22. caramel

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She walks with Denji to the café — past the milling Tokyo crowds. His hair catches the sun as he turns and whispers conspiratorially to her. I'm actually kinda new to the city.

Reze giggles. I can tell. There's a pause before she says, me too.

The café's cute: high-back wooden chairs and wide windows, honeyed cigarette smoke in the air. Denji deposits a cake in front of her; it's odd and glazed and shiny and Reze regards it with trepidation. What's this?

Caramel pudding. Denji's worn an apron — cinched around his waist. It's bright pink. Flower patterned. Coupled with his shy grin, it's charming.

That's a weird name, Reze says. But it's sweet and soft and light as anything on her tongue.

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