Shane called twice more, but the silence inside stayed as deep as ever.
The relaxed look on his face slowly froze as a bad feeling crept up his spine.
No… this was starting to feel serious.
For so reason, standing at his own front door, his throat was dry and his emotions tangled and tight.
He slapped his cheeks hard, chasing that mood away, and looked again.
It was his house, and the idea of breaking down the door made his chest ache.
Not giving up, he walked around to the back. The gate to the yard was locked from the inside. Every window was shut tight, curtains drawn.
"Do not enter" could not have been stated more clearly.
Completely out of options, Shane slunk back to the front, plopped onto the doorstep, elbows on knees, chin in his palms, and stared blankly into the distance.
This felt… humiliating.
If he ran to the guild now, Macao, Wakaba, and the others would definitely ask, "Hey, Shane, what are you doing out alone at this hour? Where's Erza?"
And what was he supposed to say? She locked out?
Knowing those guys, a scene this classic would feed them for a year. They'd probably be telling every new mber, hand on shoulder, "See that one? That's the guy who got kicked out of his own house."
You can die—but you must not die socially.
The thought of that miserable future made Shane spring to his feet. Backed into the cliff edge called "social death," his mind snapped into focus like never before.
He replayed every mont with Erza in his head, flipping through their ti together—until a lightbulb went off.
He rushed to the door and shouted inside:
"Oh! I just rembered! I heard Tomas's Coffee rolled out a new dessert—limited-ti special, supposed to be amazing. If we don't go now, it's definitely going to sell out!"
The house stayed dead silent.
He held his breath, listening, nervous despite himself.
He knew this kind of childish trick probably wouldn't work—but he couldn't help having a sliver of hope.
Seconds ticked by. Just as he was about to give up—
Click.
The lock snapped open. Erza stood in the doorway, expression blank.
It looked like she'd just bathed; damp scarlet ends were swept over one shoulder, and a faint berry scent drifted from her hair.
"Let's go," she said. She deliberately avoided his eyes and stepped past him, heading straight toward the main avenue.
…It worked?
Shane's eyes went wide. Looking at her profile—still tense, but softer sohow—he was stunned.
He hurried to catch up and fall in beside her, making a note in his heart:
Sweets make people happy.
"Nice day, for once," he tried, light tone. "Good ti to finally hit that café we skipped."
Erza stared straight ahead, lips pressed tight, offering no reply.
He didn't mind. The fact that she'd co out at all ant the knot inside had loosened.
The streets were full of people. Sunlight slanted down, stretching shadows. They walked with half a step of space between them, quiet and side by side.
When they reached Tomas's Coffee's door, Shane realized, to his surprise, that the "limited special" he'd invented off the top of his head actually existed.
It was a dessert called "Cloud-Top Cocoa Ballet Tart"—finely shaped like a chocolate-and-nut-dusted brown snow peak, topped with a delicate gold shard of sugar.
There were more people than he'd expected. A long line snaked from the door. They waited in silence for nearly an hour before their turn ca.
Once seated, they each ordered the tart. Erza added a classic strawberry cake on top.
Shane wasn't big on sweets, so he just got a fruit drink and idly swirled the ice, wondering how long this cold war would last.
Then a whisper-soft, utterly contented sigh floated across the table.
"Mmm… this is so good…"
It was so quiet it might have been an illusion. The mont it left her lips, it vanished. Shane looked up.
Erza sat straight-backed, posture perfect, carefully cutting off a piece of tart with her fork and lifting it to her mouth.
Her expression control was flawless. Not a hint of that girlish squeal showed on her face. It was hard to believe that voice had co from her.
Hallucinating?
As he puzzled over it, a kid at the next table let go of their balloon. It floated toward them; Shane snagged the string and handed it back to the flustered mother.
When he sat down again and glanced at Erza's plate, he blinked.
The white porcelain dish held only crumbs and a faint sar of berry-red.
…Empty?
"Where's your dessert?" he asked, glancing under the table, half-wondering if it had fallen.
Erza's hand froze around her fork. She turned away to look out the window, face set as if it had nothing to do with her.
Watching her forced calm, Shane suddenly understood. He had to force down a laugh.
He slid his untouched tart over to her.
"Take this one. We only get one each. Be a waste to queue that long and not get your fill."
Her body stiffened; his tart's cocoa and cream scent wrapped around them. Her eyes drifted, drawn in despite herself.
Her face showed obvious conflict. Her lips pressed together in a thin line—desperately trying to stay cool—but the temptation in front of her was a bit too much.
After a ten-second struggle, she finally took the plate and muttered, in a voice barely louder than a mosquito:
"…Thanks."
That broke him.
She was mad, but had to thank him anyway. One dessert and the grudge was halfway lted—this girl really was… well, easy to coax.
Riding the montum, Shane quickly pushed his luck. "Share a bite with ? We waited all that ti and I haven't even tasted it."
The conflict returned, deeper this ti.
But it was supposed to be his. After a mont of surrender, she dug out the prettiest spoonful off the top—with chocolate and all—and nervously held it up to his mouth.
He accepted it graciously, chewed, and declared the highest praise he could give dessert: "Not bad. Not too sweet. Tasty."
Sharing dessert seed to lt so of the ice between them as well.
When he made small talk after that—comnts on the street outside, gripes about the line—she started answering with quiet "Mm"s and "I see." It wasn't exactly lively, but it felt normal again.
She stabbed the last piece of strawberry cake and stuffed it into her mouth, cheeks puffed slightly; a dab of whipped cream sared the corner of her lip.
The sight—so different from her usual stern deanor—brought a smile to Shane's eyes. He handed her a napkin at just the right mont.
Erza took it and wiped her mouth, movents gradually returning to their usual crisp efficiency.
Then Shane glanced out the window; his tone shifted, just a hair more formal. "Ready?"
Erza paused mid-wipe and looked up. "For what?"
"For this," he said, turning back to her. "Because of Brain, I'm planning to go back to that seaside city."
He t her gaze, calm. "You should be strong enough to help now. Want to co with ?"
Erza blinked, then nodded hard. "Going. Of course I'm going."
~~~
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