You’d fallen into the habit without really meaning to.

Every few days, you’d arrive with a big bento box in hand—never on a schedule, never announced.

Flins never quite understood why you did it.
But he never turned you away.

If anything, he seemed to look forward to it.

The night air was cool, a soft breeze threading through the cemetery and tugging gently at his long hair as he stood before one of the gravestones, gaze distant, thoughtful.

You approached from behind, careful not to disturb the stillness.

“Ah…”
His voice came first. Only then did he turn, pale eyes settling on you with that familiar, knowing curve to his expression. He straightened, hands folding behind his back as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“Let me guess,” he continued lightly, eyes flicking to what you carried.
“Another surprise?” A pause—then a soft smile.

“Do tell… what have you brought me this time?”