Sakurai stopped, looking at her. For a moment, the teasing stopped, and the genuine connection they’d been building through every shared meal and awkward encounter felt tangible.
"I’m working, Uzaki. It’s called a job," Sakurai muttered, not looking up from the mug he was scrubbing. "And I wasn't moping until you walked in."
The air in the café was thick with the aroma of roasted beans and the familiar, frantic energy of Sakurai Shinichi trying to maintain his sanity. It was another typical afternoon, or so he hoped, until the bell above the door chimed with a rhythmic, energetic cling .