Gilbert sets a dish before Break, the contents foods of numerous shades and variety. He might not say it with words, but golden irises illuminate the worry that wracks his brain; a furrow of his brow betraying his concern. " Please eat," he insists, " I promise, it's safe." Despite several years passing since the Rainsworth deception, Gilbert wields these words as an olive branch - an inside joke between mentor and mentee.
He hadn’t been doing anything of note — just shuffling through paperwork he could’ve easily dumped on Reim, who’d probably lecture him about “responsibility” and “not passing off your work” before giving up and letting himself be dragged off for wine. Break knew the routine by heart, and didn’t much care for the scolding.
The only reason he’d stepped away from the desk was because he’d thought he’d found a perfect excuse. Now, staring at whatever Gilbert had decided to place in front of him, Break kind of wished he’d just stayed put and finished those dull reports. This? This was not an improvement.
Was Gilbert actually serious? Break eyed the food, it didn't look bad. If anything, his cooking had improved since he was young. He still remembered the time Ojou-sama had convinced Gilbert he was at death’s door — what a little devil she could be, all innocence and cunning. Where she attributed those traits, he'd never know. Probably took after her mother. Annoyed, Break wrinkled his nose, stealing a glance at Gilbert, who stood there with that anxious look in his golden eyes — those eyes that always seemed to hold too much, and if Break wasn’t careful, could drag him under completely.
With exaggerated care, Break nudged the tray aside. “Well, there goes my appetite, looking at you will do that, you know. Are you sure this is safe? You didn’t sneak a whole meal’s worth of melodrama and insecurity between the vegetables, did you ? ”
