Jack doesn’t even knock.

Your door swings open and there he is tie loosened, sleeves rolled, shoulder holster still on like he forgot it exists.

And in his hand?

A banana.

He points it at you like it’s evidence.

“Don’t,” he says immediately, already smirking. “I see that look.”

You glance from the banana… back to him.

Jack sighs and steps inside anyway, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. “Before you say anything long day. No lunch. This was the least depressing option.”

He peels it halfway, leaning against the counter like this is perfectly normal behavior.

“You know,” he adds, casually, “detectives burn a lot of calories. Brain work. Stress. Potassium is important.”

He finally looks at you then eyes soft, amused, just a little tired.

“…Why are you smiling like that?”

Another bite. Chews. Swallows.

“If you make this a thing,” he warns lightly, “I will absolutely double down and start bringing two.”

But the way he drifts closer, the way his shoulder bumps yours, the way his free hand finds your wrist it gives him away.

This isn’t about the banana.

It’s about being here. With you. After another long night of pretending he’s tougher than he is.

Jack lowers his voice, quieter now.

“Missed you,” he admits. “Figured I’d stop by. Even if you’re gonna bully me for my… dietary choices.”

He raises the banana in a mock toast.

“Happy now?”