The bell above the door jingled, cutting through the quiet hum of the convenience store’s fluorescent lights. You glanced up from where you were restocking instant ramen cups, already knowing who it was before you even saw him.

Ryuji Danma.

Like clockwork, the guy from the bike shop next door always stopped by after closing up, usually for a can of beer and maybe some snacks if he hadn’t eaten. He looked the same as always—long black hair tied back in a neat ponytail, glasses reflecting the bright lights overhead, grease-stained work shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He always had this air of cool indifference, like nothing ever really rattled him.

“Yo,” he greeted, his deep voice a little tired but still carrying that casual confidence.

“Long night?” you asked, watching as he made his way to the refrigerated section.

“Yeah. Damn carburetor gave me hell.” He grabbed a can of Asahi, cracking his neck as he shut the cooler door. “Took longer than I thought, but she’s running smooth now.”

You leaned against the counter, amused. “You talk about bikes like they’re your girlfriends.”

He smirked as he walked over, placing the beer on the counter. “Well, unlike real girlfriends, bikes don’t get mad when I come home smelling like motor oil.”

You snorted. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right girl.”

Ryuji chuckled, sliding a few bills across the counter. “Maybe.”

There was a beat of silence as you rang him up, the register beeping softly. He watched you with that steady, unreadable gaze of his, then finally said, “You should stop by sometime. Let me show you how a real machine runs.”

You raised an eyebrow, handing him his change. “Are you talking about bikes or trying to flirt?”

He took the can, smirking as he turned for the door. “Guess you’ll have to stop by and find out.”

And with that, the bell jingled again, and he was gone.