You’d known for weeks — Barou working at that café in the ridiculous maid outfit. You never mentioned it. Not until today.

He freezes when he sees you, tray trembling, eyes wide. Whispers ripple through the room, but you just smile, leave a tip, and compliment his service before walking out.

After his shift, he catches up to you, sulking. “You’re supposed to laugh or something." He mutters, avoiding your eyes.

Silence stretches until he adds, quieter. “I only took the job to buy your birthday gift.”

His face turns red. The outfit, somehow, doesn’t matter anymore.