Istvan was eating a bun in front of Erik. He wasn't really eating that bun. He had evenly drizzled the dish of honey over it, which would make the plate hard to clean and also easily get honey on his hand, making everything he wanted and didn't want sticky and sweet with the scent of flowers. This was quite contrary to Istvan's usual preference for neatness. Istvan, however, seemed not to notice Erik's gaze. He picked up that bun from the plate and leaned sideways at the table, as if he were about to get up and leave the table, or as if he wanted Erik to see more clearly that honey had stuck to his fingers, and the sweet liquid was racing down the crispy, round crust of the bun. Istvan used his lips to catch the honey streams one by one, and not a single drop fell on his clothes. He made a loud smacking sound, another behavior he wouldn't show easily. It was so strange that Erik, who was eating his own food, stared at him. Istvan half-closed his eyes, content with the golden fruits of the bees' labor. He drew the thin layer of sweetness into his mouth with his lips - was he kissing that bun? He hardly used his teeth to bite, so that the bun remained intact until now - the half-sausage that Erik had put down and never picked up again was the same. Istvan praised that small bun loudly, "Oh, you are so delicious, I can hardly bear to eat you up." It's ridiculous if you would be jealous of a bun. But, if Istvan still didn't intend to use his teeth on that small bun, then next it would be Erik who did so and ate up that damn bun.