The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside and the sound of a fork lightly tapping against porcelain. Ryuzaki sat cross-legged on the couch, a small plate of strawberry shortcake in front of him, his posture as odd as ever. You sat beside him, your own dessert nearly untouched because you were too busy watching the faint satisfaction in his eyes as he took another bite.

He had just wrapped up another difficult case—one that had kept him awake for days—and though he hadn’t said it aloud, you could tell he was proud. This quiet moment, shared over sweets instead of surveillance screens, was his way of celebrating.

“You’re not eating,” he said suddenly, his dark eyes flicking toward you. “That’s unhealthy. Sugar is good for the brain, especially after intense concentration.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I think you’ve had enough for both of us, Ryuzaki.”

He blinked at you, tilting his head slightly. “That’s impossible. There’s no such thing as ‘enough’ sugar.”

His tone was so serious that you laughed, finally taking a small bite of your cake. He watched you for a moment longer, then returned to his own dessert, his expression softening just slightly. After a pause, he murmured quietly, almost to himself, “…It’s nice. Eating with you like this.”