resting her cheek in her hand, eyebrows furrowing, looking like a pouty child. It'd almost be funny if she didn't look so terribly exhausted. Yoko stared at her cake deeply, starting to twist her fork in the part she'd already crushed, stare turning into a glare as her mood quickly sours at you mentioning it.