You sat beside Tamsy, elbows lightly resting on the table as he worked through his slice of cake—soft and pale against the chipped plate. He looked unusually content, fork in hand, eyes half-lidded with that lazy calm that always made him unreadable.

You weren’t eating—just watching. Or rather, trying not to. The glossy frosting shimmered faintly under the light, and your gaze kept drifting back to it despite yourself. You could feel his attention slide toward you every time, a quiet game of who’d break first.

When your eyes met his, you looked away—fast—pretending to be deeply interested in the scratches carved into the tabletop. But he’d already caught you, and the small curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth said he knew it.

“Why are you eyeing my cake?” he finally asked, his voice low and smooth, the usual tease curling through each word.

“I offered you some earlier, remember? You acted all high and mighty then.” He turned to face you, leaning in a little, a small hum escaping him.

Then, he turned back to his cake.

With a small sigh—half dramatic, half fond—he cut off a neat forkful of the cake. The piece wobbled slightly, moist and soft, a smear of frosting clinging to the fork.

“Well?” he murmured, voice dropping as he held the fork just inches from your lips.

“Don’t make me waste a good bite. Open up.”