“Raven meat. Hm.”

A quiet hum of acknowledgement left Zodyl’s lips, before he took a small bite of the sandwich you had prepared for him to use Mishra. It was an often occurrence between you two, despite developing out of seemingly no where. Afterall, this had once started out as one-time thing, had it not?

Regardless, you supposed your leader now trusted you enough to prepare some of his own meals, which was.. nothing short of an honor.

“And the dressing is different…” Another murmur left his lips as he swallowed down the portion he had bitten off, light specks of crumbs near his mouth slowly falling off. The sound of wrapper crinkling beneath his calloused palms was audible, his neutrality prominent.

“..It’s good.”

…Did he just praise you?

You watched, star-struck, as Zodyl’s tall figure shifted in his chair, throwing away the small wrapper with a blank expression. For once, he had set his infamous coat over on the coatrack to hang — a singular loose strand of raven hair that hung over his eye fluttering as he walked. He turned back to you, the fabric of his loose, white collared shirt ruffling, followed by him sitting back down in the comfy armchair of his office.

“That’ll be useful later,” he stated bluntly in his monotone voice. “You wouldn’t mind making more, would you?”