But really... what good has that done him? When he thinks about everything Ryunosuke's managed to accomplish, and how he's had people to support him by his side along the way... well, it does strike him that maybe that's the difference between them. Things don't have to be the same as they've always been, now.

And while instinctively, Barok can't help but blame himself, seeing that difference as yet another mistake he's made that proves his foolishness... maybe it's best to set that feeling aside for now. Ryunosuke certainly wouldn't stand for it. And what reason does he have to doubt his friend's words, after all this time?

But it doesn’t follow through. No, not anymore.

Because even when sharp, calculating eyes pierce straight into him—and, goodness, even in this proximity—Ryunosuke no longer feels that telling chill down his spine. (There is perhaps something he feels down his spine, though the sensation is of a vastly different nature.) He doesn’t hold his breath waiting for a verbal lashing. He just waits. Calmly. Almost challengingly, as if daring the man to argue with his sentiment. Much to his surprise, van Zieks doesn’t.

And, much to his continued surprise, van Zieks smiles at him. Even now, it’s rare. Even now, it still throws Ryunosuke for a loop, ignites a fluttery warmth in his chest. And he meets it with a wider one of his own, stretching to crease his eyes while a soft chuff breaks through his lips.

There his partner went again: giving him far more credit than he deserved. "I wouldn't be so sure about that," Kazuma chuckled at his own expense. He wouldn't make excuses for his past decisions, but he was nothing if not a fast learner. He would never make those mistakes again.

And yet he certainly felt a fool beneath Ryunosuke's gaze. It was nothing short of dangerous how the attention of those eyes made the city around them fade away as heat crawled in their wake. He couldn't be anything but a fool for not realizing that this should have been his purpose all along. Not vengeance; simply the desire—no, the need—to prove himself a man worthy of the adoration in that stare. How could anything else have ever mattered more than this?

Again: he wouldn't repeat that mistake, either.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that sounded suspiciously like an invitation," Kazuma teased with a twinkle in his eye. In all fairness, he supposed both of them were well past the point of caring about scandal, all things considered. Still, he'd be lying if he said that Ryunosuke's fearlessness in the face of it didn't excite him. He quirked a brow at his partner, almost in a dare. After all, Ryunosuke's assessment was spot-on: Kazuma didn't care in the slightest. Why, he could imagine the headlines now...

But before he could do anything rash, mention of their...escapades in the Yumei University library triggered a devious thought. "Neither have I." The agreement rode out on a heated tone; one that would surely be deemed inappropriate for the public, if London's citizens ever paused their bustling long enough to overhear. His gaze lingered on that impish smile.

Kazuma was not the fool here, no.

Because there, in the space of a breath (goodness, that was really all it ever took with this man) Ryunosuke found himself wholly forgetting the world around him in a way the rational side of him would readily admonish the next opportunity he got. He was so abruptly swept up in the devastating storm that was his partner—in the unrelenting hurricane that shook his foundations, that lifted the tide and dragged him down with scarcely a second to react—that he very well might have let anything and everything happen right then and there. Kazuma could have pulled him closer. He could have claimed what both of them so urgently and clearly wanted. And the reality of passersby witnessing the spectacle would’ve been little more than the faintest pinprick of light in that storm reminding the fool that was Ryunosuke to get ahold of himself.

Rather than getting that hold on himself, however, he clung to every syllable shaping Kazuma’s lips. They fuelled what memories already scorched the far reaches of his mind, back to a time when things felt so innocent but so very not; and Ryunosuke remembered then how fervently he had communicated their behavior to be unseemly despite going along with it—interesting to see now how it was encouraged. As Kazuma followed suit and calmly (but heatedly) explained an opportunity to repeat that, Ryunosuke should’ve been at least somewhat more ashamed than he was . . . that it coaxed the skip in his chest, the rush of heat no doubt visible in his cheeks.

How ridiculous a notion, truly. The university library was one thing, but a library at their place of business—? (Ryunosuke had been banned from law practice once before; did he really want to tempt fate again? Yes.)

When he exhaled, it trembled out of him, giving away what the darkened pallor of his face already had. He allowed Kazuma to guide his hand to that broad chest, where he could properly feel a quickened beat behind his ribs—and how gratifying it was to know he wasn’t alone. “Perhaps,” Ryunosuke agreed, purposefully remaining vague both for the sake of his own sanity (giving that aforementioned rational side of him the chance to wrangle whatever this side of him was), and to keep Kazuma on his toes. “Let’s see what the day brings. The Exhibition will be a lot of walking.”

He glanced down to that splash of red fabric against Kazuma’s white, and now with both hands, he began idly adjusting wrinkles that didn’t need to be adjusted. “You may be too tired by the time we’re done.” Said so incredibly confidently by the man who tired the easiest. Even so, Ryunosuke flashed his partner a playful grin, bringing with it an equally playful tug to his cravat. “But I’ll keep it in mind.” Then, finally for the sake of breaking this spell, he pulled away, walking briskly past the other with full intent on getting to their destination.

Pursed lips hum together as he also leans back and takes a slow and delectable look at Ryunosuke, his eyes sharpens with an undercurrent of sarcasm as he finds an opening to strike. Two can play this game. "Besides, I am surprised that between the two of us, the English Major seems to have a difficult time starting this assignment," his shoulders shrug nonchalantly before giving a subtle smoulder to the other.

But Kazuma is never one to play coy, he loves to cut to the chase, and so his collected appearance is quickly overshadowed by the sudden curiosity glinting in his eyes. "But tell me, Ryunosuke, what is holding those intricate words of yours hostage in your mind?" he whispers fervently as he leans in a little too close into Ryunosuke's personal space.

"Because in mine, The Importance of Being Earnest holds my mind hostage to recite the play's lines. If I dare submit those lines for the assignment, that would be plagiarism," Kazuma candidly admits as he leans back again and rests his weight on his hands behind him. Although he may not be an English Major like Ryunosuke, he does have an eye and appreciation for the arts. And with a farcical comedy about romantic affairs, Kazuma thinks it is a joke in of itself how he hides his earnest feelings behind the scripted lines of The Importance of Being Earnest.

Like the flowing ebb of the Pacific, Kazuma plays this game of pulling towards and away from Ryunosuke, to see how long it may take to fluster and erode at the other's composure. And while he is known to be competitive and consequently hot-headed, Kazuma can be patient if it means he would win this game. "For were I fortunate enough to be Mister Naruhodo's pupil, I would hang upon his lips," his confident voice recites the revised line in a factual tone before pausing for dramatic effect to see Ryunosuke's reaction. A line spoken from the reverend that expresses how smitten he was for the governess he mentions in the scene. With the way Kazuma boldy recites these lines, it could not get more obvious than this.

In the future, Ryunosuke may look back at moments like this and nearly hurt himself rolling his eyes. How obvious it all is!

But, we’re not quite there, yet—are we? And so, that resilience remains. (Or perhaps “ignorance” would be the more appropriate term.)

It’s only when a parried accusation hits him that instinct whips his attention back to that smug face. Before he can think to stop himself, that is—because some part of him can already feel the way Kazuma looks at him again, and he knows the self-destruction that will be the result of looking back. And, indeed, though he’s captured a breath for himself, prepared to leap to his own defense, it’s the smolder that gives him pause, that snags every last word he may have expressed there in his throat before a single syllable can make it out.

A sound does make it out, though: some sort of embarrassing squeak that heralds his eventual response . . . once Kazuma has appropriately expressed a curiosity that is not only his own.

“Well, it’s hardly a simple question!” he blurts, a bit louder than he’s intended. (Which he corrects with a little dip of his chin, volume decreasing to something more suitable when he speaks next.) “It wouldn’t be a very good assignment if it was.” That last part is almost grumbled, as if Ryunosuke finds it oh-so-despicable that the university would actually ask something difficult of their students. His lips are somewhat pursed as he peers down again, absentmindedly futzing with a slight crease in the notebook page. But he ought to be grateful, really, that Kazuma presses forward with admitting his own hang-ups.

He’s surprised, to say the least. No different than a man casually commenting on the day’s weather, he expresses what Ryunosuke cannot help but wonder if . . . he realizes he expresses. Kazuma has never not been sure of himself, confident in his ambitions, admirable in his pursuit of them: it would surely only make sense that he be just as confident in endeavors of romance, and somehow still . . . he catches Ryunosuke off-guard. Truly, what would not be the last time today, Ryunosuke is stunned into silence. (But, please, let’s be grateful it’s silence and not that flustered noise from before. There’s still time for more of that.)

As Kazuma nevertheless recites a line, shamelessly (the man apparently always is) integrating Ryunosuke’s name, it’s all Ryunosuke can do to keep his lips firmly pressed together. And, yes—there it is again—it’s all he can do to keep from visibly squirming when Kazuma draws near: as unnecessarily close as the sudden huskiness blanketing his tone . . . and inciting the minute shudder up Ryunosuke’s spine.

“Kazuma,” he begins, mostly to buy time. (He’s not even sure where to begin.) Shuffling in place, it’s with a telling trace of reluctance that he angles his head away from the warm breath tickling his ear, enough to meet Kazuma’s gaze with as much conviction as he can muster. “That’s not the line.” Obviously. They both are well aware. But Ryunosuke chooses then to be difficult. “Besides, I hardly see how I should be the one teaching you anything.”

Although there is an air of intimidation around Alexandra, the detective reciprocates a reassuring smile in etiquette. "No need for apologies, Mr. Naruhodo," she shakes her head as she gradually makes her way towards the young defense attorney.

Heeled leather boots gracefully carry Alexandra's tulip skirt across the marbled floor of the Prosecutor's Office, with each click echoing longer than the last, as if an impending change was inevitable to the world of the younger individual's ignorant bliss. "To answer your question, I believe so."

As she stops to meet Ryunosuke in the middle, a white delicate blouse seems to be rolled up Alexandra's elbows. Despite presenting herself as a proper lady to the English's standards, a set of calloused hands and faded scars running up her arms states otherwise. "I was invited as a consultant to answer Lord van Ziek's inquires, but..." her words trail off before her lips purse again in concern. "Well, it looks like I may need to be more involved after a recent discovery was brought to my attention."

As if on queue, Alexandra’s hand casually waves the photograph with unintentional temptation. That is until her wrist snaps the photograph away Ryunosuke and towards her chest. "Careful now, Ryunosuke, as the English would say," her voice ominously cautions the defense attorney before her hand reluctantly presents the haunting scene captured onto the photograph for Ryunosuke's eyes to see.

. . . in one area, perhaps.

As the so-called curious cat, however, he can’t help himself. And in the same vein of growing “accustomed” to particular things that used to perturb him, he should be more surprised that he’s not only eagerly leaning forward to get a look at that photograph once he’s granted permission, but not nearly as bothered by its contents as he once was. He inches closer, but keeps his hands to himself while absorbing the troubling scene. All at once, his reason for being here loses itself on his next exhale, and Ryunosuke tentatively casts a glance to the prosecutor before looking to Alexandra again.

“This is, ah . . . How recent is this—?” comes a soft inquiry, unhesitating despite his not fully knowing precisely why he’s asked. (Only that, well, all of the sudden his motivations have shifted to the point of involvement.) More relevant, as if some resolve has snapped into place in his head—a sort of acceptance and therefore lack of shame toward his own nosiness—he further presses, “Is there something exceptionally odd about the photograph?” Which seems silly, in hindsight, as the detective has announced that the case requires more attention . . . at the same time as she’s waving this piece of evidence in the air—

As Alex starts to lead the way upstairs to the "Sholmes Suite," she could not help but be surprised at how normal she feels about it. Places like 221B was something that people all over the globe would travel to in order to see them in person during the Modern Century, to be able to see a romanticized version of Sherlock Holmes' residence frozen in time. And yet, despite how the Sunken has punished her to travel centuries back in time, she gets to see this place over and over again for what it essentially is - a realistic home, full of vibrant character & whim. "And you said everyone's exceptionally busy this morning, yet you're not. Did today feel like a needed rest day for you, or did something else come up?"

Once the marble fireplace properly welcomed Alex into the suite, the younger lady continues her way towards the makeshift coffee "table" and lays the basket away from the fire. There were some things in this room that still existed in the Modern Century equivalent, like the bullet holes that spelled "VR" around Herlock's area of the suite. However, seeing how it was prim, proper, and pink over on the other side of the apartment, Alex couldn't help but feel giddy, as if she was in on a secret that no one else from her time would know.

"Actually, yeah, let's put the kettle on," Alex replies to Ryunosuke's offer as she begins to unfold the blanket that covered the top of the basket. Although Alex knows that it sounds normal for her to say that, the younger lady felt her eyes subtly wince a bit in cringe. Sometimes she forgets how her contemporary language stands out compared to the seemingly-proper Victorian English of this time period.

A waft of apples, berries, beef, and bread began to fill the air as Alex spreads the the collection of baked goods over on a clean handkerchief. "I'm sure a warm drink will go well with these baked goods I got for you and everyone else here," Alex continues as some of the glazed sugar and golden egg washes glisten from the flickering flames. "Some fruit charlottes, pudding tarts, jam turnovers, cornish pasties, and chelsea buns," she lists as she generously places a couple of each around the chest for hungry residents to enjoy.

Although Alex is not one for aesthetics, she could not help but smirk to herself as she looks down towards the indulgent breakfast spread of savory and sweet pastries. "Look, I did make sure to have one savory option here in case all the sweets were too much-" she starts to explain before cutting herself mid-sentence with a subtle mischievous grin. She did buy enough pastries for everyone, after all, and since it looks like she bought too much for five people to enjoy, let alone two-

"-but by golly," Alex mockingly expresses her surprise as she covers her mouth before putting both her hands on her hips, "it's quiet as a mouse here, and it's too bad no one else is home to enjoy all this food but us."

He notices the basket draped over her arm, by the way. Oh, he notices that. Curiosity has already been ignited and steers his attention toward what mysteries lie within (and from the slight aroma wafting out of it, good ones), but Ryunosuke remembers his manners where he otherwise lacks awareness. . . . And with admirable patience, he addresses her first before sticking his nose into the obvious treats.

“What makes you think I’m not included in that ‘everyone’?” is his easy response, one laced with a hint of jest to match the tone she’s presented him. “If I wasn’t busy, you’d probably have found me still in bed.” He’s willing to admit that; if Ryunosuke had his way, every morning would be spent as slow and sluggish as possible. He may not be out and about, but he’s up. He’s studying (and my, wouldn’t Kazuma find that oh-so-shocking?). He’s taken advantage of the quiet to actually manage to do that . . . and yet, Alex’s interruption is a welcome reprieve. Perhaps more welcome than it should be: an excuse, even—

Catching the way his own words likely sound, however, he’s swift in making one correction: “Not that you’re a bother in the slightest.” Courtesy dictates that he not further add, —especially when you’ve brought treats. And in the same second as Alex agrees to the offer of tea (in that particular . . . Alex way of speaking that Ryunosuke’s grown accustomed to), he’s already setting it up. Quickly—but carefully—so his undivided attention can be brought back to the basket’s goods.

. . . the whole lot of them—!

It’s in stunned (and awed) silence that he watches her meticulously set out the pastries, as if she were putting on a formal display at a bakery of her own. Ryunosuke shuffles in closer to get a better look, and though he has eaten a mere hour ago, he’s confident he could indulge in more than just one in the spread before them. “Do you intend on feeding the whole street?” he asks, the passing thought of just where she’s acquired the funds to do so carrying his sidelong glance. He blinks, watching the mischievous creases form around her eyes before she meets his gaze. And Ryunosuke’s put that thought to the back of his mind for now. . . .

“Why put yourself in such a difficult position?”

It's just that this particular interruption to the previously calm quiet manages to confuse him as much as it catches him off-guard.

and this means he's a heckin dunce from both sides not just with understanding his own feelings

but he will absolutely not pick up on any cues from an interested party unless that person just grabs him point-blank and screams in his face "i am madly in love with you"

i actually do think some part of him buried deep deep down is aware of romantic feelings but, subconsciously, he ends up convincing himself they're not there

it's like the equivalent to feeling like you're conceited for assuming someone has a crush on you, y'know???

he's not consciously thinking to himself, "huh this person might like-like me but that would also be cocky to assume so it's probably just friendliness" but more of an innate response than anything else

all the evidence is there

all the signs are there