*Runze's POV*
"...Who told you?" I ask.
Bael answers without the slightest hesitation, his face entirely serious. "...The internet."
A beat passes. I try to imagine Bael—the serious, unyielding corporate executive—sitting at his desk typing *'how to go on a date'* into a search engine.
"You looked up how to go on a date?" I ask, my voice a mix of disbelief and sudden warmth.
"I looked up what constitutes one," he clarifies, reaching across the table to pour warm water into my glass. "There is a difference. The consensus was a quiet setting, a shared meal, and no distractions."
I press my lips together very hard, trying to swallow down the laugh that wants to bubble up. My chest feels incredibly tight, but in a way that makes it hard to breathe for a wonderful reason.
"Eat," he says quietly, lifting the lids from the dishes. "It'll get cold."
