The evening rush had passed. Tables were wiped down, lights dimmed, and the soft instrumental playlist in the background was the only sound echoing through the restaurant. It was late—later than usual.
Ryo stayed behind, as he often did, cleaning the prep station slowly. To his surprise, Miyu hadn't left either. She was at the bar, quietly organizing receipts, her eyes slightly tired but calm.
He approached with two cups of warm tea in hand.
"You stayed late," he said.
"Manager's orders," she replied, taking the cup he offered without much resistance.
They stood in silence for a moment, sipping quietly.
Ryo leaned on the counter, his voice low. "Do you always shut people out, or is it just me?"
Miyu didn't answer immediately. She stared into her tea like it held the answer.
Then she spoke. "It's easier that way. No expectations, no disappointments."
He looked at her carefully. "What if I'm okay with being disappointed?"
She turned her eyes to him, and for a moment, her expression cracked—just a small fracture, a flash of something vulnerable beneath the calm exterior.
"You're stubborn," she said.
"Only when I find something worth holding onto."
She looked away again, but didn't move. He could feel her hesitating—torn between her instinct to retreat and something new, something that asked her to stay.
The silence between them was thick, not with awkwardness, but tension. The kind that came when words weren't enough anymore.
"I don't know what you want from me," she said finally.
Ryo took a step closer, his voice softer. "I don't want anything from you. I just want you—even the version that barely talks."
She exhaled slowly, lowering her cup to the counter. "I'm not good at this."
"I know," he said.
Their eyes met again. This time, longer. Neither looked away.
Then, in a moment suspended by silence and proximity, Ryo leaned in—not all the way, just enough to give her the choice.
Miyu didn't move.
And so, very gently, he brushed his lips against hers.
It wasn't long. It wasn't deep. But it was real.
When he pulled back, she didn't speak. Her cheeks were faintly red. Her eyes unreadable—but not angry. Just… processing.
"I'm going to pretend that didn't happen," she whispered.
Ryo smiled. "You can pretend. I won't."
She picked up her bag and walked toward the door.
But just before stepping out, she stopped.
"…Don't get ahead of yourself," she muttered. "I'm still not yours."
Then she disappeared into the night.
But her lips, still warm from the kiss, told a different story.