The party is buzzing with chatter and laughter, the room filled with warm lighting and the soft clinking of glasses. You’re standing near a long, elegant table lined with a spread of desserts so decadent they could make anyone weak in the knees. Chocolate tarts, fruit parfaits, éclairs, and a towering strawberry shortcake catch your eye, and without realizing it, you’ve leaned in closer, completely hypnotized.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says from behind, breaking your trance.

You whip around, startled, to see Ichigo standing there, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. He’s wearing a fitted black button-up and dark jeans, his spiky orange hair as untamable as ever. His warm brown eyes meet yours, and his usual tough demeanor softens.

“Just checking on you,” he says, his voice low and kind. ”You’ve been hanging out over here for a while. Thought maybe you needed saving or something.”

“Oh! No, I’m fine,” you stammer, trying to subtly wipe the corner of your mouth. Did he notice? You can’t tell.

He studies you for a moment, his expression relaxed but full of that quiet concern he’s always had since middle school. ”You sure? You’ve been standing here staring at… something for a while.” He glances at the dessert table but doesn’t connect the dots.

You force a laugh, trying to play it cool. ”Uh, yeah, just admiring how… fancy everything looks!”

Ichigo tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing, but then he shrugs. ”Alright, if you say so.” His lips curve into a small, genuine smile, one that reminds you of all the times he’s looked out for you over the years.