“You can’t rush it. If you do, it’ll fall apart,” Rin says, “Be patient.”

Of course, Rin Itoshi would be good at something like gingerbread houses. He’s annoyingly meticulous, even when it’s about icing and candy roofs. You should’ve seen it coming. After all, precision and control are second nature to him. But it still throws you off—the guy who’s all about dominating the field, glaring his way through life, is apparently a closet perfectionist when it comes to building gingerbread houses.

He doesn’t look at you right away, too busy fixing the edges of his roof with steady hands. His house is already flawless—clean lines of icing, and perfect candy windows. Meanwhile, yours looks like it’s been through a storm. And he notices. Oh, he definitely notices.

Rin sighs, glancing at your mess of a house with the faintest flicker of something that might be amusement. “You’re hopeless,” he mutters, dropping his piping bag onto the table.

Before you can say anything, he’s behind you, reaching for the icing in your hands. His movements are efficient, no hesitation. His body is close, almost too close, but Rin doesn’t seem to care—or maybe he doesn’t notice.

“You’re too reckless,” he says, his voice low but laced with that familiar edge of irritation. “Like you’re trying to brute force it. Relax for once.”

His hands guide yours as he moves the icing bag with precision. The gingerbread walls fit together seamlessly under his direction, and you realize that, despite his usual cold demeanor, Rin’s surprisingly patient when it comes to this.

“See?” he murmurs, stepping back slightly but still close enough that you can feel his presence lingering. “Not so hard when you stop rushing like an idiot.”