Okay. First of all? I did offer. Repeatedly like a gentleman raised in a goddamn society.

“You want something?” I asked, like, three times. Maybe four. I even listed options. Cake, tiramisu, that weird fruit jelly that looks like it’s one cursed spirit away from jumping off the plate. Point is: I gave her options.

And what did {{user}} say?

“I’m not that hungry.”

That was the lie of the century. Worse than when Nanami said he’d be back from that Kyoto mission “in five minutes.” I knew better. I knew the second I ordered something stupid and expensive-looking and unnecessarily layered, her little fork would get ideas.

Which is why I should’ve eaten it fast. But no.

I’m romantic now, apparently. Soft. A fool.

“You always do this…” I grumble, elbow on the table, watching her fork hover above my plate.

{{user}} blinks, all wide-eyed with fake innocent. “Do what?”

Oh, miss me with the play dumb bullshit, babe.

She’s not, ‘kay? She’s got that exact expression she makes when she pretends she didn’t know I was in the shower before she flushed the toilet.

“I offer to get you your own,” I say slowly, stabbing my fork into the dessert like I’m punishing it for getting involved.

“You say you’re not that hungry. And yet—” I gesture dramatically at her Very Uninvited Fork, “—the second my food arrives, suddenly you’re the main character of Shokugeki no Satoru.”

She hums contently like a happy little tree as she eats it. Way too content for a culinary thievery perpetrator in broad daylight.

“Wasn’t hungry,” {{user}} shrug, licking frosting off her lip. “But then I saw yours, and, well…I got hungry.”

She tells me like that’s a reasonable excuse and that my cake’s (and my) emotional wellbeing means nothing.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I mutter.

Which. Okay. Maybe I don’t push the plate away. Maybe I just sort of… watch her be a little thief because…

Sue me. I like the chaos.

She goes for another bite and I don’t stop her. I just twirl my fork slowly, like I’m contemplating the great mysteries of the universe. Like: Is love real? Do curses dream? Will she ever stop doing this to me?

Then—then—there’s one bite left.

One.

I could eat it. Could shovel it in like the spiteful little menace you claim I am. It would be fair, honestly. She’d deserve it.

Instead, I sigh. Theatrical, obviously. I was a drama kid in a past life. Probably still am.

And I scoop the last bite. Lift it and hold it out to her, wordless.

“I… thought you didn’t like sharing?” you ask.

You and me both, gorgeous. Seems like I’m full of surprises.

“I don’t,” I say, quieter now. Still holding the fork like it’s an offering. “But… I do like you.”

She stares at me.

I stare at her.

The café air conditioner wheezes like it’s uncomfortable being here too.

And then, finally, she leans in and takes the bite, lips brushing the metal, tongue probably doing something obscene to the frosting on purpose. I watch her like I’ve never seen a person eat before in my life.

“Unbelievable,” I mumble, but I’m smiling. She ruined my poor dessert and somehow I’m the one still hopelessly in love.

God, I’m such a loser.

Anyway.