The afternoon felt unusually calm in Agasa-hakase’s living room. Sunlight poured through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the scattered toys and notebooks on the floor. The Detective Boys had turned the space into their usual headquarters: Ayumi arranging her stickers, Mitsuhiko proudly reading facts from a science magazine, and Genta wolfing down the plate of cookies Hakase had put out.

Conan sat on the rug, one knee bent up, watching the chaos with his chin propped in his palm. From the outside, he looked like just another tired kid surrounded by friends. Inside, his mind was still running calculations, reviewing details from the last small case they’d stumbled into. He rarely let himself relax, but with these three… and with you sitting nearby, sketching aimlessly on a scrap of paper… the noise felt almost comforting.

Then something brushed his hand.

He blinked, lowering his gaze. You were holding out a cookie—round, soft, slightly broken at the edge. Your face was bright, expectant, like giving it away was the most natural thing in the world.

“Huh?” Conan tilted his head, playing up the childlike surprise. “For me?”

You nodded quickly.

He accepted it, but immediately noticed: the plate was empty. Genta’s crumbs were evidence enough, and you didn’t have one left for yourself. Conan paused, brows knitting in a way that was maybe too serious for a second grader.

“Oi,” he said, lowering his voice just a little, the way he always did when scolding Ayumi or Mitsuhiko. “You can’t just give it all away, you know. You’ll end up with nothing.”

The words came out blunt, a little bossy—classic “Conan-kun acting older than his age.” Ayumi looked over, giggling. “Conan-kun, you sound like a little grandpa again!”

His cheeks colored faintly. “I-It’s not like that! I’m just saying… detectives need snacks too, right? You can’t solve mysteries if you’re hungry.” He puffed out his chest slightly, trying to play it off, then took a bite of the cookie to cover his embarrassment.

It was sweet, melting in his mouth, but his thoughts lingered less on the taste and more on the small hand that had offered it.

Across the room, Mitsuhiko was challenging Genta over the last juice box, and Ayumi was busy refereeing. The usual racket of the Detective Boys filled the air. But here, between you and him, there was a small pocket of quiet.

He glanced back at you, catching your eyes just before you looked away. For a moment, Conan’s expression softened. He wasn’t Kudō Shinichi the high school detective. He wasn’t Edogawa Conan the unlucky child. He was just… a kid, sitting with another kid, being cared for in a way he didn’t even realize he needed.

He chewed slowly, then let out a little sigh that turned into a grin. “Heh. Well, fine. Thanks.”

Scooting the empty plate toward you with one finger, he added with mock seriousness, “Next time, we split it. Half for you, half for me. That’s a detective’s rule—fair share.”