[He doesn't realize she's following his lead until he notices her startle at the soft, chewy inside. He doesn't say it, but the reason he realizes is because usually, talking around food makes her almost impossible to understand, so the fact that he understands must mean her mouth is less full than usual. They look at each other, an echo chamber of fondness, and he thinks about how much he aches with joy at being able to taste home one more time, but that it really isn't much in comparison to the ache he feels looking at her.]

[But then she explains, and he discovers that one more time, forever, he can learn to love her just that little bit more.]

[She leaves him awed, just like usual. Her cheeks are pink by the time she's done, but at least they match the darkness of his eyes, the heat of flush at the tips of his ears. No one has ever made him feel loved like this. No one has ever cared for him so deeply and earnestly that they'd work this hard for something so small.]

. . . Sayori.

[He lays his hand over hers between them. Presses his forehead against hers, too.]

Thank you. You're really good to me. I don't think you even know how good. So, you know, thanks — for always thinking of me.