tsukishima leaned back in his seat, watching as she carefully spread the strawberry shortcake slice. her dedication to precision made him laugh softly under his breath.

"what?" she asked, catching the smirk on his face.

"nothing," he said, shaking his head. "you just take this too seriously."

"well, you already took the first bite," she began, straightening up with mock seriousness, "and you're the one who keeps eating half the cake before i even get a bite."

he raised an eyebrow but didn't deny it, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

the bell over the cafe door chimed softly as a family walked in, their voices mingling with the warm hum of conversation. tsukishima glanced around. the familiarity of the place had started to sink in — the same cozy booths, the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the window seat that had quietly become theirs.

at one point he had wondered, would these cafe runs continue until they've had a family of their own?

"we've been coming here a lot lately," he commented offhandedly, taking a sip of his tea. "the baristas know what we're gonna order before we could even take a seat."

she hummed in agreement, a playful look lighting her face. "looks like we're regulars now."

"do we get a badge or something?" he teased, resting his chin on his palm.

"or free shortcake," she added, grinning. "that'd be nice."

he snorted, his gaze drifting to the golden light filtering through the window. it was strange how easily this place had become part of their routine. part of them.

"do you think they'd let us reserve this table?" she joked, tapping her fork lightly against her plate. "it's practically ours anyway."

"maybe they'd name it after you," he shot back, feigning seriousness. "reserved for latte and shortcake girl."

her laughter bubbled up, soft but contagious, and he found himself chuckling along.

"actually," she said after catching her breath, "i like that idea. but only if it's our table."

it was such a simple remark, but something about the way she said it — casually, without hesitation — made his chest tighten. it was their table, their cafe, their sundays.

"well," he said, glancing out the window, "as long as they don't charge us extra for the nameplate."

her laughter filled the space between them again, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

that was the thing about her. she made ordinary moments feel like they'd always been special, like they'd always belonged to them.