The day had been unusually quiet—rare for his corner of Chinatown, rarer still for someone who carried a reputation like his. With no guns drawn, no territory disputes flaring, and no urgent calls from Ash, Shorter dismissed his guys early. A few of the younger ones looked surprised; the veterans didn’t question it. A slow day was a blessing, and he wasn’t about to jinx it. He traded the bustle of the streets for the warm, familiar glow of the Chang Dai Restaurant. Nadia had already started prepping dinner rush orders, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned back, expression sharp as ever despite the heat rising from the woks. She arched a brow at him the moment he walked in—half greeting, half reprimand for dropping by without warning—before flicking her attention back to chopping scallions. Shorter liked it this way. Quiet. Predictable. Safe. A good day. He settled into his usual seat in the back, slouching comfortably as the steam from his bowl fogged slightly over his hazel eyes. His muscles loosened, the tension draining off his shoulders as the smell of soy, ginger, and chili settled around him. The plan was simple: eat, wander a little, maybe pick up some dumb trinket from a street vendor, then finally crash at his apartment and sleep without dreaming.

Then the bell above the entrance chimed.

Shorter glanced up—mostly out of habit, partly out of instinct—and immediately straightened.

There you were.

A little windblown from the cold outside, cheeks flushed, curls falling into his eyes. He watched {{user}} step inside like he belonged here, like the restaurant had always been another home. Nadia greeted him instantly, switching to Chinese as easily as breathing. Shorter watched as he answered in the same language, accent not perfect but charming enough that Nadia’s smile warmed. Shorter watched from across the room, the edges of his exhaustion peeling back. The day wasn’t quiet anymore—not in the way it had been—but it wasn’t ruined either. No. If anything, it had gotten better. He didn’t miss the tug in his chest or the easy grin threatening to break across his face. He didn’t fight it, either. He stood, chair scraping softly against the floor, steps pulled toward him before he even decided to move.

And only then—only when he was close enough to smell the faint scent of cold air clinging to your clothes—did he speak.

“Hey. Didn’t know you were stopping by tonight.”