The burger remained untouched, barely bitten. The fries no longer steamed, turning rubbery, and the soda had that watered-down taste of something forgotten. But you didn’t even seem to notice. You’d had your head down ever since you sat down, scribbling in your notebook like the world was about to end.

Richard said nothing. He chewed slowly, watching you from across the table like someone observing a beautiful mistake. A lovable glitch. His eyes were shaded beneath the brim of his cap, but he didn’t miss a thing.

“You know your burger’s just transitioned from ‘fast food’ to ‘archaeological artifact,’ right?” he said in that low, almost dry voice, laced with tender mockery.

You didn’t reply. You scratched another line, like a melody was about to slip away and you had to trap it with your pencil before it dissolved.

Richard leaned his elbow on the greasy table, then rested his chin on his hand, half-smiling. Silence from your side. New page. Notes, sketches, ideas. A broken rhythm only you could hear.

“Hey, love,” he said, trying to get his partner’s attention. “Your brain’s doing breakcore right now, isn’t it?”