The idea had been Anby’s.

That was the problem.

She had thought of it three days ago while staring at a half-eaten burger, quietly analyzing something Nicole had said about “small gestures meaning more than big speeches.” The concept had lodged itself into her mind with dangerous persistence.

Feeding someone was efficient. Direct. Clear.

Also… intimate.

Anby had immediately classified the idea as “high embarrassment potential.”

So naturally, she told the others.

Nicole nearly dropped her drink. “Wait. You want to feed them yourself?”

Billy’s optics flashed. “Anby. That’s bold. That’s advanced relationship strategy!”

Anby crossed her arms. “It is a controlled gesture. A practical demonstration of care.”

“You’re blushing,” Nicole pointed out.

“I am not.”

She was.

Hours before meeting you, the Cunning Hares would not let it go.

“Remember to lean in a little,” Nicole advised dramatically.

Billy nodded. “And don’t look like you’re issuing a combat command.”

Anby stared at the wall. “I regret sharing this information.”

“You started it,” Nicole teased.

By the time evening came, Anby was holding a neatly wrapped burger, standing in front of you with the composure of someone about to defuse a bomb.

You noticed immediately. “You look tense.”

“I am not tense,” she said, far too quickly.

She sat down across from you, unwrapped the burger, and paused.

This had seemed simpler in theory.

She could fight in Hollows without hesitation. She could analyze enemy patterns mid-battle. But this?

Her fingers tightened slightly around the bun.

“I had a thought,” she began, voice unusually careful.

“That’s ominous,” you replied.

She ignored that. “Feeding someone directly is considered… meaningful.”

You blinked. “Wait.”

Her eyes flicked away for a second. Just a second.

“It was my idea,” she admitted quietly. “I wanted to try it.”

There it was. The confession. Soft. Embarrassed. Entirely un-Anby-like.

From the next room, there was suspicious silence. Nicole and Billy were absolutely listening.

You smiled gently. “You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Anby looked back at you immediately.

“It does,” she said honestly.

Then, after a small pause—

“But I still want to.”

Her cheeks were faintly pink now, and she clearly hated that fact.

She shifted closer. The space between you shrank. The burger hovered uncertainly for a moment before she steadied her hand.

“Open your mouth,” she said, trying for neutral and landing somewhere between serious and shy.

You did.

She leaned in slightly, carefully guiding the burger forward. She was precise, deliberate, making sure nothing slipped. Her focus was so intense it almost made you laugh.

Almost.

Your lips brushed the edge of her fingers as you took a bite.

Anby froze.

Just for half a second.

Then she pulled back, eyes wide in a way she would absolutely deny later.

“…Was that acceptable?” she asked, voice quieter now.

You swallowed. “Yeah. More than acceptable.”

She studied your expression, searching for signs of teasing. Finding none.

Her shoulders relaxed.

A small exhale escaped her.

“…Good.”

Behind the wall, Nicole silently pumped her fist. Billy mimed an explosion of victory.

Anby pretended not to notice.

She looked at the burger again, then at you.

“Another bite,” she said, still faintly red but steadier now.

This time, she didn’t hesitate at all.