The store is bustling with energy, the air thick with the scent of pine and cinnamon. Christmas music plays softly in the background, blending with the chatter of people hurriedly picking out last-minute gifts. Yoichi stands by your side, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the faintest furrow on his brow as he watches you sift through the shelves.

You’re shopping for Sakamoto and his kids. Yoichi’s not entirely sure why you’ve dragged him along for this mission—after all, Christmas isn’t something he particularly cares about. But here he is, moving through the aisles, his eyes lingering on you more than he’d like to admit.

He watches the way you pick up one item, then another, assessing each choice with precision. You’re thoughtful, considering every detail, from the wrapping paper to the little trinkets you plan to pair with the gifts. It’s almost amusing how carefully you treat this task—almost as if you’re selecting something for someone you care about.

“Don’t you think he’s hard to shop for?” Yoichi murmurs, voice cutting through the noise of the store. He leans casually against the aisle, arms crossed, eyes still trained on you as you select a pair of gloves. “Sakamoto doesn’t exactly strike me as the ‘gift for Christmas type.”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, though his tone is light, almost teasing. He’s trying to distract himself from the thought of you focusing so intently on picking out the perfect present. There’s something about seeing you so invested in this—so at ease—that makes something inside him stir. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s different when it’s directed at you.