RoyalCupid

By the time your car lurched forward another six feet, you were convinced the city had collectively forgotten how roads worked.

The navigation app had long since abandoned any optimism. What had begun as a thirty-minute drive home had quietly crept past an hour, then another twenty minutes, each reroute sending you through streets that were somehow even worse than the last. Construction cones funneled four lanes into one. An ambulance screamed past on the opposite side of the divider. A bus blocked an intersection because someone had tried squeezing through a yellow light that very obviously wasn't going to happen.

You let your forehead fall against the steering wheel for exactly three seconds before the driver behind you honked.

"...Yeah, yeah."

The light turned green.

Nobody moved.

You exhaled through your nose.

Your manager's voice still echoed somewhere in the back of your mind.

"Sorry, I know it's last minute."

It was always last minute—The report had needed revisions, but revisions needed approval, and approval needed more revisions. By the end of it, everyone else had gone home while you remained under sterile white office lights that made every minute feel twice as long.

You'd texted Senku during one of the five-minute breaks you managed to steal.

Me: bruh

Me: stuck with overtime AGAIN

His reply had come almost immediately.

Senku: LMFAO.

Senku: Sucks to be you.

That had been the entire conversation.

Which, admittedly, was fairly normal for him.

When your apartment building finally came into view, your grip loosened around the steering wheel for what felt like the first time all evening.

Home.

You could already picture it: After you took your shoes off, you’d microwave whatever leftovers happened to exist. After that? Maybe take a shower. Maybe not. Then, collapse on the couch, wake up in the morning, and do it all again.

You climbed the stairs slower than usual, fishing your keys out of your bag more by muscle memory than conscious thought. Your shoulders protested every movement. Even the strap of your work bag felt heavier than it had this morning.

The lock clicked.

You pushed the door open, only to pause when an unfamiliar warmth greeted you from inside. The apartment smelled... good.

And it wasn’t from the artificial sweetness of a candle or the freshness of an air freshener, but something far more unexpected—an actual meal being prepared. The scent of simmering spices and freshly cooked food filled the room, a small but immediate reminder that, somehow, someone had thought ahead for you.

Your eyes drifted toward the kitchen, "...Senku?"

Without looking up from the cutting board, he answered, "You made it."

You stared.

He was wearing the hoodie he'd stolen back from you three weeks ago because technically it had originally belonged to him. Sleeves shoved halfway to his elbows, a kitchen towel thrown over one shoulder, he was methodically slicing green onions with the kind of concentration most people reserved for assembling IKEA furniture.

Several grocery bags sat folded neatly on the counter.

Your drying rack had dishes on it.

Your sink...

"...Why is my sink empty?"

He didn’t around to response, his attention still elsewhere, "Hm?"

"My sink,” you repeated.

"It has no dishes,” he chuckled lightly.

"I noticed."

“Well,” Senku stood up straight, his eyes landing on you. “Obviously, I washed them.”

You blinked, "You... washed my dishes."

"I know. Crazy." He swept the chopped onions into a bowl, "I was aiming for unprecedented."

“Uh huh,” You slowly set your bag on the floor. "So, you came here to do chores for me?"

“Duh,” He shrugged like it was self-explanatory, "This morning you told me your boss volunteered your evening."

"My boss didn't—"

"He did."

"..."

"You just weren't exactly given the option to decline," he huffed, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice. "Better to keep the workplace peace than have your boss decide you're suddenly their least favorite employee."

"...Fair," you muttered, setting your bag on the kitchen counter.

He reached over to lower the heat beneath the saucepan, giving it a brief stir before continuing. "I got home around four from the lab."

"Mhm." You took a seat at the table, watching him with an increasingly curious, fond gaze as he moved around your kitchen with the ease of someone who had done it before.

"The news said a water main burst downtown."

"Mhm."

"They listed every road closure." He picked up the wooden spatula and began moving it through the pan in slow, absentminded circles.

"Mhm."

"I checked traffic on your usual route home," he continued, a slight edge of exasperation entering his voice, "after you didn't answer. So I figured you definitely got caught up in it."

You tilted your head, a small smile crossing your lips. "Wow, really? All that deduction work for me?"

"Exactly." He gave the soup another stir, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "So I estimated how long it'd take you to get back, realized I had ample time to start a few quick chores."

"..."

"You would've gotten here tired." He shrugged, but his tone softened. "Figured I might as well make things a little easier for you. So I came over."

The answer was delivered with such little ceremony that it almost made you smile more than anything else he'd said.

"So... you came over?" you repeated, quieter this time.

"Mhm." Senku turned off the stove once he deemed whatever he was cooking sufficiently finished and moved the pan onto an unused burner. He wiped his hands on the kitchen towel before turning toward the refrigerator. "Speaking of which, I bought your groceries for the next week. Besides what I used to make dinner."

"How sweet," you hummed. "How'd you know what to buy? Should I pay you back?"

Senku paused halfway through opening the fridge and looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Obviously not. I'm your partner." There was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Plus, eventually we're gonna live together anyway. Consider this a trial run."

He crouched to inspect the lower shelves, continuing, "As for how I knew, I just guessed based on your pretty meager fridge situation."

"Ouch." You chuckled.

"There really wasn't much." He pulled out two sodas, then grabbed two glasses and filled them with iced water. He held one of the empty glasses toward you like an accusation. "You need to get better at stocking your fridge. Seriously. What were you gonna eat tonight? Ice?"

"Hey!" You pointed right back at him. "I've been plenty busy. And besides, remember when you were spending thirteen hours in the lab to finalize some report? I don't think you should be scolding me for my work ethic."

"Tch." Senku cracked open his soda, clicking his tongue against his teeth. He gave you a sideways look, but the small smile threatening at the corner of his mouth made it obvious he wasn't actually annoyed. "Enough of that. Just be happy I left your house cleaner than I found it."

You smiled, resting your chin against your hand. "I am."

His eyes flicked toward you.

"...Good."

It was such a small word, almost lost beneath the hiss of carbonation and the quiet hum of the refrigerator, but the way he said it made your chest feel strangely warm.

Then, as if realizing he'd allowed himself to sound too sincere, he turned back toward the kitchen.

"Now, eat before I start charging you for all this labor."

You laughed. "You just said I didn't have to pay you back."

"That was before you started getting sentimental,” he frowned.

"I said one word.”

"Exactly!" He grinned, somehow managing to balance two plates in his hands as he carried them over to the table. He set one neatly in front of you before placing the other beside it, then immediately turned on his heel to retrieve the drinks. "And that's all it took."

You took a moment to look around the apartment while he busied himself with the beverages.

It was strange seeing everything so orderly, especially knowing he'd been the one to put it that way; He’d actually taken the time to straighten up. The coffee table had been cleared of the usual assortment of receipts, cups, and whatever else had accumulated there throughout the week, while the stack of unopened mail by the door had been sorted into something resembling an orderly pile rather than the precarious tower it had been threatening to become.

Even the smaller things had been tended to.

The blanket you’d left half-sprawled across the couch had been folded neatly over the armrest, and the curtains had been drawn back just enough to let the evening air circulate through the apartment. Nothing had been rearranged or scrubbed to the point of feeling unfamiliar; he’d simply put things back into place, quietly restoring some order to the space you’d been too exhausted to notice had fallen into disarray.

"...Senku,” you leaned up to face him as he came walking back.

"What?" Senku placed a glass of water and a soda in front of you before sliding into the chair beside yours.

"...This is weird." You gave him a tired, almost disbelieving look as you reached for the water.

He glanced over at you, one eyebrow lifting. "Weird?"

"You."

He pointed at himself, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Me?"

"You're acting..."

"What?"

"...Domesticated." You visibly cringed at the word.

Senku snorted. "Hah. Don't insult me."

"I'm serious." You pointed your fork at him before taking a bite of what he'd made, chewing thoughtfully as you watched him.

He leaned back in his chair, looking far too amused by your accusation. "You make it sound like I got adopted."

"You practically survive on instant noodles," you said slowly, making a conscious effort not to speak with your mouth full.

"I survive on efficiency."

"You own exactly one frying pan."

"I own the necessary frying pan."

"You once told me dishes were optional." You lowered your fork, staring at him in genuine disbelief. "And then you spent ten minutes trying to explain, with physics, how you could theoretically avoid touching the surface of a plate while eating so you wouldn't have to wash it."

"Hey." His protest lacked any real conviction, especially with the way he was trying not to smile. "I know you enjoyed that tirade."

"I was fascinated by how committed you were to being ridiculous."

"Same difference."

"Okay, but now you're in my kitchen making actual food." You tapped the edge of his plate with your fork, glancing between him and the meal he'd prepared. "That's what I don't understand."

Senku frowned slightly, though there was more amusement than annoyance in it. "That's because your kitchen has more utensils."

"..."

"And seasoning."

"..."

"And oils."

"..."

He caught your stare and reached across the small space between you, tapping your forehead lightly with his finger. "Don't look at me like that. It's unbecoming."

You rubbed your forehead, fighting a smile.

"You'd be amazed what becomes possible with a few more variables."

That got you.

A laugh slipped out before you even realized you still had enough energy left for one.

Senku's expression softened immediately, satisfaction flickering across his face. "There it is."

"What?"

"That." His smile turned teasing again. "You stopped looking like you wanted to fistfight public infrastructure."

"I still do."

"Valid."

Your laugh faded into a sigh, the sound quieter this time. It wasn't dramatic or particularly deliberate; it was simply the weight of the entire day finally making itself known now that you were somewhere safe enough to let it. Your shoulders sank, and you stared down at your plate for a moment, appetite returning only because you no longer had to think about where your next task was coming from.

Senku didn't comment on it.

He simply nudged the soda a little closer to you, "Eat."

You glanced at him, "...You know, for someone who claims to be all about efficiency, you spend a suspicious amount of time taking care of me."

He shrugged, picking up his own fork. "You're inefficient when you're exhausted."

“Seriously?” You narrowed your eyes, "That's your excuse?"

"For now." The corner of his mouth lifted. "...Got a better one?"

You looked at him for a moment, then smiled despite yourself, "No."

"Thought so."

By the time you finished eating, the plates were nearly spotless, which you decided was a decent enough indication that Senku's cooking had been a success. You carried everything over to the sink before he could stop you, turning on the faucet while he gathered the remaining dishes.

"I'll wash," you said, reaching for the sponge.

"Then I'll dry."

"And put them away?"

"Obviously."

You glanced over your shoulder at him. "You're getting awfully comfortable here."

"Somebody's gotta keep this place functional."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you worked. It settled into an easy rhythm between you: you washed, he dried, and whatever you handed him disappeared neatly back into its proper place. There was something strangely satisfying about it, especially after the chaos of the rest of your day. No rushing, no checking the time, no one asking you for anything. Just the quiet clink of dishes and the sound of running water.

When a fork slipped from your hand and clattered onto the floor, you bent down to retrieve it.

The faucet suddenly went quiet.

Before you could straighten, arms slipped around your middle from behind.

You startled, letting out a small laugh as Senku pulled you back against him. His chin settled over your shoulder for a moment before he rested his face against the collar of your button-up, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his cheek against your neck.

"Senku?"

"Hm."

"What are you doing?"

"Making an observation."

You smiled, glancing down at his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. "And?"

He was quiet for a second.

"We should move in together."

You blinked, "...That's your grand observation?"

"Yeah." His voice was muffled against your collar, but you could hear the faint amusement in it. "Think about it. We could make being gross and domestic together way more efficient."

You laughed warmly, turning the faucet back on as you resumed rinsing the dishes, careful not to jostle him too much. "I'd like that."

His arms tightened slightly around you, "Good."

You let the moment linger before adding, "Although, if you moved into my apartment, it'd probably be easier for you."

"Why?"

"Less stuff to move."

He went quiet.

You grinned, feeling the urge to double down. "Actually, you could probably carry all of your belongings in one trip."

"How many times do I have to tell you—"

"Ten?" you interrupted. "Maybe eleven if we're counting your lab equipment?"

"You're really committed to this bit, huh?" He grumbled.

You laughed, and he gave your ribs a sudden squeeze.

You jumped.

"Senku!"

He finally let go, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "That'll teach you."

"That proves nothing."

"It proves you're ticklish."

"That's not relevant, like at all.

"Sure."

Before you could retaliate, he reached over and ruffled your hair, thoroughly ruining whatever order you'd managed to maintain after your shower.

"Hey!"

Senku was already walking away, "Clean up the rest, oh domestic equal of mine.”

You stared after him, incredulous, before looking down at the dish in your hands.

"...Ten belongings," you muttered.

From somewhere in the living room came his voice.

"Forty-two, actually."

You smiled to yourself and shook your head, turning back to the sink.

The apartment was still the same one you'd walked into hours ago—same walls, same furniture, same little messes you'd been meaning to deal with. But somehow, it felt different now. A little warmer. A little less like a place you simply returned to at the end of the day, and a little more like somewhere you could actually rest.

Maybe it was the dinner waiting for you when you got home.

Maybe it was the clean counters and folded blanket.

Or maybe it was just Senku, sitting in your living room like he belonged there, pretending that taking care of you was nothing more than a practical decision.

Part of why I see both Falin and Kabru this way also comes from my own experience.

My old therapist encouraged me to get evaluated for autism. I went through the process of booking an appointment through my insurance, drove an hour to this random ahh hospital, and was prepared to get tested. However, when I was eventually called up, my assessment was stopped midway because the proctor decided I "wasn't her typical patient,” and told me I wasn’t autistic for the following reasons: I’m conversational, I hold eye contact, I don’t fidget weirdly, blah blah blahz

So! While I was never formally diagnosed, nor do I claim to be autistic, it made me realize how differently autistic traits can present in different people.

Some people internalize them through masking, while others compensate by consciously studying social interaction. I spent my childhood years analyzing facial expressions, mapping out conversations, and learning social cues rather than intuitively understanding them. That's why I relate to both characters in different ways: Falin reminds me of how easily quieter, masked traits can be overlooked, while Kabru's almost studied understanding of people feels less like effortless charisma and more like a skill developed through constant observation.

For someone who understood people as deeply as Kabru did, his party was an unusual collection of individuals.

Not that he disliked it.

If anything, he found them fascinating.

Each member carried their own history, their own reasons for adventuring, and their own struggles that had brought them together. Rin had been by his side since childhood, her loyalty to him unwavering. Daya was straightforward and dependable, a warrior who valued action over unnecessary words. Mickbell and Kuro came as an inseparable pair, their bond stronger than any simple partnership. Holm, despite his troubled past, had found a place among them because Kabru believed people were more than their mistakes.

They were an unlikely group. But somehow, they worked.

And then there was you.

A bard.

Someone who had never quite fit into the expectations others had placed upon you: Your enthusiasm, your curiosity, your tendency to notice details others overlooked—many people had called them strange. Without the money for proper specialists or evaluations, understanding yourself had always been difficult. The Golden Kingdom's sudden rush of adventurers had driven prices higher, and many people seeking answers found themselves unable to afford them.

Still, you had never let that stop you.

If anything, you had learned to embrace the things that made you different.

Your lute, attached to the end of your staff, was both weapon and instrument. Through it, you could weave magic into music, turning melodies into spells and performances into something far more powerful than simple entertainment.

And perhaps most importantly, you made people smile!

Including Kabru.

Which was something he found both fascinating and mildly inconvenient. See, while Kabru was very good at understanding people. You, however, had become something of an exception.

Tonight, however, was not a night for analysis.

Tonight was a celebration!

For once, the party had managed to clear several dungeon floors without anyone dying, suffering severe injuries, or nearly losing everything they owned. Unfortunately, that streak ended when another adventuring party stole their food rations.

Kabru suspected the group responsible was connected to one of the Touden siblings. Rin had analyzed the magic used to take their belongings and noted that the spellwork was unusually rigid and academic, as if someone had copied the instructions directly from a textbook. So, with Kuro's enhanced sense of smell, Kabru had even managed to gather information about the group afterward.

A tall-man, an elf, a dwarf, and a half-foot—It was a strangely familiar combination, but, that mystery could wait.

For now, the party had retreated to the tavern where Kabru rented a room beneath the building. After weeks underground, surrounded by monsters and danger, the warmth of the tavern felt almost foreign.

Everyone had relaxed, even Rin; She sat away from the alcohol, nursing a fruit-based drink while pretending she wasn't enjoying herself. Daya had become involved in a loud conversation with other adventurers nearby, while Mickbell was undoubtedly exaggerating some part of their recent expedition to anyone willing to listen. Kuro stayed close, occasionally correcting him with blunt honesty. Holm quietly observed the room, occasionally joining conversations when someone asked about spirits or magic.

And Kabru?

Kabru was being approached.

Again.

The women at the bar were clearly interested in him, drawn in by his polite smile, alluring eyes, charming conversation, and his established demeanour.

Yet he barely seemed aware of it.

His attention was elsewhere; How typical. You recognized the look immediately. Kabru was thinking too much.

So naturally...

You decided to interrupt.

Not normally, of course, that would be far too boring.

You adjusted the strap of your lute, stepped into the center of the tavern, and began to play. The first notes immediately drew attention. Your voice followed soon after, carrying a lively hymn through the common language. The melody was bright and familiar, the kind of song that invited people to join rather than simply listen.

Kabru looked up.

At first, he seemed confused. Then he realized exactly what you were doing—A small smile appeared—There it was! That rare, unguarded expression he only wore when he forgot he was supposed to be analyzing something.

His fingers traced the rim of his cup as he watched you perform, amusement softening his features.

You weren't performing because you wanted attention. Rather, you were performing because you noticed he needed to relax. And somehow, that meant far more to him than he expected.

The performance continued.

You danced with a few enthusiastic patrons, encouraged others to sing along, and transformed the entire tavern into something warmer than it had been moments before.

And Kabru watched. Not as a leader observing his party, or an adventurer analyzing a situation. He simply watched as Kabru… And that was probably where the misunderstanding began.

The last note of your song lingered through the tavern before fading into the warm chatter of conversation.

For a brief moment, there was silence.

Then came the applause.

It wasn't the polite kind given out of obligation, either. The patrons who had joined your song were genuinely entertained, some still laughing as they returned to their drinks. A few even called out requests for another performance, though you simply laughed and waved them off.

You lowered your lute, your expression bright with satisfaction; Performing was always like this. There was something wonderful about taking a room full of strangers and, for a few minutes, making them feel like they belonged together.

As you stepped away from the small crowd, your attention naturally drifted back toward the party. More specifically—Kabru.

He had been watching the entire time.

Not in the same way the other patrons had.

Most people watched a performer.

Kabru watched you.

There was a difference, you noted.

He wasn't analyzing your technique or judging the quality of your magic. He had already seen enough dungeon expeditions to know you were skilled. No, the faint smile on his face was far simpler than that: He was amused.

And, perhaps more importantly, he looked relaxed. Something that was becoming increasingly rare as the days passed.

When you approached, Kabru gave you a small, charming smile before offering a few quiet claps.

"Impressive," he said. "I knew we had recruited a talented bard, but I wasn't aware we had somehow acquired one famous enough to command an entire tavern."

You placed a hand dramatically against your chest, “Famous? Finally, someone recognizes my greatness."

A soft laugh escaped him, “Oh why, of course. The rumors are everywhere."

"Oh?” You smiled, “And what exactly are people saying?"

Kabru lifted his drink thoughtfully, “That you have a remarkable ability to convince exhausted adventurers that they are having a good time."

You narrowed your eyes, “That sounds suspiciously like an insult, no?”

"Does it?"

"Maybe."

"Then perhaps I should compensate you."

“Compensate me?" You tilted your head. “How so?”

Kabru gestured toward the empty space beside him, “Would the oh-so-famous bard care to sit with me?"

"Hmm." You looked at him with exaggerated consideration. “I don’t know about that~”

Kabru immediately recognized the performance.

You were teasing him.

That was something he had learned about you quickly. Your enthusiasm was genuine, but you also enjoyed playing things up for the sake of humor. Unlike many people, who hid behind careful wording and subtle implications, you wore your reactions openly.

It was refreshing.

"Are you aware that people usually pay for such talents?" you asked.

Kabru hummed, “I suppose that I could spare some coin, depends on your rates though.”

"Six silver."

"Six?"

"Famous bards don't come cheap."

“I see,” He raised an eyebrow, “A very reasonable price, I suppose.”

You grinned, “Naturally."

“Though, I have a better proposition for you,” Kabru tapped his fingers against his cup, pretending to think. “How about I buy your drink instead?"

You paused. "..."

"Well?" He drawled.

You sighed dramatically, “Fine. I suppose I can accept payment in refreshments."

"How generous."

"I know I am.”

Kabru shook his head, but the smile remained as you took the seat beside him. When the server approached, Kabru barely glanced at the menu.

"My partner will have—"

The words left his mouth naturally.

So naturally, neither of you noticed it.

"—a fruit cider."

A simple drink.

Nothing fancy.

Just something easy to enjoy while talking.

You didn't react.

Kabru didn't react.

The server simply nodded and walked away.

And if anyone nearby found the wording interesting, they were polite enough not to mention it.

The server returned with their drinks a short while later, setting the cups down before disappearing back into the lively crowd.

You immediately picked yours up, taking a sip before your expression brightened, “Oh, wow, that's actually good."

Kabru glanced over, “Actually?"

“Mhm,” You nodded seriously. “There's a difference between a drink that is technically acceptable and a drink that makes you think, 'Ah, I understand why people come here.'"

“Oh?” Kabru rested his elbow against the counter, his chin settling into his palm, “I wasn't aware you had such strong opinions about tavern beverages."

"I don't." You paused, your gaze drifting over the crowd of people. “I have strong opinions about everything."

That earned a quiet laugh from him.

“So I’ve noticed."

“See,” You pointed your cup at him. “That sounded like an actual compliment."

"It was just an observation,” he shrugged his shoulders.

“True,” you nodded, “but those are usually compliments when they come from you."

Kabru raised an eyebrow, “Usually?"

“Usually,” You took another sip, looking far too pleased with yourself.

Kabru couldn't help but smile.

There was something unusual about speaking with you. Most people were either too guarded around him or too eager to impress him. Conversations often became something he had to navigate carefully, every response carrying some hidden meaning he needed to account for.

But with you, things were different.

You didn't speak to create an impression.

You spoke because you had something to say.

And somehow, that made you one of the easiest people to be around.

"You've been staring at me for a while," you said suddenly.

Kabru blinked, “Have I?"

"Yes."

"My apologies."

"You don't very sound apologetic,” you huffed.

"I am."

"Yeah right! You look more amused than anything."

"Those two things aren't mutually exclusive,” he took another short sip of his drink.

You narrowed your eyes, “That's such a Kabru answer."

He paused, “…A Kabru answer?"

"Yeah!” You tapped your finger against your cup thoughtfully. “You always do that."

"Do what?"

"You don't just answer. You analyze why someone asked the question first."

Kabru went quiet.

Not because he disagreed.

Because you had noticed.

Most people only saw the result of his habits: his politeness, his patience, his ability to keep conversations flowing. They rarely noticed the process underneath.

"You pay attention to me," he said. “Don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” You tilted your head, “Of course I do."

The answer came so naturally that it caught him slightly off guard.

"You say that like it's obvious,” Kabru chuckled lightly.

"It is."

"Most people wouldn't agree."

"Most people aren't paying attention."

Kabru looked at you for a moment longer. Then, he smiled.

"That's a very simple explanation for something you seem to put a lot of thought into."

You shrugged, “I like knowing things."

"About people?"

"About everything." You immediately started listing examples. “I like knowing why certain monsters behave the way they do, why some spells have certain limitations, why some people react differently to the same situation..."

You paused.

"And why you keep pretending you're not tired."

Kabru's expression shifted.

Only slightly.

But enough.

"I… don't pretend,” his smiled tightened.

"You totally do."

"I get plenty of rest," he smiled, placing a hand gently over his heart with a look that was just a bit too practiced.

"You close your eyes for three hours and call it resting."

"That is still technically resting."

"It is technically terrible."

Kabru looked away, the faintest hint of amusement on his face, “You make a surprisingly convincing argument."

"I know."

“I should note that I wasn't agreeing with your point,” he nudged your cup with his.

You pulled yours away, a faint smile crossed your lips. “Oh, but you totally were."

"No, I was more acknowledging it.”

"Same thing."

"It really isn't."

"It is when I'm right."

He laughed quietly. The sound was brief, but genuine. You smiled at the reaction.

"There. You should do that more."

Kabru looked back at you, “Do what?"

"Actually relax."

"I relax."

"You relax by analyze relaxing."

"...”

“See, I’m right, aren’t I?” You grinned.

Kabru shook his head, “You realize most people don't speak to their party leader this way."

"Most people don't have a leader who completely forgets he's a human being," you sighed, shaking your head. Before you could think, you waved your hand dismissively, "And besides, you're... way more important to me than just a leader, Kabru."

That made him actually pause. For once, he didn't immediately have a response. Because the annoying thing was...

You were right.

Before he could say anything, his attention shifted toward the other side of the tavern.

Mickbell had somehow managed to attract attention from a group of adventurers, and judging by Kuro's expression, things were already becoming complicated.

Kabru sighed, “I should probably intervene."

You looked over, “Already?"

"I've learned that when Mickbell becomes too confident, something usually goes wrong shortly afterward."

"That's very specific."

"It's based on experience."

You laughed.

Kabru stood, adjusting his coat, “I'll be back."

"You better be."

The words slipped out before you thought about them.

Kabru paused.

Just for a moment.

Then his expression softened, “I wasn't planning on disappearing."

"Good,” your words simple as you finished up the last ounce of your cider.

"You're worried?"

"No." You took another sip of your cider, letting the sweetness linger for a moment as you considered your answer. Then, after a brief pause, you sighed. “Okay, I lied. I might be a little worried."

Kabru's smile softened, his gaze briefly dropping to his cup as if trying to hide how much the admission amused him.

"Well then..." he murmured. He looked back at you, that familiar warmth returning to his expression. “I'll try not to take too long."

You watched him leave, unaware that the simple exchange had been far more meaningful to him than you intended.

Because to you, it was just concern for a friend.

To Kabru?

A small thing. An ordinary thing. A sentence that, under any other circumstance, could have meant nothing at all.

And yet Kabru found himself holding onto it for a moment longer than he should have.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to dwell on it.

Because with Kabru’s party, leaving anyone unsupervised for even a few minutes was often enough time for something to go wrong. Usually, it involved Mickbell, maybe even Daya or Holm… This time, unfortunately, it involved you.

You had barely finished the last of your drink when a voice from beside you interrupted your thoughts.

"Interesting instrument,” a voice called out towards you.

You glanced over, finding a man sitting nearby with a sword strapped across his back. He looked like the typical kind of adventurer who spent more time polishing his equipment than actually maintaining it—confident posture, carefully styled hair, and the kind of grin that suggested he believed himself far more charming than he actually was.

You looked down at your lute-staff, “Oh, thank you! It's actually modified. The staff portion helps with casting, and the lute itself amplifies the magical resonance, so depending on the song, I can adjust the effect."

The man blinked, as if caught off guard, but he smiled regardless.

"Right. Magical resonance. Very impressive."

“Right?” You nodded enthusiastically. “It took a while to get used to. The balance is tricky because it's technically two weapons in one, and if I hold it incorrectly, the sound quality suffers."

"Huh,” He leaned a little closer. “So you're talented and interesting."

You tilted your head, “Thank you?"

It sounded like a compliment.

At least, you assumed it was.

The man seemed pleased by your reaction, “I'm surprised I haven't seen you around before. Someone like you would definitely stand out."

"Oh, I don't usually perform here."

"Really? A shame." He rested an arm against the counter. “A beautiful bard like you shouldn't be hiding away in dungeons all the time."

You paused.

Then offered a tight smile, “Well… someone has to make sure adventurers don't lose morale."

"Maybe you need someone else to take care of your morale."

There was a brief silence.

You blinked.

The sentence registered.

Slowly.

"...Oh."

The man's grin widened, apparently taking your realization as encouragement, “I mean, after a long expedition, I'm sure you deserve someone to show you a good time. I know plenty of places around here."

You stared at him.

Not offended.

Not angry.

Just finally understanding.

Ah.

This was not a conversation about music, or your interests.

This was flirting.

You looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment, as though you were analyzing a particular dungeon puzzle. The man seemed to mistake your silence for hesitation.

"Come on. You can't tell me you haven't noticed how much attention you've been getting tonight."

You glanced around the tavern. Then, back at him, “Actually, I hadn't."

That seemed to catch him off guard.

"You haven't?"

"No,” You smiled politely. “But I appreciate the compliment."

The man leaned back slightly, “So…” reassessing, “Is that a yes?"

"No." Your answer was immediate, though still kind. “I don't think we're looking for the same thing."

He frowned, “How do you know that?"

You shrugged, “Because you're trying very hard to convince me to leave with you, and I'm trying very hard to have a normal conversation."

There was no bite in your tone.

No insult.

Just a simple observation.

The man opened his mouth. Then, closed it.

"You're probably not a bad person.” You offered him a friendly smile. “…You're just being a little too persistent."

That, apparently, was the nicest rejection he had ever received, because he looked more confused than offended.

"...Right,” he scratched the back of his nape. “…Have a good night, though."

"You too,” you nodded.

The man eventually wandered away, leaving you to return your attention to your drink.

And that was exactly when Kabru returned.

He had caught the end of it.

Not enough to hear the entire conversation—Enough to see the stranger leave, enough to see the polite smile you gave afterward, and enough to understand what had happened.

Kabru approached the counter again, sliding into the seat beside you, “…Everything alright?"

“Yeah!” You looked over, “Someone was just talking to me."

“Uh huh,” Kabru glanced in the direction the man had gone, “I noticed."

There was something slightly different about his tone.

Not angry.

Not upset.

Just...

Interested.

You looked at him curiously.

"Did something end up happening?" You gestured towards where Mickbell sat.

"No,” he paused, his tone hesitant. “…Not exactly."

You frowned.

Kabru was usually very good at making his emotions difficult to read.

This time, however, there was the faintest trace of something unfamiliar.

"Are you sure?" You leaned a little closer.

"Of course." He picked up his drink. Then, after a moment, “Though, out of curiosity..."

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you mention that you were already taken?"

You stared.

The question was so unexpected that you genuinely needed a second to process it.

"...Taken?"

“Yes…” Kabru blinked, “Taken."

You looked around.

Then back at him.

“Me?” You pointed at yourself, utterly confused, “Taken by who?"

The silence that followed was immediate.

Kabru's expression changed.

Only slightly.

But enough.

"..."

"...”

“Uh,” Your eyes widened. “Earth to Kabru?”

His gaze, which had suddenly been avoidant, shifted toward you, “Yes?"

"Why did you ask that like you already knew the answer?"

And for perhaps the first time all evening, Kabru looked genuinely uncertain.

Kabru stared at you—You stared back—For once, neither of you seemed particularly interested in filling the silence. Which, coming from either of you, was unusual.

Finally, Kabru looked away again, “…I see."

His response was far too calm.

“No, you don't." You narrowed your eyes, “Or at least, I don’t see what you’re seeing.”

A small pause.

“I think,” Kabru's fingers tightened slightly around his cup, “—I think I need to reconsider a few things."

That was perhaps the most concerning response he could have given.

"Kabru."

"I apologize,” he reached for his pocket, placing down a few stray coins on the counter.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I believe I've made an assumption."

“Okay,” You blinked, “What kind of assumption?"

His eyes flickered toward you.

Then away.

"...One that was apparently very incorrect."

The way Kabru said it was almost too calm.

That was the problem.

You knew Kabru well enough to recognize when his words and his emotions didn't quite match. His voice remained steady, his expression remained composed, but there was something distinctly off about the way his fingers lingered around the edge of his cup.

Like he was trying to hold onto the last bit of control he had over the conversation.

Before you could ask what exactly he meant, Kabru stood.

"I think I'll retire for the evening."

You stared at him, “What?"

Kabru adjusted his coat, already preparing himself for escape, “"I've had a long day."

"Kabru."

"The dungeon, the stolen supplies, the monsters—"

"Kabru?"

"—and now an unexpected misunderstanding."

“Seriously?” You watched him turn away. Slowly, you crossed your arms, "You’re running away?"

The response was immediate from him: "No."

Too immediate.

You raised an eyebrow.

Kabru paused, "...I'm taking time to think."

"That's just running away with better vocabulary."

For once, Kabru looked genuinely offended, "I would not describe it that way."

"I would."

"Your description is rather biased."

"So is yours."

Kabru opened his mouth.

Then stopped.

Because unfortunately, you had a point.

A quiet sigh left him—not one of irritation, but the exhausted sigh of someone realizing he was losing an argument he had not properly prepared for.

"I'll see you tomorrow,” He gave a small wave.

The same polite gesture he used whenever he was trying to end a conversation gracefully, before beginning his descent toward the lower floors of the tavern.

The rooms beneath the bar were simple, but they were still a retreat—A place where he could think, where he could reorganize, where he could avoid having to explain how, somehow, the person he had spent the most time observing had become the person he understood the least.

Which would have worked.

If you weren't you.

Because while Kabru was excellent at predicting people's reactions, he had perhaps overlooked one very important factor.

You were curious.

And once something caught your attention, especially something involving someone you cared about, you had a habit of following the question until you found an answer.

So naturally...

You followed him downstairs.

Kabru noticed before you even reached the bottom step.

Of course he did.

He didn't turn around immediately, but the slight pause in his stride gave him away.

"You really don't have to accompany me,” he stopped in front of his door, one hand resting on the wooden handle.

"I know,” You paused.

"Then why are you?" Kabru sighed.

You shrugged, “Because you're acting weird."

That made him turn.

Actually turn.

Kabru looked at you with the faintest trace of disbelief, “I am not."

"You are."

"I am behaving normally."

"No, you're behaving like someone who wants to leave before explaining something important."

Kabru's expression shifted.

Only slightly.

But enough.

"You make it sound rather dramatic."

"Because it is dramatic."

"It is not."

"You are literally trying to escape into your room because you accidentally thought we were dating."

A second of silence passed between the two of you.

Kabru looked away, "...When you phrase it like that, it sounds less reasonable."

“Because!” You gave him a pointed look, “ It is less reasonable."

"I disagree,” he said quietly.

"Of course you do."

Kabru opened his mouth to respond, thought better of it, and simply opened his door.

You followed.

He stopped.

Slowly, he looked back at you, "Are you planning to continue this until I answer?"

"Yes."

He paused, "...I appreciate the honesty."

"You should."

“You know…” Kabru stared at you for a moment before letting out another sigh, “Most people would understand the implication of me leaving."

"Most people aren't me."

That answer was so simple that it caught him off guard.

Because it was true.

You weren't trying to corner him. You weren't trying to pressure him.

You just genuinely wanted to understand.

And somehow, that made it harder to avoid.

Eventually, the two of you reached his room.

The hallway was quiet compared to the tavern above, the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation barely reaching through the floorboards. It was a strange contrast—the lively chaos above and the uncomfortable silence between the two of you below.

Kabru reached for the door, “Goodnight."

You stared at him, "No."

“No?” He repeated, his hand hovering over the kob.

"Nope.” You nodded, once.

"That is a surprisingly firm response."

"Of course it is,” you crossed your arms. “Because you're avoiding the conversation."

"I am attempting to avoid making this more awkward than it already is."

You tilted your head, "Kabru, c’mon.”

"Yes?"

"It's already awkward."

He closed his eyes. A quiet, defeated breath escaped him, "...Fair."

Finally, he turned around.

And for once, he did not immediately have a carefully crafted response.

That was what struck you most.

Kabru was always prepared.

He could talk his way through tense negotiations, calm frightened adventurers, and make strangers feel comfortable within minutes. He carried himself with an effortless confidence that made it seem like nothing could truly catch him off guard.

But right now?

He looked uncertain.

Not uncomfortable.

Not afraid.

Just... unsure.

"You truly didn't know?" His voice was quieter.

You softened, "Know what?"

Kabru looked away—And there it was, the smallest crack in the carefully composed image. "...That I considered us to be together."

"Together?" You blinked. “Like, together, together?”

A faint warmth touched his face. Not enough that anyone else would notice, but you surely did.

"Yes."

The silence stretched.

Then:

"I thought we were dating,” Kabru hid his mouth behind his hand.

You stared.

Once.

Twice.

"...What?"

“I’m sorry,” Kabru exhaled through his nose. "I realize that sounds strange."

"No, no, wait!” You held up a hand. "I need you to explain, like thoroughly.”

Kabru looked at you again. And for perhaps the first time since you had met him, he looked genuinely at a loss.

"Okay, first of all..." Kabru paused, as if carefully choosing his words. "I was under the impression that it was mutual."

The way he said it was painfully polite, which somehow made his embarrassment more obvious. His eyes briefly drifted toward the door, and you got the distinct impression he was debating whether leaving gracefully or committing a minor act of self-induced-violence would be less humiliating.

"Why?"

That question seemed to be the one he had been avoiding.

Kabru hesitated. Then, answered honestly. "Because of everything!”

“Everything?” You tilted your head. “Such as?”

He nodded. "You sit beside me whenever we are at the tavern."

"Because you're usually sitting alone." You added.

"You notice when I haven't eaten," Kabru pointed out, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Because you forget," you immediately argued, throwing your hands up. "A lot. Holm has literally commented on it before."

"That is not the point."

"It is absolutely the point."

Kabru ignored that. "You sing me to sleep when you realize I'm exhausted." He dragged a hand down his face, looking increasingly exasperated. "Does that not sound even slightly romantic to you?"

"Because you look like you're about to collapse!" you shot back. "What am I supposed to do, watch you continue functioning on three hours of sleep and pretend that's normal?"

"Most people would simply tell me to rest."

"I do tell you to rest!”

"Yes, but then you actually serenade me to make sure I do."

You opened your mouth but closed it to refrain from further incriminating yourself.

Kabru took that as a victory.

"And you seek me out whenever something interests you," he continued. "Which, admittedly, I enjoy. I like hearing your thoughts. But you always come to me first."

"Because you actually listen!"

"Exactly."

You paused, "...That doesn't prove anything."

Kabru stared at you, "You realize you're making my argument for me, right?"

"That’s because you're the person I talk to the most,” You huffed.

Kabru stared at you for a moment. Then something in his expression shifted. Not anger, exactly. More like the look of someone realizing he was going to have to explain a very obvious conclusion from the beginning.

"Alright,” he raised a finger. "You touch my arm whenever you're excited. You fix my equipment without me asking. You save me a seat whenever we're at the tavern. You constantly seek me out to share your thoughts. You tease me more than anyone else does. You know my habits better than people who have traveled with me for years."

He paused only briefly before continuing, clearly deciding that politeness was no longer helping his argument.

"And I know I already said this, but you notice when I'm tired before I do, which is frankly concerning."

You opened your mouth.

Kabru continued.

"And most importantly, you trust me."

The final statement was quieter.

"...So when you say all of that is just friendship, you'll have to understand why I reached a different conclusion."

The room became quieter.

Because that last part was different.

You had expected a list of habits.

You hadn't expected something so simple.

"So I thought..." He stopped. Then gave a small, embarrassed smile. "I thought those were signs."

You stared at him.

Then you laughed.

Not because you were making fun of him.

Not because his feelings were ridiculous.

Because the situation was so incredibly, undeniably Kabru.

The man who could read strangers within minutes. The man who could pick apart a lie from the smallest shift in someone's expression. The man who built entire strategies around understanding human behavior had somehow overlooked the one thing he should have noticed most.

The person closest to him had never been speaking the same language of affection.

And somehow, that was the one thing he failed to translate.

Kabru watched you laugh. Instead of looking offended, he looked relieved.

"I suppose this is somewhat ironic."

You wiped at your eyes.

"What is?"

"I spend so much time trying to understand other people." His gaze lowered. "And somehow, I misunderstood you."

Your smile softened. Because beneath the embarrassment, beneath the awkwardness, beneath the sheer absurdity of the situation, there was something painfully genuine about it. Kabru wasn't making a joke, nor was he trying to charm his way out of an uncomfortable conversation. For once, he had no carefully prepared response or clever observation to hide behind.

He had truly believed the two of you were together. And somehow, that realization was far more endearing than you expected. The same person who could read a room within seconds, who could unravel other people's intentions with frightening accuracy, had simply looked at the way you cared for him and thought, Of course. This must mean something.

A small silence passed.

Then Kabru cleared his throat.

"...Although."

You looked up, "Hm?"

He hesitated, only for a moment, as though carefully weighing his next words instead of relying on his usual practiced charm. Then his aquamarine eyes met yours again, a small, almost uncertain smile tugging at his lips. "If my assumption was wrong... would you like it to be correct?"

You blinked.

Kabru's ears were slightly pink now, but his voice remained steady, "Would you like to date?"

The question was simple.

No elaborate confession.

No grand speech.

Just Kabru, finally asking instead of assuming.

You smiled, "Okay."

Kabru looked completely caught off guard by your casual answer, “Okay?"

"Yeah,” You grinned. "Okay! I'd like that, a lot.”

For once, Kabru had no carefully prepared response.

No clever observation. No attempt to analyze your tone, your expression, or the implications behind your answer. He simply stood there, looking at you as if he had spent the entire evening solving the wrong problem and had only just realized the answer had been in front of him the entire time.

"You… said yes.” Kabru muttered, more to himself than to you.

You laughed softly. "So I did."

A small smile crossed his face—not the practiced one he offered strangers, not the reassuring one he used when calming his party, but something quieter. Something that belonged only to him.

"I see."

You tilted your head. "That's all you have to say?"

Kabru glanced away, almost embarrassed by the fact that he was struggling to find words.

"I had prepared myself for several possibilities," he admitted. "A misunderstanding. An awkward conversation. Perhaps even having to apologize for assuming too much."

"And?"

"And I did not anticipate you agreeing so easily."

You grinned. "Were you expecting me to reject you?"

"No," Kabru answered immediately. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "I simply try not to assume immediate acceptance from people."

You raised an eyebrow, "Even when it comes to us dating?"

A faint flush touched his face "...Yes. Apparently."

You laughed again, and this time Kabru didn't try to hide his smile.

It was strange. After everything they had faced together—the dangers of the dungeon, the constant uncertainty, the countless moments where he had to think three steps ahead—this was the first time in a while where he didn't need to plan what came next.

For once, he could simply let himself enjoy something.

"Well," he said, opening his door, "I suppose this changes things."

"Does it?"

Kabru looked back at you, "Yes, it does. There was a small pause. "Though I imagine you will continue doing most of the things you already do."

"Like what?"

"Reminding me to eat. Singing when I refuse to sleep. Criticizing my questionable decisions."

You smiled. "So nothing changes?"

He asked you out first.

It’s not because Senku suddenly became the type of person to prioritize romance over science, nor because he spent months hopelessly pining. That would be inefficient. The man who places the survival of humanity above nearly everything else would not waste time agonizing over feelings he already understood.

Once Senku realized he cared about you, there was only one logical conclusion: address it.

So, when he finally deemed the situation relatively safe—during the sea voyage to America, beneath the quiet glow of a full moon—he told you.

There was no grand, elaborate confession. No dramatic speech about destiny or soulmates. Just Senku, blunt as always, stating the obvious.

He liked you. He wanted to be with you. Simple as that.

And afterward?

Surprisingly, not much changed.

At least, not in the ways you expected.

Senku didn’t suddenly excuse you from your responsibilities or start treating you like royalty. He didn’t become overly affectionate or abandon his scientific priorities. You were still expected to pull your weight, and he was still Senku.

But there were small differences.

He started noticing things he previously would have overlooked.

If you seemed more exhausted than usual, he would find reasons to linger nearby until you eventually admitted what was wrong. He didn’t force you to talk, and he didn’t immediately launch into a ten-step solution like you expected him to.

Instead, he listened.

Senku understood that not every problem was an equation waiting to be solved. Sometimes people needed time to sort through their own thoughts, and sometimes the best thing he could do was simply be there. So, for someone who prided himself on having an answer for everything, learning when not to give one was its own kind of growth.

Your first kiss didn’t happen during some romantic moonlit moment, either.

Actually, it happened over a “cocktail.”

Well, that’s technically a lie, it was nonalcoholic.

You were sitting with Senku at a bar, chatting away while he drank coffee because, of course, he was still Senku. The two of you were talking about something completely unrelated when he casually commented on how striking you looked beneath the warm bar lights.

It was surprisingly cheesy.

Almost painfully so.

Coming from anyone else, you probably would have teased them mercilessly.

But from Senku?

You couldn’t help but laugh.

He looked mildly offended that his observation had become the funny part, but he quickly recovered, glancing toward your drink.

“What does it taste like?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Find out yourself,” you extended your drink toward him.

Naturally, Senku leaned closer, expecting to actually taste it. Instead, you pulled the glass away at the last second and stole a quick kiss from him.

For once, Senku Ishigami was completely caught off guard.

His eyes widened slightly, his usual confidence momentarily interrupted by the fact that you had managed to outmaneuver him.

Then, slowly, he smiled, “That’s a horribly inefficient way to taste beverages.”

“I know,” you laughed.

Senku looked away for a moment, his fingers brushing against yours before he finally took your hand.

“When we get to America…” he started, his voice quieter than usual, “I hope you keep laughing like that.”

You blinked. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

“Yeah, well.” A small smile tugged at his face. “Things are gonna get rough. Maybe. Obviously. Giant ocean, unknown threats, Why-man hunt, rebuilding civilization from scratch—pretty standard protocol.”

His thumb brushed against your hand, “So having someone around who can still find something to laugh about? Pretty useful.”

You smiled. “Useful?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you. “Don’t make me say it in a less scientific way.”